Title: THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary: This story takes place twelve years after the end of the War of the Ring (year 1432 by Shire Reckoning) and four years before the events in THROUGH ALL OF THESE YEARS. Legolas deals with a difficult time in his life, as he faces the first of many losses caused by the passing of time. In addition, he must learn to cope with the longing in his heart that strengthens daily and continually tests him.

Rating: G (I think…at least for now)

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and all its characters belong to JRR Tolkien. I am simply borrowing them for a time. The only profit I take from this story is the joy I gained in writing it.

Reviews: Please do! Any feedback at all would be much appreciated, and constructive criticism would be more than welcome.

Acknowledgments: I would like to thank all the MCers who were so helpful in answering my infantile questions about horses. You guys are great! I would also like to thank Teanna Byerts for allowing me to reference her wonderful story THE ELVISH WAY WITH ALL GOOD BEASTS, and then for sending reams of suggestions and information, as well. (If you love horses and Legolas, her story is special!)

*All characters’ thoughts will appear in italics.

Chapter 1: Arod, Mellon Nin

The Lord of the elven colony in Ithilien gave Arod his head and crouched low on the flying horse’s back as they thundered across the plain towards the mountains. The wind whipped his hair and stung his eyes to tears as it whistled past, faster and faster now.

Fly! Fly, Arod!

There was nothing at present on Middle-earth that gave him more joy than these wild, pounding races on Arod, when they literally seemed to take flight. Nothing touched him then, not time’s passing (and with it the ones he loved), nor the fading of his people, nor the call of the sea which always seemed to be whispering in his mind, waiting for him to give it some attention. There was just Arod and his rider, and the feeling of steel muscles bunching under him with effort, and the wind and its song; a song he gladly answered with a singing cry of his own.

Noro lim, mellon nin! Noro lim!

The passing landscape blurred as they raced on, the silver-white horse extending his neck, stretching and reaching for more speed.

Arod and Legolas had left Ithilien the week before, at the request of King Eomer of Rohan, to attend his birth day celebration in Edoras.  Oh, and by the way, there were increasing tales of sporadic orc sightings near the White Mountains to the west of Edoras.  Would Legolas mind seeing to the truth of those rumors?

Legolas, finding himself caught in an inactive period at home, had jumped immediately at the combined chance of adventure and a visit with old friends.  So the elf and the steel white gelding had departed the forests of Ithilien, traveling quickly towards the distant mountains. 

They were now just hours away from the foothills of those mountains. There would be no more wild rides for a time, and Legolas had felt the need to indulge just once more. Hence, this ungoverned flight across the plains.

Finally, feeling Arod begin to strain a little, Legolas signaled him with hands, feet, and mind to slow. The horse tossed his head, but his speed began to diminish until he was cantering easily.

Legolas leaned forward, wrapping both arms around Arod’s neck, and said, "Hannon lle, my friend. I needed that!" Arod tossed his head in agreement. He, too, had relished the release of energy.

"Tomorrow, we go up, my Arod. We will move in and out of the foothills and see what mischief evil has been plotting," Legolas told the horse.

Arod lifted his head, too, looking at the mountains rising before them. Evil should learn and stay away.

The elf laughed. "Yes, but evil has never been wise, my friend. Cunning and sly, but never wise." Keen gray eyes flecked with blue surveyed the rising slopes ahead. "Evil still must be reminded from time to time that it no longer has a place here."

Twelve years had passed since the end of the war, but orcs and other evil servants of the defeated Sauron still lurked about. Those left favored the many convenient hiding places found naturally in the mountains, and Rohan’s western border had proven especially vulnerable.

"Let us hope there is no truth in the rumors," Legolas continued, "Otherwise, you and I will both be wishing for friend Gimli’s ax and his talent for cleaving orc necks!" Arod snorted softly in agreement.

Days passed uneventfully. The path taken by horse and elf paralleled the mountains, with brief forays into the rocky foothills to explore likely hideouts, but they found nothing but some scanty, months old sign.

At the end of the ninth day, they finished the last investigation of some shallow caves, needing only to return to the plains below, and travel the final twenty leagues to Edoras. Eomer’s celebration was scheduled for three days hence, and Legolas did not wish to be late for the festivities. Both he and Arod felt weary; nevertheless, the fact they had nothing to report allayed their fatigue and provided a measure of relieved pleasure.

Legolas sensed Arod’s discomfort long minutes before the first hitch ever appeared in the horse’s gait. Just a twinge, really, and gone before he could pinpoint the exact source. They had just started the final, relatively steep and rocky descent from the slopes above.

Arod? Is all well with you, my friend? Legolas listened closely, all the while monitoring the horse’s pace.

The path is somewhat steep, but all is well.

Legolas frowned a little, but reached down to stroke the dappled neck of the horse. Fifteen minutes later, when the pair had almost completed the descent, Legolas sensed another hesitation in the horse’s stride.

Arod, what are you…? 

Get off!

The warning came not a moment too soon. He felt Arod’s right leg buckle suddenly, and the horse stumbled, almost falling to his knees.  

Legolas, at the first warning, gathered himself and leaped to the side, clearing the horse with the grace of a large golden cat. He landed in a balanced crouch, rising and pivoting instantly to run back to his faltering mount.

Arod had come to a staggering halt, his proud head down, shivering with reaction, his right hoof lifted clear of the ground in an effort to remove his weight from the injured leg.

Legolas gasped as Arod’s agonizing pain flooded his mind. I cannot breathe…make it stop…

The elf caught the horse’s head, speaking softly, calmly, to the trembling animal, and trying to control his own trembling reaction as well.

"Sedho, Arod," he whispered, "Sedho, mellon nin." He ran gentle hands over the horse’s muscular neck, petting and soothing him, before moving on to the injured leg.

Arod quieted slowly, finally lifting his head and turning towards the elf to nudge him with his nose and snuffle at the gray cloak he wore. The familiar scent of his rider reassured him as Legolas knelt, moving his hand down the right foreleg until he reached the undeniable swelling. The horse flinched and shifted away.

"Ai, Arod," Legolas sucked in his breath in sympathy and dismay. "Not again…shhh, shhh…hold still, my friend."

His examination complete, and his heart heavy with dismay, he stood, sharp gray eyes scanning the surroundings for a suitable place to camp. The choices were almost non-existent. There was a great deal of tall, open grassland to his right, while on his left was the barren, unforgiving rock of the rising mountains. Not exactly a safe place to be stranded in.

At last, some leagues away, he spotted a stand of the small trees that grew scattered throughout the area. Placing a steadying hand on Arod’s neck, he began to lead the badly limping horse slowly and carefully towards them.

After several hours and many stops to rest, they reached the trees, and Legolas noticed with relief a small clear stream of mountain runoff winding its way energetically down the rocky hillside just a few hundred feet away. That, at least, answered the question of available water.

Leading Arod into the shady copse to a plot of level ground covered with the fallen leaves of past years, he bade the exhausted, hurting animal to stay put. He shrugged off the light backpack he carried, along with his weapons, and placed them against a tree.

Pulling one of his extra undershirts from the pack, he began tearing it into long strips. He kept a close eye on Arod, singing to him softly to distract him from the pain as he set the cloth strips aside and went to gather a supply of sticks and kindling. He quickly built a small smokeless fire and returned to the pack to take out the pouch of healing herbs Lord Elrond had taught him always to carry, along with a small metal container, which he filled with water and placed next to the fire to heat. All the while, a litany of regret and reproach kept running through his mind.

Careless…careless…you should have stopped him sooner…

The elf took the pouch of herbs and pulled out several proven especially effective against muscle injuries, and crumbled a portion into the water to steep.

You should not have pushed him so these last days or let him run so hard that last time…careless…stupid…

The rest of the leaves he crushed into a powder and mixed with a small amount of water to make a paste. Taking the paste, he walked over to Arod and knelt beside the horse, talking quietly.

"Now, my friend, I am going to play healer." He smiled as Arod snorted and shook his head. "My thoughts exactly."

He reached up to pat the big horse on the neck. After smearing the paste over the swollen knot on the leg, he fetched his cloth bandages and container of hot herbal water. Dipping a length of cloth in the fragrant, steaming liquid, he squeezed out the excess and wrapped the hot cloth snugly around Arod’s leg, knotting it securely in place. He repeated this several times, before finally layering dry cloths over the top, making sure they were tight enough to brace the leg. He would repeat this treatment, alternating hot and cold compresses three or four times every hour until morning, or until the swelling showed some sign of abating.

Arod relaxed slowly as the strong herbal remedy and warmth began to ease the injured leg. He lowered his head to examine the golden head of the elf kneeling on the ground, wrapping and tying bandages around his leg with deft, sure hands. Eyeing one of Legolas’ sidelock braids, he nuzzled the elf’s ear, grasping the braid in his teeth, and tugging on it.

Laughing, Legolas reached up, slapping lightly at the nose of his tormenter, who snorted and shook his mane.

"I am no flower to nibble on, you great silly beast," Legolas chided, relieved the horse at least felt like playing.

No, but you ARE pretty. The horse bumped the elf’s shoulder with his head until he fell flat. And you remind me of the pale gold flowers of my home!

"Well, eat them, not me!" Legolas laughed again.

Better…your thoughts have been dark since the pain came.

Arod lowered his head again to the prostrate elf, who immediately raised both arms to encircle the horse's neck.

"Ah Arod, I am so sorry.  Forgive me."  Arod nudged him with something approaching impatience. 

It happened. You could not stop it…but you are here…we are together.

Legolas closed his eyes. Yes, mellon nin, we are.

He stood, dusting himself off, and framed Arod’s elegantly sculpted head between his strong, slender hands, saying sternly, "Now, my friend, you have reinjured that same leg in the exact same place as last year. You must stay as still as possible for a time. I will begin alternating the warm cloths with cold ones to reduce the swelling. We will stay here and I will bring you fresh water and grass." Arod snorted.

"And no, you will NOT tell Gimli how I have waited on you, hand and hoof!" Legolas grinned at the unrepentant expression in the horse’s dark eyes.

"In a few days, we will try walking a short distance to see how you fare," he concluded. "I will wait until then to decide if and when to splint your leg."

Arod lowered his head and rested it on the elf’s shoulder. Legolas wrapped one arm around the horse’s neck. "I know…I know," he murmured. "It will be all right - only I fear we will be a mite late for Eomer’s birth day celebration."

He began humming a soft melody as he stroked Arod’s neck. After a while, Arod dozed, and Legolas continued stroking and singing, watching the sun set, and the first stars of the evening appear in the darkening sky.

Finally, satisfied that Arod would remain calm and still, Legolas set about quickly organizing the camp area. He banked the fire, placing the pan of heated water close to the coals where it would stay hot for use later on, and stacked more fallen branches for fuel.

The remaining strips of cloth and the healing pouch were stored in his pack, and set by the tree closest to Arod. Retrieving one last container from his pack, he filled it with icy cold water from the stream. Then, slipping off to the higher grass growing further from camp, he harvested an armload and brought it back for Arod to eat later. His chores done, he settled on the ground next to the dozing horse, leaning back against the trunk, and thinking about the injury to the horse’s leg.

There was little he could do out in this wilderness alone, except keep the big horse as quiet as possible. This was a recurring injury unfortunately, the leg obviously weaker than he had ever imagined. His lips tightened. It had taken Arod months to heal before, and now it would only be worse. His resolve strengthened. He had seen to Arod’s recovery once; he would do so again, no matter the cost. He cursed himself once more for his carelessness.

If only I had stopped at that first sign of pain!

Disjointed thoughts continued to tumble about in his mind. What else could he do? He had some knowledge of elven treatments for muscle injuries, but he also planned to ask for additional help from Eomer. He knew once he was sufficiently late, the King would send riders looking for him. After they reached Edoras, he would take the opportunity to seek out Eomer’s head stablemaster, Ranalf, and ask for his help. Legolas heaved a great sigh of disgust, and leaned forward to wrap his arms around his knees. His head dropped wearily to rest on them.

What was I thinking? Ai! An elfling would have shown more sense!

Legolas leaned his head back against the tree, listening to its soft sighing song, and gazing up at the star-studded sky. The immensity of the open sky over the plains of Rohan, and the clarity and number of the stars one could see never ceased to amaze him. As his mind eased, he decided to allow himself a short rest before changing the compress. As he slipped into elven dreams, he breathed, "Eru, please…"

~~~~~*~~~~~

The next five days passed in much the same manner as the first. Legolas patiently and carefully tended Arod’s leg, brought him grass and water, and kept him as still as was possible (for an otherwise healthy, active animal) so as not to aggravate the injury further. Thankfully, the swelling began to diminish on the third day, but the pain still prohibited much walking. Legolas spent his idle moments supplementing his dwindling rations of lembas with small game he hunted or trapped near the camp.

The sixth day after the injury, Legolas was gathering grass for Arod’s evening rations, when his sensitive ears heard the sound of approaching riders. Many riders. He dropped the grass and ran quickly to a rocky outcropping.

Swiftly scaling the rocks, he stood shading his eyes, looking at the dust cloud four leagues distant that heralded the riders’ presence. He exhaled in relieved recognition. A rather large group of Rohirrim, with Eomer in the lead, crossed the plain at a brisk gallop, several outriders casting out from the main body, obviously searching for something.

For me. Legolas grimaced with chagrin. Oh well, it cannot be helped. At any rate, Eomer is always complaining about having to stay in Edoras. Now, I have given him an excellent excuse for an outing!

He smiled ruefully at the thought of Eomer’s reaction to his excuse, and lifted his arm, waving to get their attention.

After some minutes, the nearest rider spotted him and raised the alarm. Legolas admired the precision of the group as they turned instantly and headed in his direction. He slipped down from his rocky perch and sprinted back to Arod, who was moving about with agitation as the scent of strange riders and horses reached him.

Legolas draped his arm over the horse’s neck and whispered in his ear, "Sedho, Arod nin. They are friends." Horse and elf stood quietly, waiting for the arrival of the King and his escort.

When Eomer and his men trotted up to the small camp, the King sighed in relief at the sight of his friend. He looked whole and healthy, at least. He quickly slid from his horse and strode over to Legolas.

Eomer clasped the elf’s shoulder in greeting, exclaiming, "Legolas! Where have you been? Lothiriel is beside herself, Elfwine has threatened to run away to look for you, and my own men had been packed for days before we left, they were that ready to find you! You have the entire realm in an uproar!"

Legolas returned the King’s greeting, gripping the man’s shoulder gladly. "Mae govannen, Eomer. I apologize for my delay and the trouble it has caused you and yours. I am afraid we ran into some trouble coming out of the hills."

Intensely dark, noticing eyes scanned the fair elven face, marking the shadowed weariness in the gray eyes. The King looked past the elf at the horse standing behind him, and saw the thick bandages enveloping the foreleg. The explanation for the delay suddenly became clear, and remembering a similar injury to the same leg a year ago, Eomer’s heart sank as he realized the implications of such an injury.

He smiled encouragingly at Legolas. "Well, we are here now, my friend. It may take another week or two, but we can splint that leg and walk Arod back to Edoras. Ranalf is an excellent healer of all manner of horse injuries. Arod will be fine, you will see."

Legolas smiled and nodded. "I will not accept anything less, Eomer. I am glad you are here."

Translations:

noro lim - run faster

mellon nin - my friend

hannon lle - thank you

sedho - be still

Arod nin - my Arod

mae govannen - well met

Title:  THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author:  lwarren

Summary:  Legolas receives disheartening news about Arod’s injury.

Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.  I receive no profit from this story, only the joy I gained in the writing of it.

*All characters’ thoughts will appear in italics.

Chapter 2:  That Which Is Held Dear

     Being the King’s head stablemaster had its advantages and its drawbacks.  Ranalf, eldest son of Aldor, had held the position since his thirty-fifth birth day, and held it with distinction.  Many brought their horses to him, as his skills in treating injuries or solving training difficulties were a well-known fact.

     The tall, blue-eyed man with hair the color of sun-ripened wheat kept his stables well ordered and running smoothly.  Very seldom did he pause to consider the advantages granted to him, but this bright, summer day had served to underscore his blessings heavily. 

     His blessings!  They were many and varied.  When one of the Mearas was in residence, the care of the mighty horse would fall to him.  Well he remembered when Shadowfax had resided in his stables during the war.  Ranalf smiled, recalling the unrelenting beauty and intelligence of the white stallion, and the unforgettable presence of the wizard who rode him.

     When King Eomer required new stock for his stables or personal use, he had charge of the finding and procuring of that stock, as well as the training.  He thought fondly of the fine young black stallion currently being groomed for the King.  Storm had more than exceeded all expectations since his birth four years past.  Living in the stablemaster’s fine quarters near the stables, eating at the King’s table, providing counsel for Eomer, watching the young prince grow and enjoying the fond regard of the Queen – aye, those were all additional  advantages he enjoyed.

     His smile faded, and he sighed, stroking the finely molded head of the steel gray gelding he had been examining.  Here, though, was one of the drawbacks.  Sometimes his duty required him to complete distasteful tasks, or render painful judgments.  Whether it was allowing Wormtongue to take a mount and leave (the traitorous fool should have been made to walk when Theoden King had banished him), telling a soldier his mount could no longer bear him, or putting a horse down because of injury, there were times when he hated his position.

     This was one of those times.

     “Ranalf,” a soft, melodic voice roused him from his reverie, and he looked up into the deep blue-gray eyes of Prince Legolas.

     Ranalf had seen the Prince of Lasgalen many times, and spoken to him a few.  He was a prominent visitor at Edoras, and well loved by the King and his family. 

     Yet even now, after years of contact, the fairness of the golden elf and the light that shone from those extraordinary eyes never failed to render him speechless.  He cleared his throat.

   “My lord, please, come in,” he invited.

     Legolas entered the stall and came to stand beside Arod’s head, greeting the horse with soft strokes and softer elven words.  Arod snuffled and nipped at the elf’s braids, causing the fair being to laugh and pull his forelock. 

     Finally, the two quieted, and Ranalf found the Prince’s gaze fixed on him, a question now in the bright eyes.  He cleared his throat again, and crouched beside the horse’s foreleg, running his huge gentle hand over the still swollen area.

     “The muscle is not torn, my lord,” the stablemaster looked up at the tall elf standing at the gray horse’s head, holding him still.  “It would almost be better if it were.  Torn muscles seem to mend stronger, somehow.”

     The elf’s face became still and remote, the bright eyes focusing on the opposite wall.  One hand slowly stroked the horse’s forehead, straightening the forelock.  The man waited patiently, and finally, the elf looked at him.  Ranalf’s breath caught at the look on the Prince’s expressive face.  The light in his blue eyes seemed dimmed, the mobile face turned wooden.

     Legolas studied the man solemnly for a long moment, and asked quietly, “How long will it take to heal, Ranalf?”

     “Some months, my lord,” Ranalf replied, and suddenly looked uncomfortable.  Legolas continued to gaze at him patiently.

     Ranalf came to the realization that an immortal elf could probably outwait him, so he gave in and added, “Please do not mistake my meaning, Lord Legolas.  You have done an excellent job with him so far, and despite the fact he had to make a difficult walk to reach us here, you went slowly enough that the leg appears to have taken no further hurt.”

     Ranalf eyed the elf, and asked, “May I speak freely?”  Legolas nodded, his eyes steady on the man’s tense face.

     “The uppermost question in my mind is whether the injury will heal completely.  My lord, even if it does, I fear that leg will never return to full strength.”

     The elf nodded again, continuing the slow stroking.  Arod pushed his head into the elf’s chest in response.

     “And…?” the elf’s voice was soft.

     Ranalf took a deep breath, and plunged on.  “The main problem right now will be keeping him still long enough for the leg to properly recover.  I know he had a similar injury last year in Ithilien, and you were able to help him then.  But consider this, my lord.  Arod was bred and born of the Westfold herds.  Those horses are, of necessity, fiery and spirited animals.  They must be to survive, growing up as they do stalked by wargs and wolves and Eru knows what else.  Without your presence, I fear he will fight us and…

     “He will not be without my presence, Ranalf,” Legolas interrupted.  “I would never leave him hurt and alone.  Besides, he will cooperate with me.”  The gray shoved his nose into the elf’s chest again, and Legolas smoothed the dark silvery mane gently.

     Ranalf frowned slightly.  “If, then, it happens as you hope and the leg heals, it is still my belief you should not ride him again.”

     He watched Legolas close his eyes briefly.  “You might consider letting him return to the herds, my lord,” Ranalf suggested, feeling a deep sadness well at the tight look now on the Prince’s face.  

     “He is fairly old, almost twenty-five years…” Ranalf continued, hoping to somehow ease the Prince’s pain by pointing out the inevitability of the situation.

     “Twenty-two,” the elf whispered.  “Not so very old…”

     “But it is,” Ranalf returned gently, “for him.”

     He watched the Prince carefully control his reaction, and caught his breath in surprised understanding, realizing suddenly how very difficult the concept of age and time might be for this young one…and for all his centuries, Legolas was very young in his experiences with the ravages of time and age on those mortal, be they human, dwarf, or horse.

     He continued kindly,  “You need a strong horse to carry you, and if need be, Lord Gimli, should danger arise and you both travel together.  But consider, too, my lord, the possibility of keeping Arod with you.  If you did that, you might still ride him over short distances from time to time; however, I am afraid any long, strenuous riding is over.”

     Legolas nodded again.  “Hannon lle…thank you, Ranalf,” he replied, trying and failing to give the man a grateful smile.  “Leave us for a time, and I will let you know of my decision.”

     Ranalf bowed respectfully, and left the stall.  He looked back once on his way out, and almost choked on his dismay as he beheld the elven warrior, a son of the Immortal Eldar, with both arms wrapped around the horse’s neck, his face buried in Arod’s dark mane. 

~~~~~*~~~~~

     Eomer waited until the supper hour had passed and darkness well and truly come before walking down to the stables.  Ranalf had visited him earlier in the afternoon with the grim news of Arod’s injury and his assessment.

     Before he bowed and left the hall, the stable master had said, “My King, it is my belief that Lord Legolas is extremely troubled and saddened by this.  Truly, Lord, I did not realize he was so attached to the horse.”

     Eomer had nodded thoughtfully, remembering a bright day twelve years before when a golden haired elf had removed saddle and bridle from a restive, silver whirlwind and climbed on, immediately taming the whirlwind and making it his own.  He dismissed Ranalf with thanks, reminding him to come to supper later, and sat back to await Legolas’ appearance.

     Lothiriel joined him briefly before attending to her final supper preparations, his wife’s dark, elegant beauty a welcome distraction as he told her of Ranalf’s words.  She frowned, one graceful finger tapping against her lips as her quick mind considered Legolas’ problem.  Her clear gray-green eyes lifted finally, full of sadness and concern for their friend.

     “He will not come, husband,” she stated.

     Eomer started to speak, but she stopped him with a quick look.  “Trust me, dearest, he will not come.  It has been well over a year since last we saw him, and he has changed somehow.  So much troubles him, Eomer.  Can you not see it in his eyes?” 

     Eomer shrugged, not sure of her meaning.  Knowing her heritage as the daughter of Imrahil made her words even more troubling, as her perception of Legolas was usually much clearer than his own.

     “He suffers for Arod,” she explained, “but I see a greater pain deep in his eyes that he conceals.”  She reached up to brush a gold streaked lock of hair away from her husband’s face.  He caught her hand, and she leaned forward, placing a quick, light kiss on his cheek.

     She smiled, and said quietly, “Just watch him closely, my lord, and SEE.  Then, be there for him if he will allow it.”

     Eomer nodded, and she took her leave, a confused man left behind to consider her words and wonder what on Arda he could possibly do to help.

     Shadows lengthened as the day slipped away, and Lothiriel’s prediction proved correct, as usual…he did not come.  Her words, and Ranalf’s, began to take on added significance as the hours stretched into evening.

     Eomer answered the call to supper, and ate with his family.  Elfwine besieged his parents with typical nine-year-old persistence about Legolas, who was as a favorite uncle to him.   Lothiriel and he attempted to answer their son’s questions about Legolas’ absence, and ease his subsequent concerns.  Eomer kept one eye on the door, hoping to see a tall elf walk through it, but he watched to no avail. 

     At the end of supper, Lothiriel rose to take Elfwine to their apartments, giving her husband a rather pointed look as she left the room.  Eomer rose and, girding himself for what was to come, made the trek to the stables located behind the Great Hall. 

     He entered the building quietly.  The soft glow of burning lanterns lit his way down the long row of stalls, as he walked slowly, pausing from time to time to stroke a familiar nose.  He found Arod stabled in the largest stall at the end of the stables, and heard the fair voice of Legolas singing quietly as he approached.

     Eomer paused at the entrance, leaning on the doorpost, and watched the Prince tending to his horse.  The elf knelt beside Arod, applying some sort of poultice to the swollen leg and wrapping it snugly with long bandages.  The sweet smell of whatever herb he used in the poultice permeated the stall, mixing with the odors of horse and hay.

     The King breathed deeply and appreciatively of the fresh clean scent which reminded him of the plains of Rohan in spring, when the land was first covered with new grass and small yellow flowers called daystars.  Legolas sang softly as he worked, the sad, haunting melody causing even the stalwart Eomer’s eyes to sting. 

     “What brings the King of the Mark to the stables at this hour?” Legolas suddenly asked, without looking up from his chore.

     Eomer, lost in the song, started in surprise at the elf’s question.

     “An errant elf,” he replied lightly, walking into the stall to stand beside Arod’s head, rubbing the horse’s soft muzzle and offering him a carrot he had slipped into his pocket at supper.  He smiled as the horse delicately lipped the offering from his palm and crunched it in apparent pleasure.  Then, he looked down into the shuttered gray eyes of his friend.

     Legolas studied Eomer closely as he fed Arod the carrot.  His responsibilities have aged him over the years, yet he has grown into his crown with strength and grace.  No wonder his people and neighbors respect, as well as love him!  He has changed much from that rashly spoken infant who insulted Gimli and me at our first meeting.

     “Errant, hir nin?” he questioned. “In what way?”

     Eomer chuckled.  “ When an honored guest is conspicuously absent at supper…to the point, my friend, where the host’s son worries loudly and incessantly, and his wife feels compelled to insist that her husband find this guest…that, oh Prince, is errant!”

     “Ah, I see!”  Legolas smiled slightly in return.  “Then I humbly beg your pardon, my lord, and promise to make my peace with your lady wife and son as soon as I see them.”

     Arod shifted restlessly, and Eomer soothed him as Legolas completed the bandaging and straightened.  The two stood there, petting and stroking the horse for a time.

     Finally, Eomer asked, “What do you mean to do, Legolas?”

     Legolas shook his head, entwining his fingers in Arod’s thick mane.  Arod turned his head towards the elf, nickering anxiously, and Legolas calmed him with a gentle hand.

     Eomer watched this exchange, his disquiet growing.  “Legolas,” he ventured, “what if Ranalf is wrong?  Have you considered your course if the leg does not heal?”

     “There is no other course!”  Legolas turned on Eomer, a slow kindling heat in the bright eyes, his fair face stiff, affronted.  “You would do well, my friend, to never give voice to that thought around me.”  After one last hard look at Eomer, he turned again to Arod.  Picking up a stiff brush, he began grooming the gleaming coat. 

     Eomer took a deep breath.  “I understand he is your friend, Legolas,” he said, “Forgive me, but…”

     Legolas shook his head and turned back to Eomer.  “Friend?  Yes, he is my friend, but there is so much more, Eomer.”

     Arod rested his head on Legolas’ shoulder, blowing in his hair.  The hard look in the elf’s eyes softened, and he reached back to scratch the horse’s forehead.

     No, Arod.  I am well.  It is all right.

      He looked back at Eomer and continued.  “You must remember when you handed him over to me the day we met.  He came of his own free will…to me.  From that moment on, every time I mounted him, every time he carried me into danger…” The elf’s voice faltered somewhat at the memories.

     “Helm’s Deep, Eomer…remember?  The black night and the rain and the thunder in the air and on the plain…those thousands and thousands of stomping feet…and at the end, that final mad rush down the causeway through all those orcs.”  He paused, his eyes stark.  “Were it not for the arrival of Mithrandir and Erkenbrand and the Huorn, we would have perished.  Yet Arod never hesitated.”

     “The Gate of the Morannon,” he whispered.  “and certain death…”  His eyes flashed to Eomer’s.

     “And every day since then, my lord,” he said, “he has done anything I have asked of him willingly, and sometimes more.”

     Arod bumped Legolas’ shoulder, and the elf stroked his forehead, smiling sadly.  “We understand each other, my Arod and I.  With him, I am not an elf, or a Prince, or a legend, or the perfect son…I am Legolas, and I do not have to pretend to be anything or anyone else.”

     Eomer’s eyes widened with surprise at these words.  “Legolas…” he began helplessly, but his friend stopped him with a shake of his head and a fond smile.

     “It is all right, Eomer.  I do not expect you to understand.  No one can, really,” he said.  “And yet, knowing my dark and strange moods of late, he loves me in spite of all.  Friend?  A rather inadequate word, I think.”

     He leaned his face against Arod’s.  “It is my fault anyway,” he whispered, “so I will stay here with him, Eomer, until he heals, if you do not mind.  Then, I will release him to run free with your herds.  I understand that is an acceptable solution when a horse becomes incapable of carrying his rider.”

     Eomer sighed at the strain evident in the elf’s voice, and sought to reassure him however he could.

     “We will take good care of him, Legolas.  He has earned it, and we will be honored to have him back…and you, of course, must know you are welcome here, always, for as long as you like.  Spring is truly here, the weather pleasant and the land bursting with new life now.  You will appreciate Rohan, as you have seldom been here during this time of year.”  He paused, thinking.  “Will you send word to Aravir and your advisors at the colony?”

     Legolas turned his head to gaze out the nearby window.  The stars shone like brilliant shimmering bits of glass over the broad plains of Rohan, and Ithil was just beginning to rise above the distant mountains.  He nodded in reply, but said nothing more.

     “Will you come with me now?” Eomer asked.

     Legolas shook his head no.

     “Legolas?” Eomer spoke again, a plea in his voice.

     The elf whispered, “I will stay with Arod.  I do not want him to further injure himself should he become restless or upset.”

     “But…” Eomer protested.  Legolas looked at him silently, and Eomer had not the heart to argue with him further.

     “All right, my friend,” Eomer gave in.  “All shall be as you wish it.  Do you have everything you need?”

     Legolas nodded.  “Hannon lle.”  He returned his gaze to the stars outside.

     Eomer studied him for a moment, realizing the futility of further conversation.  He turned away and quietly left.

     In a darkened room of the royal apartments, the King of Rohan sat heavily on the side of his bed, feeling dazed and at a loss.  The bed shifted and his wife sat up behind him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

     “Eomer?”

     He shook his head.  “You were right, Lothiriel.  He will lose Arod, and in the meantime, I am afraid he will sink into despair, as well,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her.  “What can we do?”

     She wrapped both arms around Eomer’s shoulders and laid her cheek against his.  “I do not know,” she whispered.  “What of Aragorn?”

     Eomer shook his head.  “I will speak with Legolas about contacting him.  He may well wish to wait for a time.  I do not wish to anger him, Lothiriel.  If I go behind his back, he might withdraw even more.  I believe your suggestion earlier might be our best course of action right now.”

     At her questioning look, he replied, “We will watch closely and be there if he needs us.  If he seems to worsen, I will send word to Aragorn immediately.”

Translations:

hannon lle - thank you

hir nin - my lord

Title:  THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author:  lwarren

Summary:  Aragorn receives belated news of Arod’s injury, and sets off to spend some quality time with his friend.

Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.  I make no profit from this story other than the joy I gained in writing it.

Reviews:  Please do!

Chapter 3:  In Dealing With Stubborn Elves

Mae Govannen, Elessar,

     I send this letter to you in the hope it finds you and your family well, and that you will be able to respond to my message quickly.  I am concerned, aran brannon, for the welfare of Lord Legolas.  He has been absent from the colony for six months now, originally to visit King Eomer for his birth day celebration.  An absence of this length is unusual in itself, but it is the reason for that absence that concerns me.  He left a few weeks early, and alone, riding Arod, to investigate reports of orc activity in the White Mountains.  While doing so, Arod reinjured his leg.

     My Lord elected to stay in Rohan and see to Arod’s recovery.  He informed Lord Faramir and me of his decision to remain absent from the colony, and assured us of his good health, but even though we correspond regularly with him, we have become increasingly concerned.  I know you are well aware of the place Arod holds in Legolas’ heart.  The Prince suffers attacks of the sea-longing from time to time, which appear to trouble him to a great extent.  It is during these times when Arod seems to be his sole comfort. 

     Because of these concerns, I ask if it is possible for you to pay a visit to Rohan and see Lord Legolas, if for no other reason than to confirm his continued well being.  I have chosen to contact you now not only because of my concern, but as a favor to King Eomer also, who my lord has made promise not to tell you or Lord Gimli of the situation.  I will send a similar message to Lord Gimli, and await word from him, as well.  Hannon lle, my lord.  I know the Prince will listen to your counsel, as he values your friendship greatly.

                                                                                                                  Aravir

     Aragorn raised his eyes from the letter in his hand and gazed thoughtfully out the window of his and Arwen’s apartments.  The tenor of Aravir’s letter troubled him, especially the mention of the attacks of sea-longing.

     His mind raced back in time to the last night he, Gimli, and Legolas had spent at Edoras during the War.  He had struggled with and mastered the Stone of Orthanc, and that, coupled with a message brought to him by Elrohir and Elladan from his father, had convinced him that his road to Minas Tirith lay by way of the Paths of the Dead.  As they had prepared to leave, he had confronted Legolas.

     “My friend, I must remind you of the Lady’s warning to you,” he had said.

     Legolas’ eyes had narrowed, and he had replied quietly, “My way lies with you, Aragorn.”

     “You know that I need you with me,” Aragorn had returned, “but this road I must travel to Minas Tirith will eventually cross one that Lady Galadriel warned you against!  Remember her message to you:

                    ‘Legolas Greenleaf long under tree
                    In joy thou hast lived.  Beware of the Sea!
                    If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore
                    Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.’ ”

     Legolas had turned from him as he had spoken the words, looking out across the rolling plains of Rohan.  When he had turned back, his eyes had been the gray of storm tossed waters.

     “You need not remind me of the Lady’s words, Aragorn.  And I say again, my path lies with you.  The call of the sea comes to all of my kind in time…I will not turn away from you because of something that MIGHT happen!”

     Aragorn had reached out then and clasped Legolas’ shoulder, shaking it.

     “But think, Legolas.  After we pass through the mountain, we travel through the Morthond Vale to the Stone of Erech, then on to Pelagir upon Anduin to confront the threat there.  That way lays perilously close to the sea, my friend.”

     However, no matter his arguments, the thrice-stubborn elf would not hear of staying behind.  He had accompanied his friend, and of course, heard the cry of the gulls.  His subsequent awakening to the sea’s call had been fairly brief, yanking him into some sort of waking dream, and causing him considerable pain when he had come back to himself.  With the help of Elrohir and Elladan, though, he had seemed to overcome it.  When Aragorn had questioned him later, he had shrugged the whole incident off, saying it was over and would not affect his participation in the coming battle.

     Aragorn shook his head, remembering.  It had not.  The War had been won, and any further attacks of the sea-longing had apparently been concealed by Legolas from his friends.  Oh, Aragorn had suspected they still bothered the elf, but the attacks seemed sporadic and short-lived in nature, an inconvenience rather than a real concern, or so he had been led to believe by his sneaky, secretive friend. 

     Aragorn’s lips tightened with displeasure.  Of all the stubborn, hardheaded, prideful elves…

     He heard the door open, and the light steps of his wife crossing the room to stand beside him.

     “Is all well in Ithilien, Aragorn?” she asked eagerly.  Aragorn turned to his wife and her smile faded at the look on his face.  He shook his head.  Wordlessly, he held out the letter to her, which she took after a long, searching look and read quickly.

     She raised troubled eyes to his, and they studied each other for a time.  “You must go to him, Aragorn,” she finally said.  “I do not doubt that Arod will probably heal.  I am sure you remember Legolas’ perseverance last year when he was hurt.” 

     They exchanged smiles of shared understanding.  Their friend’s resolve had proven unshakable more times than they could remember, once his mind was made up about something.  Arwen sighed. 

     “But a recurring injury… that means Legolas might possibly have to give up riding him, perhaps even leave him behind in Rohan…” she paused again, recalling the strong attachment between elf and horse. 

     “He will need his friends, a’maelamin, especially in light of Aravir’s mention of the sea-longing.  He calls them “attacks” now, did you notice?”  Aragorn nodded. 

     “That can only mean the call has strengthened over the passing of time.”

     Aragorn’s unease had increased by the moment as Arwen had spoken her concerns.  He thought for a moment, quickly reaching a decision.  “All right, it is time I fully understood this sea-longing that afflicts him, Arwen.  He has always been so vague, or flippant about its effect on him.  In the past years, he has not mentioned it at all.  And while I know of its existence from my years of living with elves, your father and brothers would barely speak of it either.”

     He took Arwen’s arm and led her across the room to a large roomy chair placed comfortably before an immense hearth.  She sank into the chair, and he knelt beside her, taking her small hand in his large, warm one.

     “Speak, meleth nin.  I need to know,” he urged, squeezing her hand encouragingly.

     She looked at him a long time, her expression serious.  Long had she worried for Legolas, but Aragorn had never been privy to those fears.  She had known, however, that a day would come when she could protect him no longer, and when Legolas’ need would outweigh her concerns for her husband’s peace of mind.  It appeared that day had come.

     She nodded, and took a deep breath.  “All right.”

     She paused, gathering her thoughts, and spoke slowly.  “The sea-longing resides in all of the Firstborn, as you know,”

     At his nod, she continued.  “From the time of the elves’ awakening on the shores of Cuivienen, the music of water has had a special place in our hearts.  Then came the call by the Valar to return to Aman, and Orome led the three  kindred, the Vanyar, the Noldor, and the Teleri on the Great Journey to the western shores of the Hither Lands.  There, Ulmo took the Vanyar and the Noldor across the sea to Valinor.

     “That was the first group to reach Aman, was it not?” Aragorn asked, remembering the history lessons his Adar and Glorfindel had taught him.

     Arwen nodded.  “Yes.  Now, the Teleri were the largest of the three groups.  They were reluctant to answer the call to Aman, and they tarried, traveling slowly, and finally coming to dwell in East Beleriand.  They missed that first journey of Tol Eressea to Aman.  Later, when they learned that many of their people had left, some moved to the coast, near the Mouths of Sirion, while others explored further inland.  One of those groups to move inland was in search of its king, Elwe, who had gone missing.  That group became the Sindar.”

     “It is said that Osse came to those at Sirion and taught them much of sea-lore and sea-music,” Aragorn commented, watching Arwen’s animated face as she related her people’s history.

     “That is how the Teleri, who have always loved water, and who were the fairest singers of all the elves, forever after loved the sea,” she explained.  “Then, as time passed, most of the Teleri went West.”

     Arwen paused, and Aragorn waited patiently as she considered the next part of the story.  “Now, Legolas’ grandsire, Oropher, was descended from the Sindar.  For a time, he and his family lived in Lindon under Gil-Galad’s rule, until he decided he needed more of a challenge.   Adar thinks he chafed at being under another’s thumb, even though Gil-Galad was usually the most genial of Kings.  So, Oropher moved his family, which by that time included Thranduil, and many of his people to the Greenwood. It was because of his hard work and strong character that the Silvan elves living there accepted him, and later Thranduil, as their king.”

     Aragorn stopped her at this point, and rose to fetch her a goblet of water from a pitcher on a nearby table.  She accepted it gratefully and sipped slowly, while Aragorn settled again at her feet.  She smiled her thanks at him and continued the story.

     “Silvan elves have very little concept of the sea and its song, having never seen or heard it, and while Legolas may be Sindarin, he was raised amongst the Silvan people of the forest.  I believe Thranduil might have spoken to him of the sea, but if he did, it was long ago.  So, when Legolas joined the Fellowship, he actually had very little preparation for his experience with the gulls.  He was especially vulnerable because of that lack of preparation, Aragorn.  Add to that his Sindar/Teleri heritage and he…”

     “…would feel the sea’s call deeply, when it came,” Aragorn finished.

     “Yes,” she agreed.  “The need for the sea is very great in one kindred, and relatively unknown in the other, so you can see how he might be doubly affected.  My father always thought the Teleri line had bred true in Legolas.  He used to comment that the stamp of the Eldar was particularly strong on our noble Prince.”

     She looked at Aragorn.  “Have you ever seen how Legolas acts around water, Aragorn?  Around lakes and streams, waterfalls and rivers?  I have seen him lose himself in the music of the water, and later, actually sing WITH it.”

     Aragorn responded thoughtfully, “Yes, actually, I have seen him do that, but it seemed such a “Legolas” thing to do, I never thought too much about it.”

     “I had hoped…” She made a very small, very distressed sound.  “The call of the sea would be magnified tenfold in one with a gift such as that.  I had begun to think he had escaped the worst of it, but it seems I was mistaken.”

     She paused and thought for a moment.  “The call can come at any time in an elf’s life.  Legolas is still rather young.  He does not have the benefit of ages of experience and wisdom to temper these attacks.”

     Guilt and regret arose in Aragorn’s mind, and he closed his eyes, bowing his head to rest against the arm of the chair.  “Had he stayed behind, he might have remained free for hundreds of years yet.  Now, it continues to grow, and plague him.”

     Arwen agreed sadly.  “It will do so mercilessly, year in and year out, until he either comes to find some sort of peace with it, or else it consumes him entirely, and he fades from the pain of refusing it.  Truthfully, he should have left years ago.”

     “Is there nothing we can do?” he asked, knowing in his heart the answer already.

     “There is no cure for this, my love,” she answered softly,  “and only time will reveal the depth of his illness.”

     “He stays for us,” he said, head still bowed.  Arwen placed her hand on his head, stroking his dark hair.

     “Yes, for you, for me and the children, for Gimli,” she smiled slightly.  “His father once warned him of his close association with mortals…that in the end, it might destroy him.”

     Aragorn lifted his head at that, anger at Thranduil’s callous comments about his son’s choices of friends turning his gray eyes hard and flat.  Arwen cupped his cheek with her soft hand, and spoke quietly, “Anger, even on his behalf, will not help him now, nor can you urge him to take ship.  He will not.”  Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, but Arwen’s fingers on his lips stopped him short.

     “No, love, you know him.  He counts you as his brother…closer even than that.  You are his best friend.  He will not leave you.  Did you not tell me of his vow at the end of the War?”  Aragorn shook his head yes.

     “Then he will stay.  His word is his bond.  Urging him to go will only add to his pain.”

     “What about his people?  At Ithilien?  Can they not do something?” he asked, a brief hope lighting his eyes.

     Arwen shook her head, her expression doubtful.  “The elves do not understand  illness, Aragorn.  Injury, yes.  Grief, and the fading caused by it, yes.  They watch their prince suffer weakness and pain caused by some “thing” they cannot see or hear, and all because of his love for Ennor and his mortal friends.  From Aravir’s tone, it sounds as if everyone has probably grown uncomfortable with the whole situation.  He certainly sounds like he has.”

     “What?” Aragorn stood, concern for his friend driving him to his feet.  “What do you mean?  They have cast him out?”

     Arwen stood also, her hands grasping her husband’s shoulders.  She shook him slightly.  “No, Aragorn, not cast him out, just…they do not understand.  It sets him apart…makes him different…alone.  That is why you must go to him.” 

     She paused, and then spoke again softly, almost to herself.  “And now this business with Arod is an added burden for him.”

     Deep blue eyes studied him closely.  “You are familiar with the elven way of training their horses?”

     Aragorn nodded, distracted by her sudden change of subject.  “Of course,” he said.  “I grew up with it.”

     “Legolas and Arod have developed a particularly strong mutual affection, Aragorn.  Arod came to him already grown, and…how can I explain?”  She chewed on her bottom lip, searching for the words.

     “Arod had not been taught or trained to our ways; the language of leg, and weight, and thought.  When they came to each other, Legolas never tried to impose his will upon Arod.  He asked…and Arod gave, willingly.  It forged a very special bond between them, Aragorn.”

     Aragorn’s eyes lit with sudden understanding.  “When the Rohirrim first brought Arod to Legolas, his rider had just been killed by orcs.  He was almost uncontrollable, but Legolas seemed to calm him immediately, and Arod accepted him on his back right away.  The men were very impressed…so was I.”

     “So you see how quickly and strongly they came to rely upon one another,” she added.  “What Legolas might succeed in hiding from us, he cannot hide from Arod.  Such is the elvish way with their horses.  Aravir himself points to that fact in his letter.  I am sure that there ARE times when Arod is the only one Legolas feels he can go to.”

     Aragorn looked appalled.  “But…but, he is a horse!” he sputtered.

     Arwen looked at him impatiently.  “Really, husband, after all your childhood, youth, and most of your adult life spent with elves…your best friend is one, for goodness’ sake…one would think you would have learned to think less like such a…a…human!”

     “Your pardon, my lady!”  He grabbed her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing her knuckles gallantly in apology, a warm smile in his clear gray eyes.

     Arwen narrowed her eyes, giving him her “you will not get away with that so easily” look.

     “You are incorrigible, hir nin,” she replied, a small, knowing smile gracing her own beautiful lips and lighting her eyes to sapphire.

      Aragorn smiled in return.  “I know.”

     Husband and wife sobered then, regarding each other quietly, and Aragorn wrapped his arms around Arwen, holding her close and resting his chin on the top of her head.  “You mean, then, he has no one?”

     “Except perhaps for Aravir, yes, that is precisely what I mean,” Arwen answered.  “Aravir seems concerned enough.  I know he came to Ithilien at Thranduil’s request to serve as the watch commander for Legolas, but they hardly knew each other then.  Still, it is quite possible that a friendship has developed between them.  Legolas has always spoken highly of him.”

     Placing her arms around Aragorn’s neck, she leaned back and looked at him.  “But he is not you, Estel, or Gimli, for that matter.  Legolas will need his close friends with him, whether he knows it or not, if he is going to lose Arod.  I certainly do not look for him to admit that, though, do you?”

     Aragorn shook his head ruefully.  “No, he has not exactly contacted me about Arod’s injury.  And forbidding Eomer to contact me – he will owe an explanation for that!   Six months!  Do you know, love, that elf once had the gall to ask me if I had not learned of the stubbornness of dwarves!”

     They both laughed at that, and Arwen kissed her husband’s cheek and stepped back.  “Get your things together.  I will inform Jarrod of your need to leave.  He will provide a suitable escort.”

     “What about Minas Tirith?  Gondor?” Aragorn asked, already looking longingly toward his wardrobe.

     She laughed.  “I am not totally inept, guren nin.  I can manage things for a time, and you can stop at Ithilien and let Faramir know of the need we have for him here.  Eowyn and Aravir can handle the colony and Ithilien in his absence.”  She shoved him lightly towards the closet.  “Now hurry.”

     He went willingly and began pulling out his Ranger clothing.  At her raised eyebrows, he said simply, “I go as Strider this time, not Elessar.”

~~~~~*~~~~~

     Four days later, Strider cursed vividly.  Too long…too long.  Ever since he had left Minas Tirith, the urgency he felt had increased.  He needed to get to Legolas, and soon.

     The strong, competent warrior who rode at his left looked at his King with dancing brown eyes, and said, “Patience, my lord…er…Strider.”  Jarrod still had trouble calling the King of Gondor by such a common, rough name.  “We will reach Edoras by nightfall.”

     Aravir, a tall Silvan elf with raven black hair, and Legolas’ watch commander, had also joined them as one of the King’s escorts at Ithilien.  His forest green eyes met Jarrod’s, and he shrugged.  The three had ridden hard for the past days, and Strider’s patience had evaporated along with the miles.

     Finally, as the sun slipped behind the mountains, and dusk crept silently across the wide plain, they rode through the gates of Edoras, and began the climb to the great hall of Meduseld.  Strider shivered slightly in the cool night air, and pulled the hood of his cloak up.  He would be glad of a hot meal, a warm bath, and comfortable bed this night.  Summer waned, and autumn beckoned, the nights becoming steadily cooler, and he had not lived as a Ranger for too many years.

     I grow as soft as that big feather bed I sleep in. 

     He frowned with disgust, and purposed to remedy some of that weakness on this trip.  A lanky, sleepy-eyed youth took their horses at the stables, and the three climbed the stairs to be met at the entrance by the King’s door warden. 

     “You may not enter so armed and unannounced,” the guard stated, blocking their path.

     Strider stepped closer to the man and said in a low voice, “Hallas, tell your King I am here.”

     Hallas looked closely at the hooded man standing before him, and gulped as recognition dawned.  “King Elessar!  Sire…forgive me!”

     Strider leaned forward once more and whispered in the young man’s ear, “Go!”

     He went.  The three laughed softly, and followed Hallas through the large wooden doors into the main hall.  As they passed down the long corridor to the family apartments, Jarrod spoke quietly to Strider.  “You know that young guard, don’t you?”

     Strider nodded and explained, his voice low, “We met during the War, on the eve of the battle at Helm’s Deep.  He must have been all of thirteen at the time…frightened to death…like so many other young boys pressed into fighting that night.  Later, when I realized he had survived the War, I mentioned to Eomer he might find a young man such as Hallas useful in the King’s guard.  He was made a squire to one of the older soldiers, and as you see now, the door warden.  I am very proud of the man and warrior he has become.”

     He looked at Jarrod, eyes sparkling with laughter.  “Still, one would think he would have recognized Strider!”

     “Perhaps he has become more accustomed to the sight of the King now,” Aravir suggested.

     Strider shook his head and sighed.  “Now that is a depressing thought!”  The three smiled at one another as Hallas announced their arrival to Eomer.

~~~~~*~~~~~

     Eomer greeted his guests exuberantly, and Lothiriel with a glad smile and a promise of a hot meal at once.  Strider was quick to recognize the relief on her face as she left the room in a flurry to get their food.  He looked at Eomer, and found the same relieved expression filling his dark eyes, too.

     Holding his questions for later, they demolished bowls of the thick hearty stew, several loaves of warm bread, and finished off with tall tankards of ale.  Strider heaved a huge sigh of contentment, and glanced at Lothiriel gratefully. 

     “You have my undying gratitude, my lady,” he said, “I do believe I might survive now!”

     She laughed, replying, “I would not want to have to explain your demise to your Queen, my lord.”

     The group spent a relaxed time exchanging gossip and news from both realms, and Lothiriel finally excused herself to retire.  The men and elf arose and wished her a peaceful night, with a promise to eat every bite of the meal she placed before them in the morning.  She left laughing, and saying the cooks would do their best to accommodate them.

     They settled back into the comfortable chairs, and Eomer considered the dark haired man sitting beside him.

     “So…Strider has come,” he murmured.  “You have heard?”  His gaze took in the other two in the room.

     All nodded, and Aragorn replied, “Yes, and you see before you not the king but the friend, Eomer.  I did not think he would welcome Elessar, so I came as Strider.  Perhaps he will accept my help that way…that is, if he accepts my help at all.  I am afraid that possibility is open for debate.”

     Eomer chuckled ruefully.  “You know him well.  By the way, in case you cannot tell, I am very pleased to see you!  The ways and moods of elves can by wearying, my lord!”  The gazes of the two men locked, and they exchanged a long understanding look.

     After some further exchanges, Jarrod and Aravir stood and excused themselves for the evening.  Strider called as they left to find their rooms, “Thank you both.  Be ready tomorrow to help me hold the Prince down until he listens to reason!”

     Jarrod grinned, and Aravir gave him a startled, slightly scandalized look, until the man jabbed him in the ribs and whispered, “He is joking!”

     Aragorn called back, “I am not!”  The two left the room laughing and discussing the next day’s plans.

     Aragorn sank back into the chair, and looked over at Eomer’s solemn face.

     “I fear for him, Strider,” the younger man said softly.

     “Aravir had the same uneasy reaction to all this and contacted me.  Aravir made mention of some sort of promise Legolas extracted from you, but I thought I would ask anyway…why did you not let me know yourself?” Strider waited, examining the discomfited look on Eomer’s face.

     Eomer shook his head.  “The elf is very sly…before I realized it, he had me promising I would tell no one about what was happening here.  I did not want to anger him, Aragorn.  I feared he would leave, so I kept his confidence.  He said he did not wish to trouble you or Gimli or the colony at Ithilien.  He said he would inform ‘those who need to know what is keeping me here’.”  Eomer’s voice assumed a rather lofty, arrogant accent and tone as he quoted Legolas’ words.

     Strider snorted.  “He plays the role of a royal well, does he not, Eomer?  I can just hear him!  Well, let him beware!  I am here now and there will be no more of this “suffering in silence all alone” business.  Where is he?  In the stables?”

     “Oh, not now, Aragorn.  Arod spent almost a month in a stall, the injured leg splinted.  Between Elfwine and myself, we kept Legolas out of the stable as much as possible after that first week.  Elves are strange creatures, Strider,” Eomer said thoughtfully. 

     He sighed in exasperation. “Take them away from the earth and trees and they wilt, almost like flowers.” 

     Strider’s eyes lit with such an expression of laughter that Eomer became instantly alarmed.  “Do not tell him I said that,” he begged.

     At Strider’s chuckle and murmured, “I would not dream of it!” the King continued.  “My son took care of the elf’s need to be outside.  He appointed himself keeper of the elf’s free time!”  Both men chuckled then, and Eomer proceeded to explain.

     “The muscle was not torn completely, you see, and Ranalf wanted the leg splinted and Arod as quiet as possible for that first month.  Then, he let Arod spend the next month in a small enclosure near the stables as he and Legolas worked exercising the leg and trying other different treatments.   Four months ago, Legolas removed the horse and himself from Edoras to an encampment about thirty miles east of here, on the northern bank of the Snowbourn.  It has trees, I might add!  I send supplies weekly, and Elfwine and I visit them regularly.  They spent the summer there, and Arod has healed well.  I predict in a week or so he will be fit to return to the herds.”

     “So…Legolas is giving him up,” Strider murmured.

     Eomer nodded.  “Yes, and not easily either.  That is what I meant earlier when I said that I fear for him.”

     “Arod will not be easy to replace,” Strider observed.

     Eomer agreed.  “No.  In fact, it is my opinion that Legolas would rather go on foot than choose another horse!  I have made the offer, though.”

     Strider arched an eyebrow at Eomer.  “Have you now?  What horse?”

     “Any one he likes, and right now, he does not like any.  I think he is planning to take Arod north to the Westfold or perhaps the West Emnet.  Arod was birthed in that area, and Legolas wishes to return him to a familiar place.”

   Eomer clasped Strider’s shoulder.  “Come, it is late.  I will take you to your room.”  The two men stood and walked slowly from the room and up the stairs to the sleeping quarters.  Pausing outside Strider’s door, Eomer looked at the shadows of fatigue under the gray eyes.

     “Rest now,” he ordered.  “Tomorrow I will take you and your companions to his camp.  You can see for yourself how it is with him.”

     Strider smiled gratefully, and then asked, “How does he seem to you, Eomer?  Aside from the worry and sorrow about Arod?”

     The King of Rohan sighed.  “I am glad you asked.  I was not sure how to approach this subject with you.  Lothiriel and I have been watching him closely, Aragorn.  He hides much, my friend.  There are times when I seem to see a dark, fearful pain in his eyes.  During those times, he alternates between fits of anger and despair.  Then, he becomes quiet, very much wishing to be left alone.  It is not like him at all.”

     “How often has that happened?” Strider asked.

     “Only twice, and it seemed to pass in a day or two.  Since he left here, I have no idea if it has happened again, or how often.”

     Strider shook his head, and turned to enter his room.  He paused, looking back at the golden-haired man watching him.  “Thank you, Eomer…for watching after him.  Will you help me talk him into choosing a new horse?”

     Eomer laughed.  “I would sooner try to teach a warg to dance, Strider!  But, I WILL stand by you and offer you support and suggestions!” he said helpfully.

     “Well, in dealing with stubborn elves, I have found that binding them to a tree and singing to them can usually bring them around to my way of thinking!”  Strider gave Eomer an evil grin.  “He will never know what happened!”

     The two kings snickered like schoolboys over their plot of the elf’s impending doom, and wished each other a restful night.

     The following morning, after consuming a massive quantity of food to break their fasts (Lothiriel was heard to moan that the rest of the household would starve!), Eomer, Strider, Aravir and Jarrod were sitting at the table planning the trip to Legolas’ camp, when Hallas entered through the large doors of the hall leading a new visitor.

     From the far end of the huge room, a deep, booming voice could be heard saying, “Take me to them, boy…no, I will not leave my axes at your door…you are welcome to take them if you would care to try, you young sprout!”

     Four pairs of bemused eyes met over the table, and with one voice, they exclaimed, “Gimli!”

Translations:

mae govannen - well met

aran brannon - lord king

hannon lle - thank you

a'maelamin - beloved

meleth nin - my love

hir nin - my lord

guren nin - my heart

Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.  I am simply borrowing them for a while.  I receive no profit from this story except for the joy I gained in writing it.

Acknowledgments:  Teanna, for allowing me to reference her story THE ELVISH WAY WITH ALL GOOD BEASTS.  Also, towards the end of the chapter when Legolas is relating the story of the Valar to Gimli and Strider, I have made some direct references to THE SILMARILLION, specifically the “Ainulindale” and the “Valaquenta” (not Tolkien’s words exactly, but certainly his thoughts!)

Chapter 4:  What Price Friendship?

     The last hour before sunrise lay upon the land in shades of deepest black fading to palest gray and silver shadow.  The world rested quietly, the only sound  to be heard the soft rushing sigh of the river winding its way across the plain, and an occasional comment from the small animals living on the riverbank.  Ithil hung low in the sky, but still cast its silver light, as the stars vanished one by one.  Only a particularly bright one remained, hovering above the highest peak of the neighboring mountains: the Mariner making his way home at the end of the long night.

     Gradually, the sky lightened from ebony darkness to deepest indigo.  Brighter and brighter it grew until suddenly, the fiery edge of Anor leaped above the mountains and sent its light cascading like liquid water down the rocky slopes and racing across the plains.

     Within minutes, the wide expanse of grassland known as Rohan bathed in the new dawn and a brisk, cool breeze sprang up, ruffling the tall grass and kicking up the waters of the Snowbourn.

     In a stand of trees near the northern bank of the river, the early morning light illuminated the form of a tall, silver gray horse standing motionless near a small tent.  A closer look would show an established camp, neat and orderly, with a large stack of wood for the fire and a covered cache of supplies. 

     The horse raised his head at the advent of the new day, and then bent again to nudge the motionless form laying at his feet…a motionless form that did not move at his prodding…which had not moved at all for two days.

    Arod snorted softly and nudged the elf’s shoulder again.  Nothing.  He shook his mane and lifted his head once more, keeping watch on the surrounding area.  Thus it had been for the two days and two nights since the morning Legolas had stopped abruptly on his way from the tent, shaking as if from a fierce chill and then falling to his knees.  Bent double, head almost touching the ground, his face concealed by his long golden hair, he had stayed frozen in that position for a few minutes, with arms wrapped around his middle in a seeming effort to protect himself from some unseen attack.

     Suddenly, he had thrown his head back, his normally bright eyes a dull gray, and in a panicked voice gasped, “Arod…”

     Arod, who had been drinking from the river’s edge, had raised his dripping muzzle at the first sound of Legolas hitting the ground, and by the time the strangled “Arod…” had reached his ears, he was moving quickly to his friend’s side.

     Lowering his head to the stricken elf, he had been just in time for Legolas to raise one hand to his nose, and gasp, “Arod…please…” Elven strength had failed then, as his friend fell forward face down on the ground.

     No amount of pushing or prodding, neighing or pulling of elf braids had roused him, so Arod had planted himself beside his friend and not moved, save to get water from the nearby river or graze on the grass growing a few yards from Legolas’ still figure.  There he had remained, alert to any sound or movement that might threaten the silent, motionless elf lying at his feet.

     A few hours had passed from the elf’s last spoken word when Legolas startled the horse by suddenly turning on his side.  He lay there with his knees drawn up and his hands almost tucked under his chin.  To the horse, he had seemed less stiff, more relaxed, and looking at the half-closed eyes Arod could almost believe he was asleep.  However, something FELT wrong, and as the hours had stretched into night, he became sure of it.

     Now, two days later, just as abruptly as he had fallen, Legolas awakened.  Arod watched as he drew a deep breath and turned over on his back.  He stretched slightly and made a soft, melodic humming sound.  Arod’s ears pointed forward, and he lowered his head again, nuzzling the elf’s ear and neck, blowing softly.

     The blue-gray eyes opened fully now, no longer dull, but still slightly unfocused.

     Arod?  What…?

     Legolas lay gazing up at the branches overhead, trying to sort out his thoughts, when memory abruptly returned.  His eyes snapped shut and he gave a great groan of anguish as fragments of the dream tore at his heart and mind.

     “No…” he moaned, moving his head back and forth in denial, “Ai, Elbereth…no…not again!”

     He struggled to sit up, and drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around them.  Burying his face, he rocked back and forth, his breath coming in short gasps.   Arod observed all this and shifted anxiously.  Something was still terribly wrong!  Legolas’ mind was reaching out to him, but he could not…He shook his head furiously.  The elf’s thoughts were a roiling, seething mass of anguish, against which he seemed helpless.

     Legolas struggled to his knees, still bent double, soft protesting cries torn from him now.   He leaned forward until his forehead touched the ground, burying his face in the grass, strong fingers gouging out chunks as he struggled to control the emotions shaking him apart.  Never had a battle been harder fought, or a defeat more bitterly acknowledged. 

     Arod bent close to touch his stricken friend, to offer any sort of comfort he could, but Legolas was lost in his grief, and the horse was helpless to do anything but stand guard again and wait for the torment to pass.  And pass it did, finally.

     Once again, all was quiet.  Legolas stretched out face down in the grass, Arod standing protectively over him.  The elf breathed the sweet smell of new grass and the good, clean scent of damp earth.  Not for the first time, he heartily hated the desperate longing the sea had awakened in him.  These smells he could appreciate and still enjoy, but over this past year, he had come to understand that the JOY in them, which had blessed him throughout his long life, had disappeared.

     He had enjoyed his trip home to Lasgalen, he cherished the time spent with his Adar, he even found a great deal of personal satisfaction in repairing the damaged forests of Ithilien, but the inherent JOY that had formed the bedrock of his spirit and nature was gone, driven out by this never-ending longing for the Undying Lands.  How terribly, prophetically true the Lady’s warning to him had proven to be!

     And there was no relief in sight, for Legolas, who valued his honor and integrity greatly, and who loved so completely, would not even consider the cure for that longing until his pledges had been fulfilled. 

     He lay there, trying to compose himself.  That was another thing he hated about these more recent, virulent attacks.  They completely stripped him of control and dignity, and to Legolas, that humiliation was almost as unbearable as the sea-longing itself.

     He lifted a dirt-streaked, tear-stained face and looked up at Arod.  The horse lowered his head again in silent invitation, and Legolas grabbed a handful of mane and pulled himself to his feet.  He felt appallingly weak, still shaking slightly from the emotional storm.  He tried to order his scattered thoughts, but lacked the strength to even begin that task.  And he was so cold!

     Shivering, he stepped close to Arod’s strong, warm body, draped his arms around the horse’s neck and buried his face in the dark silver gray mane.  Arod stretched his neck back, enveloping the shaking, bereft form of his friend and stood very still.  Legolas felt welcome heat sinking into his chilled body, and at last, he calmed, wrapped closely in horse warmth and love.

     Arod?

     That was very bad.   And long.  What hurts you so?  Tell me, so I might protect you better next time.

     The big horse rubbed his face against the elf’s shoulder and back as Legolas leaned tiredly against the strong neck.

     It is nothing anyone can help me with, mellon nin.  Somehow, I must learn to fight it myself.

     Aloud, he whispered, “The attacks are getting stronger, and lasting longer.  This was, by far, the worst!”

     It must be a terrible nightmare you suffer!

     The horse sighed with pleasure as Legolas reached up to stroke his nose, then scratch the sensitive place on the broad forehead.

     No, my friend, it is a more beautiful vision of which I can hardly bear to speak!  Fresh tears filled his eyes.

     Arod snorted in alarm.  Then do not speak of it.  Come, you are weary and dirty and hungry!  He began to walk, leading the elf towards the river.

     The dappled white horse stood by and watched closely as Legolas knelt, bathed his face and washed his hands.  Then he cupped his hands and drank deeply of the cold, clear water.  Somewhat refreshed, he stood and turned, eyeing the newly risen sun.  Placing an arm over the horse’s neck again, he allowed himself to be led slowly back to the tent.

     I will bathe later when it is warmer.  Arod…how long?

     The sun has made its journey across the sky twice.  This begins the third time.  Legolas shook his head in dismay.

     And you watched over me?

     The horse turned his head and looked at the elf.  As you have done for me, so I do for you gladly.  Sometimes your thinking is…

     “All right, all right!”  Legolas chuckled shakily.  “My apologies…of course you would care for me!”

     The pair made their careful way to the tent where Legolas went inside and retrieved fresh clothing and linens, a comb and soft soap.  Laying those items by the long-dead fire, he went to the supplies, fetching a loaf of excellent bread sent weekly from Edoras, some dried meat, and several pieces of fruit.  He walked over and stood, looking down at the cold ashes of the fire.  He was so tired!

     Arod nudged him from his exhausted reverie.  Sit!  Eat!  Think later!

     Legolas laughed weakly, and sank to the ground.  He slowly ate part of the bread and meat, and fed one of the apples to Arod, eating another himself.  Licking the sweet sticky juice from his fingers, he set the rest of the food aside for later and stood up slowly.  Feeling marginally stronger, he said,  “Come, Arod.”

     Taking up the clean clothing and grabbing Arod’s mane again, he walked slowly back to the river’s edge.  Stripping quickly, he stepped into the cold water and washed the grime and some of the weariness away.  He loosened his bright golden hair from its confining braids, and scrubbed it as well.

     Climbing out of the water, he slowly dried off and dressed.  He towel dried his hair and ran the comb through it to remove the tangles.  Leaving it unbraided, he tipped his face up to the sun, letting the warm rays soak into his tired body and battered soul.

     Better?  Arod snuffled his new clothing, bobbing his head in apparent approval.

     “Much better, my friend.  It is good to be clean!”  Legolas smiled as Arod snorted.

     Unlike that friend of yours, who seems to draw dirt to him and then keep it!

     The elf’s smiled faded as, closing his eyes, he pictured one very grimy Ranger.  He found himself wishing that Aragorn was with him, if for no other reason than the support his friend always provided.

     Ai, Arod!  I wish he were here!

     Feeling the sting of tears once more, he gritted his teeth and fought the emotion grimly, muttering angrily,  “I hate this lingering weakness!  I am not some sniveling elfling!”

     It will pass once you have rested.  And perhaps your friend will come, too.

     Legolas nodded.  “Perhaps.  But I do not think so.”

     He once again allowed the horse to lead him back to the camp.  There, he clumsily built a fire, spread a blanket before it, and sat looking into the flames.  Arod stood patiently by, and could feel the exhaustion slowly staking its claim on his fair friend.

     Finally, the elf relented.  Just a short rest, my friend.

     I will be right here.  Sleep now.

     Legolas yawned and stretched out before the fire, wrapping himself in the blanket.  He sighed as he felt Arod’s reassuring presence close by, and permitted the warmth of the fire and familiar elven dreams to take him.

~~~~~*~~~~~

     The sun had passed its zenith, and was several hours into its journey towards night when Arod heard the approaching riders.  Many minutes before they arrived, he was able to identify several by scent.  Eomer he had known most of his life, and the two-legged colt that belonged to him always carried carrots in his pocket.  Ranalf of the soft voice and gentle hands he also knew.  He tossed his head as he caught the scent of his master’s friend and the small, gruff voiced one he sometimes carried and whom Legolas also loved.  There seemed to be another of elven descent with them; one, he thought, who lived in the forests Legolas now called home. 

     Now they will help him!  He did not attempt to awaken Legolas, who still slept deeply, his almost completely closed eyes a testament to his weakened state. 

     Instead, he stepped in front of the slumbering form of his friend and waited to intercept these new arrivals.  He knew the rowdy affection sometimes exhibited by these humans and the dwarf.  Friends or not, he would not allow any rough handling of Legolas, even if it did stem from loving hearts.

     The large mounted group crossed the Snowbourn upstream and came trotting into the camp, laughing and calling for Legolas to come out.  It was indeed a raucous bunch.  Along with those he had recognized were several he did not, and as they approached, his ears went back slightly and he raised his head high, snorting and pawing the ground in warning.

     The riders had dismounted and started towards the tent when Aravir’s keen eyes found the still form of his lord on the ground and noted Arod’s behavior.

     “Wait, Strider!”

     His voice and strong hand on Strider’s arm halted the King’s forward movement.  Indeed, the whole group stopped and fell silent at the elf’s command. 

     “Look at Arod!  Something is wrong!”  All eyes fastened on the agitated horse standing between them and the figure lying on the ground, a figure they now recognized.

     Strider sucked in a breath.  “Legolas…” His eyes flew to the horse, who watched them closely, and his hand grasped Gimli’s shoulder, just as the dwarf started to barge past him.

     “Why are you stopping me, Strider?  Look!  Something is wrong with the elf!”  He struggled against the man’s strong grip.  “Let me go to him!”

     “Wait, Gimli,” Strider cautioned in a low, urgent voice.  “We must deal with Arod first, and I would rather not force the issue and perhaps hurt him.  Look at him, Gimli.  He knows us, but he seems uneasy about letting us near.  Look how he guards Legolas.”

     Gimli subsided, and watched Strider walk slowly towards the restive horse, his arm outstretched, palm up.

     “Sedho, Arod.  Shhhh…It is I, Strider…remember?  Sedho…let me go to him.  Saes, Arod…” Strider’s low voice broke.  He carefully touched the horse’s head, all the while softly speaking in elvish, until Arod pushed his nose into the man’s hand, then stepped back to let him pass. 

     When the others started forward, however, he snorted and half-reared, indicating clearly they could not move just yet.  Once more Aravir halted everyone.  “Stay here.  We will wait for the King to give us leave to approach.”

     “He needs help, Aravir,” Gimli growled fiercely, his fear growing.

     “Yes, my lord Gimli, I know.  Let the King see to him first.  I believe the large number of our group alarms Arod right now,” the elf explained, never taking his eyes from Arod, listening closely and recognizing the horse’s protective concern for his friend.

     Strider knelt quickly by the still form of his closest friend, his breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding with fear.

     He lifted the blanket, looking for blood or any kind of wound, and found none.  A quick examination for broken bones revealed nothing.  He smoothed the blond hair back…no head wound.

     Legolas appeared to be asleep.  Strider frowned.  He slipped an arm beneath Legolas’ shoulders and lifted, cradling him carefully.  With his other hand, he shook the elf’s shoulder a bit. 

     “Legolas, wake up.”

     Legolas drew a deeper breath and wrinkled his forehead a little.  Strider smiled slightly in relief.  Still, what was causing this deep sleep?  He shook Legolas again gently.

     “Legolas!  Come, gwador nin, wake up!  Gimli is threatening to cut off your hair if you insist on slumbering his visit away!”

     Legolas’ eyes shot open and looked up into the relieved, smiling gray eyes he had most wanted to see.

     “Estel?” he whispered.

     “Yes, I am here.  Come, my friend, call off your ferocious guardian, so the others may relieve their minds about your well being,” he urged, helping Legolas to sit up.

     “What?  Guardian?  Who is my guard…oh, Arod.”  The puzzled, confused look faded, leaving behind a rather embarrassed elf.  He called to the horse, who turned and came to him immediately.

     Strider helped Legolas to stand, and Arod pushed his nose into the elf’s chest.

     You see?  He came.

     Legolas framed the great horse’s face with his hands and rested his forehead against Arod’s.

     “Hannon lle, Arod nin,” he whispered.

     Strider, watching the two, understood in that moment just what Legolas faced in the coming days, and his heart broke for his friend.

     Arod lifted his head, nuzzling Legolas’ neck and face lovingly, and snorted as he stepped aside.

     Greet the others now, before the small, loud one does someone harm.

     Legolas laughed, the musical sound carrying to the others and gladdening every heart that heard it.  Strider motioned them forward, and they came, their relieved voices washing over the heart sore elf like a warm, welcome rain.

     He greeted each one, very aware of Gimli’s stern gaze studying him closely.  Finally, he turned to the dwarf, a smile lighting his eyes and curving his lips as Gimli gruffly challenged him.

     “Well, Master Elf?”  Gimli demanded in a low, harsh voice.

      But Legolas knew this dwarf well, and the keen eyes and ears of friendship saw the worry in Gimli’s eyes, and heard the fear hidden in the harsh question.  Legolas laid a comforting hand on Gimli’s shoulder.

     “Peace, Gimli,” he said quietly.  “I am all right now.  We will talk later.”

     The dwarf glared at him.  “Your word on that?”

     “My word,” Legolas promised, including Strider in this vow.

     Both of his friends nodded, and the newly arrived members of the group proceeded to enlarge and prepare the camp for the evening, unpacking supplies and building several new fires.  Bedrolls and pallets were set up for those who would sleep under the stars, and bright tents befitting kings quickly erected for Eomer and Strider, much to their mutual disgust.

     Soon attention shifted to the task of putting together an evening meal from supplies in Legolas’ cache, and the fresh ones brought from Edoras.  The tempting smells of roasting meat and vegetables baking in the coals of the fires presently wafted throughout the camp, drawing all to come and gather before the welcoming flames to eat.  Flagons of ale were poured, and laughter flowed as the hungry company consumed the meal.

     The sun had set in a blaze of riotous colors and the first stars had made their appearance by the time the men left to water their respective mounts and settle them for the night.

     Aravir, after a quick word with Legolas, went to Arod carrying a ration of grain brought from Edoras.  He bowed respectfully to the horse and stepped closer, placing the container within the animal’s reach.  As Arod bent his head to enjoy this rare treat, the elf stood by, quietly stroking the strong silvery white neck.

     Mae govannen, Arod.

     I am pleased to see all of you.  Arod gently nudged Aravir, arching his neck and clearly relishing the elf’s deft touch.

     Was it difficult for you?

     The horse snorted softly, shaking his head.  Before in the forest I saw him after these attacks.  He would come to me and we would ride.  This time was long, and it hurt him.  Perhaps then his friends can help him.

     Perhaps they can.  We will hope it is so.

     Horse and elf stood silently, watching the evening shadows deepen.  Then Aravir led Arod to a small grove of trees a short way from the main camp, and began fashioning an enclosure for him and the rest of the group’s horses.

~~~~~*~~~~~

     The fires had dwindled and the company slept, but for the two set to guard the camp’s perimeter, when the three friends finally met in Strider’s tent for their “discussion”.

     Strider examined Legolas closely as he entered the tent.  He noted the shadows of exhaustion still darkening the shuttered, troubled eyes.  Legolas returned the King’s look impassively, and turned to watch as Gimli seated himself on the cushioned ground beside Strider, wishing he was back in Lasgalen…or Ithilien…or anywhere but here.  He settled across from Gimli, crossing his legs and staring into the fire burning merrily in the brazier, waiting.  He did not have to wait long.

     “Well?  What happened?” Gimli barked impatiently.  “And I must warn you, my friend, my patience with the vague answers and riddles of elves has worn out!” 

     Legolas stiffened slightly at the dwarf’s words, his face assuming the aloof, regal expression that Gimli hated.

     Blasted princely airs!  There will be no talking to him now!

     Strider, watching the exchange, sighed soundlessly.  That was gently phrased.  If I thought he would forgive me, I would gag that dwarf!

     Looking at Legolas anxiously, he frowned.   Arwen had warned him at his departure from Minas Tirith that Legolas would probably be difficult about this matter. 

     “He is not you, Aragorn,” she had said.  “He is an elf, and elves do not accept help or sympathy readily, nor will they ask for it.  You know that.  You call it pride, when actually it is his way of thinking…and best friend of a human or not, my love, he IS an elf first.”

     Strider considered those words again thoughtfully.  She was right, as usual.  How often during their long friendship had he forgotten how different Legolas was?  Too often, apparently.

     As much as I hate to admit it, his mind is foreign to me sometimes.  He grimaced slightly.  Ah well, I have nowhere to go now but forward.

     He took a deep breath and plunged in.  “Legolas,” he said, “Tiro na nin.  Please, my friend, look at me.”  The deep, young-old eyes of his friend met his reluctantly.  “You must speak of this to us…explain what happened and let us…”

     Legolas leaped to his feet in one fluid motion, his agitation a painful thing to see.  He paced away from the two, and for a moment, they thought he meant to leave them.  He stopped near the entrance, however, his fists clenched at his sides, eyes staring blindly at the floor.

     When he turned back to them and spoke, his voice was so low they strained to hear him.  “Let you do…what?  I will speak of this matter only once, Estel…here and now.  After this night, you will NOT tax me further with questions about it or offers of help.”

     His eyes, cool gray and remote, locked with those of his friends.  “And please understand…there is NOTHING you can do to help me.  Right now, all I require is that you attempt to understand.  Sympathy or concern will do me no good, although I appreciate the hearts behind it, and having you here helps tremendously, BUT…” He raised a hand to silence Gimli, who had opened his mouth to speak.  The dwarf subsided into grudging silence.

     “…but…” he continued, groping for the words, “these questions constantly keep the memories fresh and I…”  His voice faltered. “…I…just cannot keep doing that…so I beg of you…after tonight…no more.  Please…Gimli…Estel…” He turned away, visibly fighting for control.

     Strider was on his feet in an instant, crossing the tent to Legolas and laying his hand on the elf’s shoulder.  Gimli followed, his face stiff with concern and self-reproach.  He had not meant to cause the elf further upset, but it seemed he had.

     The three stood there for a long, silent moment.  The presence of the man and dwarf proved reassuring, but the two long days spent in thrall to the sea’s voice had sapped Legolas’ strength, making his composure tenuous, at best. 

     He swallowed hard and whispered, “Ai, Estel…Gimli…I am drowning, and I know not how to stop it!”

     “Aye, lad, I would wager we have all felt that way one time or another,” Gimli responded gruffly, “but we are here for you, and I have found sometimes that a shared burden will lighten the load, even if only a little.  And sometimes, that ‘little’ might just be enough to help you through the rough time.”

     Legolas looked down at the dwarf, his tear-bright eyes surprised.  “You, Master Dwarf?  Share a problem?”

     Gimli snorted, his face becoming slightly more ruddy with remembered embarrassment.  “Well, what would you call helping me survive the Paths of the Dead?  I would not have made it if not for you…and that confounded horse!”

     Even Strider looked at him now in perplexed surprise.  Legolas shook his head in confusion.  “Well, it is true I was aware of your…er…problem within the cave of the Dead, but I do not recall speaking to you of it, nor you to me…”

     Gimli interrupted, “No, lad, you did not speak of it, and for that, I thank you.  As for me, I could not speak at all.”

     The elf and man exchanged small smiles, and the dwarf glared at them before pointing out,  “But you spared me the humiliation when you talked that horse of yours through it.  And you were always loud enough so I could hear your words of reassurance; though they were mostly in elvish, I still took comfort from the tone of your voice.  Somehow, I do not think that was entirely by accident.”

     “Oh,” Legolas said, his fair face awash with stunned comprehension.

     “Yes, oh,” the dwarf answered.  “Now, I know you have helped Strider when his burden of gaining the crown weighed heavily on him.  I think you can let us help you, at least this once.  We want to give you the understanding you say you require of us, but you must share with us what troubles you a little, is that not so?

     Legolas sighed, “It does seem only fair.”

     Strider smiled at Gimli.  On second thought, no gag!

     He turned Legolas back towards the cushioned seats and led him to sit.

     “Come, mellon nin, sit down and have some wine,” he coaxed.  “We will not speak of it yet…not until you have calmed some.  Tell us of Arod’s injury and your treatment.  He seems almost fully recovered now.”

     Legolas sat down between them, and wine was shared among the three, to the grumbling complaints of the dwarf, who thought a good stout ale would have proven more restorative for all.  Legolas spoke at length of his past months with Arod, and the effectiveness of the treatments on the injured leg.  Strider questioned him extensively, watching the panic fade from his friend’s eyes and his stiff posture gradually relax as the warmth of the fire, along with fine wine and good friends worked its magic.

     Finally, Legolas took a shaky breath.  “He is ready to return to the herds.  I will speak with Eomer tomorrow about taking him to the Westfold to release him.” 

     Strider replied,  “We will all accompany you on this journey.  It will take you up near the Gap of Rohan, will it not?” 

     Legolas nodded, regarding his friend with dismay.  He was not sure he wanted witnesses to this last trip with Arod.

     Strider gazed back steadily, and said, “That is only a journey of a few days, and I would be glad to see that region again.  Eomer says it has much recovered from Saruman’s treachery.  Besides, you will be going on a search, will you not?”

     Legolas looked at him oddly.  “A search?  For what?” he asked.

     Strider’s quick glance at Gimli spoke volumes.  “For a new horse,” he answered innocently.

     Legolas just stared at him for a long moment, then looked away.  “I do not know if I will seek a replacement for Arod,” he said distantly.

     Gimli reached over and grasped the elf’s forearm, shaking it impatiently.  “Not a replacement, dolt.  Just a new horse to ride.  One does not replace an Arod.”

     Legolas digested Gimli’s rebuke gravely, and, with the faintest of smiles, agreed,  “No, one does not replace an Arod.  Still, I am not sure…”

     Gimli broke in abrasively, “Master Elf, then we will be sure for you!  I, for one, have heard much of these Rohirrim searches for new horses, and long to see one.  You need a new mount; therefore, we will all go with you.”

     Legolas flashed a lightning grin at that statement, to the delight of his friends.  “You will be complaining of a sore backside before we ever reach the Westfold, Master Dwarf!” he predicted.

     He glanced sidelong at Strider, smirking.  “I am glad I am not the healer who will be charged with treating such an injury!”  Strider broke out laughing, and Gimli shook a fist at Legolas.

     “You pointy-eared excuse for a friend!  Sore backside, indeed!  We will see about that!”  But the smile in his voice was apparent, and neither Legolas nor Strider were fooled by his growling.

     The trio quieted, and Legolas took another deep breath, steeling himself to speak of his recent experience.  “You wanted to know what happened.  I suppose I should ask where you think I should begin.”

     Strider answered, “I know a little about it, mellon nin, but begin where you will.  From the beginning, for Gimli’s sake, if you can.”

     Legolas gave an imperceptible shake of his head, and stared long at the flames of the fire, his fair face thoughtful and still.  Strider and Gimli waited patiently, knowing their friend would speak when he felt able. 

     “Do you know the story of the Great Song sung by the Ainur?” Legolas asked in a low voice.  Gimli shook his head no. 

     “It is called the Ainulindalie,” the elf explained.  “The elves tell of how Iluvatar created the Ainur, His holy ones, by His thought alone, and how they made a great Music before Him.  It is said “in that Music was the World begun.” 

     He closed his eyes, and continued speaking in a soft, dreamy voice.  “Just imagine, Estel…Arda created from the Music of the Ainur and Eru’s thoughts!”  He smiled, and Strider and Gimli could not help but smile, too, at the childlike wonder reflected on the immortal elf’s face.

     Legolas sighed, and his voice took on the cadence and tone of a storyteller reciting a beloved tale.  “The Song was only pure thought at first…and then Iluvatar allowed the Ainur to see their Song.  When the Ainur saw this vision of the world, they loved it, and because of that love, Iluvatar made their vision real.  He allowed those of the Ainur who would to come to this world, and He gave them the task of fulfilling the vision of Arda they had sung.  He said to them, ‘See what your Music has wrought!  This I appoint to each of you – that you find in this vision of the world I have set before you all those things you created in your minds as you sang your part of the Song.’”

     Legolas paused, remembering his Nana and Ada speaking as they taught him the high stories of the Valar.  He could hear in his mind his Nana’s sweet voice saying, “Oh, Greenleaf, what a clever little bird!  Come, say them again for Ada, ion nin.” 

     He smiled as he obediently recited them for Estel and Gimli.  “And the Ainur, whom the elves call the Valar, came to Arda:  Manwe, the dearest of all to Iluvatar and Lord of the Breath of Arda, Varda, the Lady of the Stars, Aule and Yavanna, Ulmo, Mandos and Lorien, Este and Nienna, Tulkas and Orome, Vana, Nessa, and Vaire.” 

     “They each turned their thoughts to one particular thing in their Song.  Manwe loved the air and Yavanna all manner of growing things, but Ulmo, who above all the Valar had received instruction from Iluvatar Himself in music, turned his thoughts to water.  So it was that when the Valar finally saw Arda revealed, of all their music and thoughts had created, they praised water the most highly.”

     Legolas opened his eyes and looked at his friends, the blue-gray depths shining with the starlight gifted by Iluvatar and Varda to all of the Firstborn.  He told them, “It is said that the Firstborn of Iluvatar can still hear the music of the Creator in the voice of the ocean, and that it causes great longing in them, although they know not what they hunger for.” 

     Legolas drew his knees up, wrapping his arms around them and staring again into the fire.  “It lies sleeping in us, until we hear the voice of the sea or the cry of the gull, that single pure note that pierces the heart, and whispers to us of the Song…and our true home.”

     He looked up at Strider, who knelt beside him, watching his face closely as he spoke.  The plea for understanding struck Strider’s heart like the sharpest blade, and he placed a comforting hand on Legolas’ shoulder, not knowing how else to reassure his friend.

     Legolas struggled to explain,  “The sea-longing is like a dream.  When it first happened at Pelargir, it only lasted a few minutes.  Each time over these past twelve years, it has lasted no longer than an hour or so.  I can only describe it as like standing between two worlds.  Here, on Ennor, we see the world through a haze, like looking into a clouded mirror.”

     He paused, searching for the right words to describe the experience.  “But there…the veil is lifted from the eyes.  Colors are so painfully clear, scents so sharp, the air a light, sweet wine you can almost taste and soft, like the finest silk upon the skin.  You can hear the very music of Eldamar…pure and perfect, and ringing chimes of the golden bells of the Valar.  It is so different from Ennor’s song, which seems muddled, even discordant in places.  When you are ripped from that perfect dream and thrust back into the real world, having seen and experienced perfection, the world now holds nothing but pain…and longing.”

     Legolas shuddered, and Strider squeezed his shoulder encouragingly.

     “When the attacks were only minutes long, I could easily put them behind me.  The last few years, they have begun to strengthen in intensity and duration.  Yet still, I was able to cope with them.  I could go to Arod, and we would fly with the wind until the pain lessened to a bearable ache.”

     He lowered his head, resting it on his knees.  The fire’s light gilded his figure, his golden hair almost incandescent in its glow.  Strider looked across at Gimli, his gray eyes damp with emotion, and even the stouthearted dwarf’s dark eyes shimmered with unshed tears. 

     What to say in the presence of such heart-deep grief?  What words to offer in the face of such rending loss?  There were none.

     Legolas continued, his voice soft and hoarse with remembered pain.  “This last time was different.  It came out of nowhere, cleaving through me like an orc blade.  I do not remember going down, and the dream has faded now, but Arod told me I was unconscious for two days!”

     Strider drew a sharp breath, and he placed his arm fully now around the elf’s shoulders, murmuring, “You are not alone, Legolas.  We are here with you.”

     Legolas lifted his face then, and his two friends almost cried aloud at the terrible longing and anguish that now shadowed the once bright eyes.  Where before had shimmered the light of Iluvatar, now only a cloud of uncertainty and grief remained.

     Strider tightened his arm around his friend, and just managed to speak, “Go, Legolas.  It is wrong that you stay and suffer so.  You must go now, my friend.”  Gimli nodded.

     Instead of answering, though, Legolas looked down again, his face obscured by the fall of his hair.  The silence in the tent lengthened, the only noise the creaking of small insects from outside and the occasional popping of the fire.  Suddenly, the elf shook his head and looked up at Strider.  Once more, they encountered the gaze of the strong, determined Prince they knew so well.

     “I have told you several times…both of you…my path lies here, with you,” he told them firmly.  His lips curved ruefully, and the crushing sorrow of the moment fell away.  The blue-gray eyes were still not as bright as they could have been, and the smile did not convey the joy a smile from Legolas normally did, but neither was his expression hopeless any longer.

     He studied their concerned faces for a time.  “I have been thinking…and remembering.  When I was much younger, my father explained the sea-longing to me.  It had already called him, you see,” he looked at Strider, eyes alight with amusement, “but you know my Adar.  He told me it was not his time to leave, even though his heart longed for Aman and Naneth.  He saw he still had a need to be here.  He would not even consider leaving his realm to the tender mercies of Shadow.” 

     Gimli nodded approvingly, while Strider grinned at Legolas.  “Shadow learned, to its detriment, not to challenge the King of the Wood,” he commented, his voice suffused with admiration for the Legolas’ father.  Legolas agreed, his answering smile in complete accord with Strider’s.

     “When I went home last time, we spoke of how he has managed to stay for so long.  He then spoke to me of Cirdan, who he has known for ages.  Cirdan lives by the sea, and Adar said only his great will enables him to stay.  He said Cirdan had once told him, ‘My appointed time is not yet come, and while I may never overcome the sea’s call, I have learned to endure it.’   That is what my Adar has done… learned a way to endure.  He told me every elf’s experience with the call was different.  The easiest thing to do would be to leave…but, a different path can be chosen.  Just remembering those words comfort me now.”

     Legolas gazed at his two friends, his expression hardened now to one of resolve.  “I WILL find a way to deal with this!  I will not let it drive me away…not when I know in my heart that my appointed way lies here on Ennor with you.  Like my father, I will not let the call govern me…at least not completely.  There is a way for me…I just have to discover what it is.”

     Strider and Gimli’s promises to Legolas were just as resolute.  “Anything we can do to help, you know we will do it.  You have only to ask,” Strider stated firmly. 

     “And, Legolas…” The elf looked at him questioningly.  “…you had better ask!” 

     Gimli grumbled, “Too right, Strider!  Mark my words, though, that stiff neck of his will be trouble!”

     Legolas arched one elegant eyebrow at them both, and asked silkily, “Oh?  And I suppose you two have appointed yourselves as my guardians?”

     Both man and dwarf spoke together, “YES!”

     They smiled at each other at the elf’s irritated expression, the relief of dealing with something they could understand evident in their faces.  There would be time enough later to come to terms with his pain.  At this moment, the smile on his face eased some of the cold fear for him in their hearts.

     “I will let you explain to Arod about your promotions!” Legolas warned them.  

     Gimli snorted derisively, “You know nothing, elf.  That horse is SMART…he will be more than grateful for our help with you, and you know it!”  At Legolas’ stunned look, Strider and Gimli collapsed laughing.

     The three friends stayed together that night, talking quietly and drawing comfort and strength from shared memories.  Finally, shortly after midnight, Legolas dozed off.  Gimli had given into sleep earlier, his soft snores rumbling through the tent for an hour already.  Strider looked at the two fondly, and got up, stretching the kinks from cramped legs.  Walking silently to the entrance of the tent, he raised his eyes, studying the ebony sky with its bright crown of stars.

     “Eru,” he whispered, “guide him to peace, if he must stay…please.”

     It seemed a soft breath of air sprung up, rustling the leaves in the trees overhead, touching the tears on his face with gentle fingers, and Strider could almost swear he heard the word “SOON…” whispered on the wind. 

Translations:

Ithil - moon

Anor - sun

mellon nin - my friend

sedho - be still (peace)

saes - please

gwador nin - my brother (as of a close friend, not related)

hannon lle - thank you

Arod nin - my Arod

mae govannen - well met

tiro na nin - look at me

Ainur - the Holy Ones

the Ainulindalie - the Great Song

Iluvatar - Father of All, the Creator (Quenya)

nana - mommy (diminutive of naneth)

ada - daddy (diminutive of adar)

Adar - father

Naneth - mother

Aman - the Undying Lands

ion nin - my son 

Ennor - Middle-earth

Arda - the world

Eru - the One (Iluvatar is the Sindarin name for the Creator)

Summary:  Legolas faces losing Arod to old age and injury, but finds that his friend has a different solution in mind.  However, replacing Arod is another story entirely -- and then there is that problem with the sea…

Disclaimer:  Middle-earth and its characters are the creation of JRR Tolkien, and belong solely to him.  I am merely borrowing them for a time.  There is no profit in this story except the joy I gained in writing it.

Acknowledgments:  Thanks to Teanna, for allowing me to reference THE ELVISH WAY WITH ALL GOOD BEASTS.

 *All characters' thoughts are in italics.

Chapter 5:  Mithril and Gold 

     The soft gray pre-dawn light had just begun to give way to the gold of the rising sun when Legolas stepped out of Aragorn’s tent.  He had not meant to fall asleep, but the emotional upheaval caused by speaking of his latest experience with the sea-longing had been exhausting and he had not fully recovered from the previous few days.

     He stood for a moment surveying the sleeping camp and enjoying the fresh morning air.  The fires had gone out, leaving only wisps of smoke rising ghost-like to mark their places.  Legolas winced as a particularly loud rumble from the tent behind him assaulted his sensitive ears.  He shook his head, a perplexed look on his fair face.  How could Aragorn possibly sleep with all that noise?  An echoing rumble, pitched differently, answered that question.

     Hmmmm.  Legolas cocked his head to listen more closely.  That is an interesting harmony.  He grinned.  I thought that the dwarf was the culprit who awakened me this morning.  Perhaps I should rethink that…it seems Gimli has an accomplice!

     Still smiling at the thought of the dwarf and the man conspiring to render him deaf, Legolas walked away from the tent and the noise, crossing the campground on silent feet.

     After stopping by his own tent to clean up and change clothes, he followed the sounds of many horses, walking downhill and parallel to the river.  There, in a smaller, secondary stand of trees he found Arod.  Keen eyes recognized Aravir’s handiwork immediately in the small, fenced enclosure called a Rhawiath – the elven equivalent of a hand-woven corral.  He smiled, noting that in the absence of vines Aravir had made excellent use of Rohirrim ropes and branches, making the corral itself part of the trees.

     A short sweet trill of a whistle brought Arod to the entrance.  Legolas laughed as the horse danced impatiently while he untied the “gate” to release him.  He then found himself under the close scrutiny of a very concerned horse as Arod snuffled and nuzzled him head to toe, making certain his elf was in good health.

     Arod, you…ah, stop…that tickles…you big oaf…no…stop…that braid is not removable!

     Defense, it occurred to him, was not an option so he finally did the only thing possible.  He ran.  Turning and sprinting away from the camp, he crossed the expanse of gently waving grass, the overjoyed horse hot on his heels.

     A tree!  Where is a tree when I need it?

     Looking frantically for an escape, Legolas realized too late that he had run away from the only trees around!  About that time, Arod caught up with him and a rousing game of chase ensued.  Legolas was never sure who was chasing whom although it seemed he never got too far before being sideswiped by the playful horse.  Finally, he collapsed in the grass, laughing helplessly, tucking his knees up close to his chin and wrapping both arms around his head with Arod nosing and nudging him over repeatedly until he tumbled like a child’s ball.

     You roll nicely.

     Legolas chuckled, his mouth full of grass.

     "Mumph  ---  mummmmmmppphhh!"

     What was that?

     The beleaguered elf straightened suddenly and springing like an attacking cat, he grabbed Arod’s mane and vaulted onto the relatively safe silver-gray back.  He spat out blades of grass and hugged the horse’s strong neck.  Arod tossed his head, turning and nipping lightly at the elf’s knees. 

     Remembering another time in the not too distant past when the horse had overextended himself and ended up hurt, Legolas leaned forward calling, “Enough!  I surrender!”

     Arod, however, was just beginning to enjoy himself.  He gave a series of small, stiff-legged jumps, trying to unseat the elf clinging to his back.  Tugging on his horse’s mane emphatically, Legolas cried again, “Daro!  Stop, Arod…let me down!  You will hurt yourself again!”

     Noting the rising concern in Legolas’ voice, Arod reluctantly stopped and let him slide to the ground.  He immediately began running his hands over the sleek, sun-warmed coat and down the right foreleg, looking for any sign of swelling. 

     I am well…you worry too much.

     “I know, I know…stand still, mellon nin,” Legolas murmured, still checking the leg closely.

     The horse gave in and stood quietly, staring across the plains to the mountains beyond.  Legolas completed the examination to his satisfaction and came to stand beside Arod’s head.  One hand rubbed the velvet nose while the other draped across Arod’s neck.

     The two stood in companionable silence, watching the shadows of early morning clouds chase each other across the plain.  Legolas sighed.

     Why do you wish to leave me?

     The elf stiffened.  I do not, my friend, but I dare not ride you anymore because of the injury to your leg.

     Arod snorted softly, and turned his head to eye the elf at his side.

     I do not wish to return to the herds.

     Legolas’ breath caught in surprise.  “You do not?” he whispered.  “But…but I thought you would want to live with the others again…run free across the plains once more…go home…”

     I am home.

     Gray eyes widened as Legolas stared at the horse in surprise.  A muffled exclamation escaped his lips and he flung his arms around the horse’s neck.  

     Arod tossed his head.  Sometimes your thinking…

     “I know,” Legolas managed to choke out the words, half laughing at the horse’s long-suffering thought, half crying at his own arrogant assumption.  “I cannot believe I never even asked what you wanted.  Forgive me, my friend.”

     You were frightened for me.  Do not be sorry for worrying about my well -being.  BUT you must find another to ride, and soon.  One who is young and strong…one who will understand you and the small, loud one.

     “Then you must come with me while I search,” Legolas stroked Arod’s neck and tugged on his mane.  “I will need you to help me make a suitable choice.”

     Then I may still stay with you in the forest…and you will ride me from time to time…slowly?

     “Yes, yes, of course, Arod nin,” Legolas answered in a relieved, shaken voice. “Whenever I can!”

     At the edge of the trees some distance away, Eomer and Ranulf stood silently watching.

     “Ah, Ranalf,” Eomer whispered, “how will those two ever stand to be parted?”

     Ranalf, who had been watching the elf and horse closely, drew in a sharp breath when Legolas turned and began walking towards them.  Instead of the gloom of sadness, the light in the elf’s eyes and the smile on his face rivaled the brightness of the sun.  The horse following nudged him playfully from behind.

     “Perhaps they need not be parted, my Lord,” he replied joyfully.  “Look!”

     Eomer eyed the two, noting the exultant look on Legolas’ face and exclaimed softly, “Well!  Perhaps not, indeed!”  He clapped Ranalf on the shoulder and walked forward to meet the oncoming pair.

     Legolas smiled brilliantly at Eomer.  “Suilad, my Lord King!  So, tell me…when do we leave?”  Arod stopped behind, resting his head on Legolas’ shoulder.

     Eomer stared at Legolas and Arod, his eyes narrowed in speculation.  He folded his arms across his chest.  “All right, you two!  What has happened?”

     Legolas shrugged innocently.  “Why nothing, Eomer.  Why do you ask?”

     Arod nudged the elf and Legolas swatted at him, laughing. 

     “All right!  All right!  Eomer, we must find a new horse for me to ride - one young and strong and tolerant of dwarf riders!”

     And elf riders!  Arod nipped at the nearest elf ear.

     “Ai, Arod!  Of course, and elf riders, too!” Legolas ducked away, laughing harder.  Arod followed happily.

     Eomer waited patiently for the two to stop playing, his smile growing ever wider.  Ranalf joined him, chuckling as the horse continued to plague Legolas.  Finally, the two stopped and Legolas rejoined the men after sending Arod to the river for water.

     Legolas looked at them looking at him, waiting expectantly.  He finally relented, saying simply, “I will choose a new horse.  Arod will come along to help and then we will all return to Ithilien.”

     Eomer raised both eyebrows in surprise.  For six months, he had been hearing how Arod would rejoin the herds when his leg had healed.  This was news indeed!  He looked questioningly at Ranalf.

     His stablemaster shrugged and grinned.  “A better solution for all involved, my Lord.  The horse would grieve endlessly for Lord Legolas, and he for the horse.  This way they can be together, and you already know I thoroughly approve of the idea of him finding a new horse to ride.”

     Both men looked at the smiling elf.  Legolas nodded agreeably.  “As I have said, if I must do so, I will.”

     The King laughed.  “And here Strider and I were devising all manner of arguments and persuasions to make you agree to the need for another horse.  You surely are tiresome at times, Legolas!”

     Legolas threw him an offended look.  “I wanted him happy, Eomer…I thought his freedom would make it so.”  He shook his head, grinning slightly.  “I just thought…ah, well, perhaps I was not thinking…at least, not clearly.” 

     A sudden thought occurred to him.  He looked at Eomer suspiciously.

     “What manner of ‘persuasions’?” he asked.

     The King chuckled.  “Oh, Strider said something about trees…and rope…and singing…”

     Legolas’ eyes widened in horror.  “He would have to catch me first!  Eomer, have you ever HEARD him sing?”

     Eomer and Ranalf both laughed.  “I always thought Elessar had a rather pleasant way with a song,” Ranalf offered helpfully.

     “Pleasant?”  Legolas choked.  “Your pardon, Ranalf, but your idea of singing leaves much to be desired.”

     He bowed low to Eomer.  “I am leaving.  Please tell Strider of my decision and that ropes and songs will NOT be necessary!”  He turned away.

     Eomer, struggling so hard not to laugh he could barely speak, managed to croak,  “Wait!  Legolas!  Where are you going?”

     The elf looked back over his shoulder, his expression practically screaming “surely you are joking”.  His voice drifted back to Eomer.  “Somewhere quiet!”

     Ranalf and Eomer looked at each other, grinning.  “Where does he think to hide on the plains?” asked Ranalf.  The men looked back in the direction Legolas had taken to find he had already disappeared.  Ranalf took a step after him, but Eomer stopped him.

     “If the elf does not wish to be found, Ranalf, then believe me, you will not find him.  Come.  I, for one, need something to eat!”

     The two made their way back to the camp, chuckling as they discussed all that had just taken place.  The men were now awake and gathered around rebuilt fires preparing to break their fast.  Gimli and Strider were just emerging from the tent when they arrived and at the sight of the two laughing, walked over to see what was so funny.

     “What has you two so amused this early in the morning?” Strider asked.  “And have either of you seen Legolas?”

     Ranalf gave a yelp of laughter and Eomer swallowed a chuckle that set him to gasping and coughing.

     Gimli put both hands on his hips and glared at the men.  “What is that elf up to now?  We have been worried about him being gone, what with his recent illness.”

     Realizing how the elf’s absence might have concerned his friends, Eomer sobered quickly and related the morning’s events, along with Legolas’ new decision to keep Arod with him.  Exclamations of relief escaped all who listened and Aravir, who had just joined the group nodded, a look of satisfaction on his beautiful face.

     “I have been hoping he would realize that we could easily care for Arod at Ithilien and that leaving him was not really necessary.”

     Gimli looked at Aravir impatiently.  “And did you tell him so, Aravir?”

     The elf gazed at him, his face scandalized.  “My Lord is a Prince, Lord Gimli,” he replied stiffly.  “’Tis not my place…”

     “I think we should all just forget about that “Prince” title he wears,” Gimli returned gruffly, “and start thinking about the friend that he is.” 

      His dark eyes, snapping with temper, took in the other men in a glance as he continued, “We are all guilty of it.  We should have insisted he keep the horse with him from the beginning.  His talk of leaving that animal behind was sheer foolishness…”

     “But Gimli, it was his decision,” Strider interrupted.  Several others, Eomer and Ranalf included, nodded in agreement.  “We were trying to support him by letting him make the decision he thought best.”

     Gimli snorted.  “I know that, Strider.  I am as guilty as every one of you…and as foolish.”  The men considered arguing, but in retrospect, knew the dwarf was right. 

     Aravir still looked confused.  “But to presume to question his decisions, my lord,” he stammered.  “I am his watch commander…”

     “And his friend, are you not, Aravir?” questioned the dwarf, looking at the elf shrewdly.

     Aravir flushed slightly.  “Well, I…” he hesitated, his natural position as a subordinate to the Prince warring with the friendship he obviously felt.

     “As I said, Aravir,” Gimli scowled.  “If you count him as a friend, you had best learn to speak to him as one.”

     The dwarf turned away, muttering under his breath in the guttural language of his people about the stiff necks of elves.

     Aravir looked at Strider helplessly.  The King of Gondor walked over to him and putting a friendly, sympathetic hand on his shoulder, led him off to a nearby fire, saying, “Let me tell you a few things about your Prince, Aravir…”

     Elfwine, who had come late to the discussion, watched the departing king, elf, and dwarf with wide eyes and a puzzled look on his face.  He looked up at his father and whispered, “Where IS Legolas, Father?”

     Eomer smiled down into the clear turquoise eyes of his son and whispered back, “I think he went up a tree, my son.”  He nodded in the direction of the Rhawiath.

     Elfwine gave a whoop of delight and ran towards the trees.  Eomer shook his head and went to join Strider and the bemused elf sitting beside him.  He was always interested in any information that might further his understanding of these fair, inscrutable creatures, especially if the creature under discussion happened to be the Prince of Lasgalen.

     Two hours later, Legolas strolled back into camp with Elfwine, looking about carefully for any signs of ambushing men or dwarfs.  When none appeared, he heaved a sigh of relief, not noticing the men around him hiding their smiles as he walked past.  Elfwine smothered his own smile and shook his head in warning at the men as they passed.  It had taken some serious negotiating to get the elf this far!

     They found Strider, Gimli, and Eomer sitting outside Strider’s tent, talking with Aravir, Jarrod, and Eomer’s captain, Gerrith.  A map lay between them on the ground.

     Six pairs of eyes lifted to examine Legolas as he approached and six faces lit with amusement at the guarded look on his face.  Strider indicated a place beside him, while Elfwine joined his father. 

     “Suilad, Legolas.  Havodad, mellon nin.”  Strider smiled broadly, a decidedly fiendish twinkle sparkling in his eyes.

     Legolas stopped dead in his tracks and just looked at his friend.  Everyone burst out laughing, even Gimli who had finally decided elven necks would ever remain unbending.

     Legolas sat, his face slightly flushed with embarrassment.  Strider patted his back consolingly until the bright eyes of his friend turned on him, promising all manner of retribution if he did not stop.

     Strider cleared his throat and said, indicating the map, “We were trying to decide the best place to go to find your new horse, my friend.”

     Legolas looked surprised.  “Not the Westfold?” he questioned.

     Eomer shook his head.  “Gerrith was saying there are some fine wild herds roaming east of here.  We can follow the Snowbourn until it joins the Entwash.  We will have to turn north for a time to find the Entwade in order to cross the river, but that should only delay us a day or so.  We will cross the river into the part of the Wold called the East Emnet.  From that point it is three days’ journey to the mountains bordering the Anduin, provided we move slowly to accommodate Arod’s pace.”

     He paused and looked at Strider and Legolas.  “I am sure you two and Gimli have very fond memories of that land.”

     At their blank looks, he laughed.  “Do you not remember?  Twelve years ago the Three Hunters made their legendary sprint across that part of Rohan in search of two halflings.”

     Strider and Legolas looked at each other and heaved great, gusty sighs.  “I grow weary just thinking about it,” Strider said, shuddering dramatically.

     “At least we may ride this time,” Legolas added, “and I know Gimli will NOT want to repeat the experience…you know how dwarfs are wasted on cross-country running!”

     Everyone burst out laughing and Strider exchanged an understanding look with the elf.  Memory of that desperate time still seemed so fresh in their minds; sometimes it only took a word to bring it to life again.

     Eomer watched his two friends fondly.  “Well, I will always remember it as the day I was almost skewered by an elven bolt…and the day every childhood story I had ever been told came to life.  At any rate, Gerrith knows the land well and even lives nearby.  We can set up the main camp there and work from that area.”

     Legolas nodded in agreement.  “When do we leave?”

     “Early tomorrow morning,” Eomer said, smiling.  “Right now I am sending out some hunting parties.  Tonight, we celebrate!”

     “And just what are we celebrating, aran brannon?”  Legolas asked curiously.

     “Believe it or not, Legolas, we were all dreading the separation of you and Arod.  Now, we celebrate your newfound wisdom in keeping him with you!” Eomer explained.

     Strider leaned close and whispered in the elf’s ear.  “Any excuse for a party…  right, my friend?”

     Legolas looked back and smiled, “Indeed!”

     Later that night Eomer joined Strider to watch a laughing Legolas and Aravir entertain the men, Elfwine, and Gimli with some rather rowdy Mirkwood songs.  Eomer raised an eyebrow.  “I did not know elves sang songs like THAT!”

     Strider snickered.  “You have never gone on a Mirkwood patrol before, obviously.”  He gestured at Legolas.

     “Legolas captained the southern patrols and later the Home Guard for his father during the dark days, many years before Mirkwood became Eryn Lasgalen.  Aravir also served in and led many patrols.”

     The men observed the two fair beings - one fair, one dark; so different, yet so much alike in many ways.  Strider tried to explain those differences to Eomer, saying, “You should remember, my friend, that Silvan elves such as Aravir are different from the Sindarin nobility…King Thranduil would tell you they embrace their freedom more energetically!” 

     Eomer chuckled, “Energetically?  You mean they are wild, do you not, my friend?” 

     Strider laughed.  “Yes, exactly, but in a good way, Eomer.  They embrace the forest completely and their hearts and lives are very closely tied to Ennor.  Legolas grew up amongst the Silvan elves of Mirkwood.  They are his people and he loves and respects them.  Besides, I think that wildness appeals to our Prince.  He is quite capable of both diplomacy and courtly behavior, but put him in a fight and you see a whole different side of him.”

     He smiled, and looked at Eomer.  “You have seen him, Eomer…he is like a finely balanced weapon, lethal and deadly.  Legolas is a true blending of two great warrior races.”

     Eomer nodded thoughtfully.  Both men watched as Legolas threw back his head and shouted with laughter at a verse sung by Aravir and Eomer examined the smiling crowd surrounding the two. 

     “He is well loved, Strider…by my people…and yours…his own,” Eomer said softly.  “He seems much better tonight.  Whatever weighed on him so heavily has lifted.  Has the danger to him passed then?”

     “For now, my friend,” Strider replied.  “He will stay and find some way to deal with the sea.  He has set his mind to it, in light of this last attack.  Eventually he will solve it.”  He shook his head ruefully.  “I just hope WE survive it!”

     “We will watch him closely until he does solve this problem, Strider,” Eomer stated decisively.  “He is very helpless while in its grip, isn’t he?”

     “Yes, he is.”  Strider continued to watch his friend.  Then, he and Eomer began clapping as the song reached a rousing conclusion and went to join the others. 

~~~~~*~~~~~

     The next day at dawn the camp was struck and the group began the trek east.  Legolas rode a spirited black stallion named Night Storm (compliments of Eomer) with a grumbling Gimli perched behind. 

     Arod, free of saddle, bridle, and rider, kept pace beside the black, moving easily and often ranging out from the group to explore with all the curiosity of a young colt.

     At the end of the first day, Legolas and Ranalf examined the injured leg closely and found it strong and unaffected by the day’s travel.  At Arod’s triumphant whinny and knowing look, both man and elf doubled over with laughter.

     That evening Eomer strolled through the camp, speaking to his men and looking for Legolas.  When asked, Gimli had suggested looking away from the main camp.

     “He does not often separate himself though I have seen him do it before,” Gimli explained, glancing up at Strider who stood beside him.  “But Strider and I think he might need the quiet away from everyone after all he has been through lately.” 

     Strider nodded, and said, “Look on the edge of camp close to the river.  I saw him move his things there earlier after we had eaten.” 

     Nodding his thanks, Eomer continued his search and finally found the elf seated before a small fire a short distance from the riverbank.  He stopped for a moment, gazing appreciatively at the glittering water and the open plain beyond, all wrapped in the golden light of the dying day and the gray-blue shadows of the coming night.

     Sinking down beside Legolas, he watched the elf gazing into the darkening sky at the first star which had made its appearance above the summit of the distant mountains.

     “Look, Eomer,” he whispered.  “Earendil begins his nightly journey.”

     They watched the gleaming star for several long moments before Legolas finally tore his gaze away and looked into the flames of the fire before him.  He seemed distracted, troubled…and far away.  Eomer sat silently, hesitant to interrupt the elf’s reverie, absorbing the peaceful quiet of this isolated corner of the camp.  He wondered what had caused Legolas’ disquiet and if he would speak eventually. 

     Finally, the golden elf seemed to shake off his somber mood and his bright eyes turned to look at the man beside him.  He smiled apologetically and reached into a bag close beside him.  Taking out two fresh apples, he tossed one to Eomer while taking a healthy bite from the other. 

     “Mae govannen, aran brannon,” he said softly.

     Eomer nodded in greeting, watching the somber, composed face.  He sought for the right words to say to the Prince, words that might ease the tension he sensed in the elf.

     “I hear Arod does well.  Ranalf said the horse practically speaks, his eyes are so eloquent,” he said conversationally, hoping the hilarity of this particular event would lighten the elf’s mood.

     Indeed, Legolas smiled at the memory and took another bite of the fruit.  Eomer gave a small sigh of relief at the smile and visible signs that Legolas was beginning to relax. 

     Eomer leaned forward and said, “I wanted to talk to you about choosing your new horse.  What do you think of the black you ride now?  He is a magnificent animal and worthy of your consideration as a new mount, is he not?”

     Legolas examined the fruit he had been nibbling on and looked at Eomer thoughtfully.  “Yes,” he agreed, “he is a fine animal and more than worthy of my consideration, Eomer.”

     “Then do consider him,” Eomer instructed, clapping the elf on the back.  “I would be honored to gift him to you, Legolas.  Do not answer now…take your time and think about it.”  He rose to his feet and smiled down at Legolas before turning to make his way back to the main camp and his tent.

     Eyes the color of shifting fog followed him until he disappeared, then returned to quietly contemplate the dancing flames of the fire.

~~~~~*~~~~~

     The journey passed quickly and uneventfully.  When they reached the crossing at the Entwade, the clear green water of the Entwash had provided a pleasant diversion and baths for all with the exception of Gimli, who claimed loudly that he was not a fish and if anyone touched him he would not be responsible for the damage done!  The rest of the party, even the horses, had joined the men and elves in the swimming and splashing at the crossing. 

     By dusk on the fifth day they reached the sprawling settlement that Gerrith called home.  The entire village turned out to welcome the travelers warmly and stare at the King of Gondor, the Prince of Lasgalen, and the Lord of Aglarond.

     Eomer chuckled at their discomfort, saying, “I am old news, my friends, merely the King of the Mark, while you…you are the stuff of legend!”

     Gerrith gathered the village leaders and along with Eomer, they made plans to begin the search.  With the aid of the villagers, they dispatched riders to locate the wild herds that grazed the surrounding lands.  In the meantime, provisions were gathered and replenished, tents mended and a number of horses reshod by the village blacksmith.  Eomer then sent several men ahead to establish a base camp closer to the mountains.

     In the midst of all this preparation Gimli was heard to mutter, “If I never see the back of a horse again, I will consider myself blessed.”

     Of course, Legolas overheard the remark and felt honor-bound to tell him he would be riding again the next morning.

     “It is as I predicted, Gimli,” he continued in a superior, lofty voice, guaranteed to irritate the dwarf, “you are already complaining and we have yet to reach our destination…”

     “Ah, laddie, but I have NOT said a word about my backside, now have I?” Gimli retorted.

     Men working nearby turned to listen as the conversation registered.  Smiles began appearing, and muffled laughter heard.  The argumentative friendship between elf and dwarf had become well known among their companions.

     Legolas eyed his short friend and smirked.  “No, but one has only to watch the way you walk…”

     “You…you…you pointy-eared…” the dwarf sputtered, a flush darkening his face.

     “Yes?” Legolas queried innocently, his gray-blue eyes fairly dancing with glee.

     “ELF!” Gimli bellowed, quivering with outrage.  

     Legolas bowed slightly, “How perceptive of you to notice, Master Dwarf!” 

     To the delight of all the bystanders, a rather energetic exchange of insults began as the two walked off to their tents to gather and pack their belongings. 

     The next day they left the village behind and made their way to the new camp, a day’s ride away and set at the edge of one of the numerous forested areas springing from the foot of the mountains.

     Legolas and Aravir both breathed deeply of the fresh green, leaf- scented air and promptly disappeared into the woods to explore.

     Later, when questioned Gimli shrugged and said, “Those two are off somewhere talking to the trees and probably scampering through the branches like two overgrown squirrels.”

     He snorted and said derisively, “Do not look for them anytime soon!”

     Strider chuckled at the dwarf’s comments but agreed.  “He is right.  They were chafing badly at all the openness and grass surrounding them, without the benefit of any decent trees,” he told Eomer.  “They will return when they have made the acquaintance of every tree close to this camp.”

     At Eomer’s startled look, he continued, “But it is not a bad thing…if the trees are willing they will warn of any danger that might approach us from the mountains.”  He grinned.  “Elves are quite handy to have around.”  Eomer, his expression bemused, agreed.

     It was the next afternoon before Legolas and Aravir finally returned.  “Feeling better, my friends?” Strider asked, grinning at them as they strolled into the camp. 

     Legolas nodded, turning to gaze at the forest behind him.  “Look at them, Strider!  Are they not magnificent?  They do not know us well yet, but Aravir and I plan to remedy that soon!” 

     Strider laughed aloud at the elf’s enthusiasm and said, “Come with me and let me show you where they want you and Aravir to build that corral of yours.”

     “It is called a Rhawiath,” Legolas informed him, falling into step.

     Strider frowned.  “I do not think I have ever heard that word before.”

     “A Rhawiath is only a small, temporary corral especially when compared to the Belegad, the Great Corral, which we built near the palace in Lasgalen.    Gerrith has said the herd might be fairly large.  A Rhawiath will hold them comfortably until the ones not chosen are freed,” he explained patiently.

     Under the fascinated gazes of the men Aravir and Legolas worked quickly, using branches and vines gathered in the forest and putting together a large enclosure using a nearby cul-de-sac.  Now all that remained was to wait for word from the scouts.

~~~~~*~~~~~

     Several days passed with no news.  Late on the evening of the third day, Legolas took his bedding from his tent and moved to the very edge of the camp close to the forest.

     There, he built a small fire and sat staring into the flames, lost in thought.  He had noticed a growing need within himself for quiet and solitude and it troubled him.  In truth, the sea-song again weighed on his mind with ever-increasing strength and after a long day of mingling with men he needed some time to order his thoughts and focus his control.  He did not think another attack would come so soon, but he could not be sure.

     He turned his thoughts to Arod and his uneasiness lessened as the sea’s called quieted.  He had ridden the silver-white gelding for the first time since his injury early that morning.  They had explored the surrounding land between the campsite and the forest, testing the newly healed leg while carrying the burden of a rider once more.

     Legolas smiled.  Arod had trotted slowly and obediently although he shook his mane often and impatiently.  The leg had held strong, to the elation of both elf and horse.

     He unwrapped a cloth he had been holding and lifted a generous slice of fresh bread he had filched from the cook’s tent to his nose, sniffing appreciatively.  There was much to recommend in camping only a day removed from the settlement Gerrith called home.

     Strong white teeth tore off a piece of the warm crusty slice and chewed slowly.  Slate blue eyes closed as he savored the yeasty bread, smeared liberally with fresh butter and honey.  Legolas nearly groaned with delight.

     “What is this?”  An amused voice interrupted his reverie.  “A gluttonous elf?”

     Legolas opened one eye and looked up at a grinning Eomer.  “Get your own bread, mellon nin,” he said and closed his eye again.

     Eomer chuckled and sat down beside the elf.

     “A rider just checked in,” he informed Legolas.  “The scouts have been following a promising herd for almost a week now and are driving them towards us.  The stallion, however, is clever and experienced so their progress has been slow.  We will ride out to meet them in the morning and look them over.  Perhaps you will see one that meets with your approval.”

     Legolas took another bite of the bread and chewed slowly.  “Perhaps,” he conceded. 

     Eomer touched the elf’s shoulder.  “Legolas, I know you hate replacing Arod, but he will remain with you…and I know you will find a new horse that touches your heart again, as well.”  He studied the silent elf who had returned to eating the bread and staring at the fire.

     Suddenly remembering an earlier conversation, Eomer asked, “Have you reached a decision about the black?”

     Legolas swallowed and looked at Eomer thoughtfully.  “Yes,” he nodded.  “Under different circumstances I might be tempted to take him, but his heart is already given to another, Eomer.”

     The King started.  “What?  Who?”

     Legolas smiled.  “Your son, lord King.”

     “Elfwine?”  Eomer asked.  “When did this happen?”

     Legolas chuckled, thinking of the King’s fair-haired, blue-eyed boy.  “I should think when Storm was foaled.  Elfwine was…what?  Four or five then?  He informed me he has loved that horse  ‘forever’, I believe were his words.”

     Legolas shook his head at Eomer’s obviously surprised expression. 

     “Why are you so surprised?” he asked.  “Look at your son’s heritage…grandson of the Horse Lord, Eomund and also of Imrahil of Dol Amroth, a descendant of the Firstborn.  Think you horses would not play a large part in Elfwine’s life, occupy his thoughts, and capture his heart?”

     “Of course I knew the boy loved horses and he has been trained to ride and care for them since he was very small, but he has never spoken a word of this to me,” Eomer replied, rather disappointed at his son’s failure to approach him.

     The elf looked at Eomer, his eyes bright with understanding, and said, “That horse is fit for a King, my lord.  I am sure the boy thought himself somehow unworthy of such an animal.  He may be rather young, but he is of a size to handle a larger, more spirited horse.  Besides, Storm will cooperate, too, because he loves the boy.  Elfwine should learn now…from you, Eomer.  Teach him, teach them both…they should be together.”

     Legolas took the last bite of bread and watched Eomer closely.

     The King of Rohan sat for a time, lost in thought.  Dark eyes lifted to meet gray, and Eomer shook his head, his face alight with loving exasperation.  Slapping his hands on his knees purposefully, he rose quickly. 

     “Why am I always the last to know these things?  I will speak to him now and we will make some arrangements with Ranalf for that training to start once we return to Edoras.”

      “Excuse me, my friend,” he said, as he turned to go.  “And Legolas…” Their eyes met.  “Thank you.”

     As he was striding away, he called back over his shoulder.  “Do not forget --- be ready early tomorrow morning!”

     Legolas pulled an irreverent face at the back of the King and rose gracefully.  After banking the fire, he took his blanket and moved away to the darker fringes of the camp nearest the tree line.

     Spreading the cover on the ground he lay down, his arms crossed behind his head, looking up at the brilliant stars above and considering the ways of fathers and sons.

     He sang softly to himself as the wind sighed through the trees and the trees whispered back in appreciation of his song, adding their own voices to the melody.

     When sleep claimed him, his dreams led him down the shady paths of Eryn Lasgalen, his father’s strong hand resting on his shoulder and his beautiful voice blending in song with his son’s. 

     For a time, peace reigned in the Prince’s heart.

~~~~~*~~~~~

     At dawn the next morning Legolas, Strider, and Eomer, accompanied by Gerrith and Aravir, rode out to intercept the riders and the herd they had captured.

     On top of one of the hills overlooking the surrounding plain, Legolas suddenly stopped them.  They sat looking across the vast grassland.

     “Why are we stopping?” Gerrith asked.

     Aravir pointed.  “They come,” he answered simply.

     Strider looked at Legolas who was gazing across the land with those far-seeing eyes of his. 

     “About five leagues away still,” the elf murmured.  “Eight riders escorting a herd of twenty horses.”  He caught his breath as a flash of gold drew his eyes and felt a thrill of excitement.

     It cannot be!  Then again, perhaps it is.  Maybe the Valar know it will take an exceptional horse to follow Arod.

     Legolas shook himself slightly, took a firm hold of his excitement and said to the others, “Come.  We will help bring the horses into camp.  The Rhawiath will be large enough to hold them all until choices can be made and the remaining ones released.”

     He urged the black stallion forward and when they reached the base of the hill, loosed him.  The black gave a leap and thundered across the plain in great, ground-eating strides with Aravir following closely behind. 

     The men looked at each other and let go loud exuberant yells of delight as they set their own horses free to follow the racing elves.

     Legolas crouched low over the neck of the flying Storm, urging him on with soft elvish words while steadying him with sure hands.  As the circle of riders attending the herd approached him, Legolas began to slow the stallion, all the while watching the leader of the group.

     The lithe, golden-haired man lifted his hand in greeting and motioned Legolas to join the left side of the loose circle guiding the herd.  As each newcomer approached, he greeted and directed them to a place in the circle.  The galloping horses continued their steady progress towards the camp, still some leagues distant.

     Once he had settled into place, Legolas looked over the horses with an appreciative eye, noting the magnificent blood bay stallion who led and the older, wiser gray mare who actually kept order in the herd’s movement.

     He marveled as he watched her drift through the group, a subtle mist moving where it would.  Legolas knew the old mare’s intention was to keep the others together and prepared for flight if the chance should present itself.

     He looked across at Eomer who was running a practiced eye over the horses as well.   Eomer caught his eye and smiled openly, clearly in his element, waving a hand at his friend.

     Legolas continued to tally the herd, counting five mares with foals staying close to their sides and the younger horses – yearlings and the two and three-year-olds, clearly chafing at the boundaries enforced by the gray mare and the riders.  His heart and eyes absorbed the shifting colors – bays accented with black, several dark grays, one the color of mist, a dun the color of old ivory, two ebony, and other assorted shades of brown, sorrel, chestnut, and mahogany…along with one the color of new gold.

     That horse, a young mare perhaps three years old or so, had a gleaming coat the shade of the summer sun with a flowing mane and tail the color of water under moonlight.  Legolas could hardly take his eyes from the fiery, spirited mare as she moved with the others.

     She has not the presence or size of the Sun Stallion…he was the strong gold of the mountain while she is the fluid gold light reflected in rippling water…and yet…

     He watched the mare nip at the shoulder of a young colt that had bumped her.  He moved out of her way immediately and Legolas’ smile widened with admiration.

     Such spirit and grace!   Even at her young age she already commands respect from the others.

     Eomer, looking at Legolas riding across from him, saw the elf’s eyes locked on the mare.  A quick examination of the horse had him smiling with approval.

     Oh yes, my friend, that horse is truly fit for a Prince!

  ~~~~~*~~~~~

     Back at the camp, Gimli heard the rolling thunder of many hooves long before the herd topped the hill and came into sight.  So did Elfwine and the others.  Gimli watched in amusement as they scurried about the camp like a disturbed nest of demented ants, preparing for the coming herd.  Several ran for the Rhawiath, while the rest made a mad dash for their own mounts and prepared to ride out and help.

     Suddenly realizing his short stature would prohibit his view of the unfolding event, the dwarf ran to a nearby outcropping of rock and climbed to the top.  As the herd neared, his eager eyes located the horses and the riders driving them.  He immediately found the elf…no one sat a horse quite like Legolas; besides, with that flowing golden hair and the black monster he rode ‘twas nigh impossible to miss him!

     In the center of the circle of riders, he saw a gleaming mass of horseflesh in colors shading from palest misty-gray to ebony, and every earth tone in between.  He watched the riders deftly turn the herd towards the cul-de-sac, the other Rohirrim mounted and helping funnel the horses into the Rhawiath.  The “gate” closed and the laughing, shouting men slipped off their own horses and began gathering at the fence to look over the new arrivals.

     Gimli snorted disdainfully.  A fine sight indeed.  All those bright shining colors make me homesick for Aglarond.  Give me the sparkle of fine crystal or cool marble over a wild, dusty beast any day, no matter how prettily colored!

     Still,a reluctant grin surfaced as he noticed Legolas’ attention fixed on a horse that looked to have been dipped in morning sunlight.  He wondered if this was the elf’s choice and climbed down from the rock to make his way to his friend’s side.

     Legolas leaned on the fence, slightly apart from the rest, eyes watching the golden mare’s continuous graceful movements in the corral.  He felt Gimli’s presence at his side and looked down into the dwarf’s dark eyes.

     “Well, lad, is that bright jewel the one you have chosen?” he indicated the mare with a jerk of his head.

     “Yes,” Legolas said.

     “It is a she!” the dwarf noted pointedly.

     “Yes,” Legolas agreed.

     “Females – bah!” Gimli growled.  “Nothing but trouble --- the lot of them!”

     Legolas grinned, but kept gazing at the mare.  “Probably.”

     Gimli stared up at the tall elf, then hrrumphed loudly.  He watched the mare pirouette like a dancer, rearing slightly.

     “Do not expect me to get on her until you teach her some manners, lad,” the dwarf grumped, and turned away, muttering under his breath about stubborn, ill-mannered horses and the elves who deserved them.

     Legolas’ laughing eyes followed the short, stomping figure as it returned to camp.  Strider and Eomer walked up and stood beside him watching Gimli’s retreat, their amused grins growing by the second.

     Legolas looked at the two beside him.  “He does not approve of my choice,” he stated, pointing to the mare.

     The two men nodded, smiling openly now.

     “She is a girl,” Legolas added.

     The two looked at each other and back at Legolas.  Eomer smothered a chuckle.

     Legolas looked at them innocently.  “I do not think he believes I can handle her.”

     The men choked…looked at each other again…open laughter threatened now, just below the surface.

     Legolas glared at them, an affronted expression on his fair face.  “I am quite capable when it comes to females,” he said, most seriously.

     Eomer and Strider began snickering uncontrollably.

     Legolas smiled at them both, shaking his head as one might when confronted with the antics of small children.  “You have no faith in my abilities…neither you nor Gimli,” he said sorrowfully.  He returned his gaze to the prancing mare.

     “At least she will learn to appreciate me,” he said loftily.

     Eomer and Strider did collapse then, roaring with laughter.  Legolas ignored them, his smile even brighter than before, and more than satisfied.  It was not often that a mere Prince could reduce not one King, but two, to puddles of laughter.  Yes, it had been a good day and the next days promised to be even better.

Translations:

mellon nin - my friend

Daro! - halt

suilad - greetings (hello)

aran brannon - lord king

Arod nin - my Arod

havodad - sit down

mae govannen - well met

Ennor (Sind.) - Middle-earth

Eryn Lasgalen (Sind.) - The Wood of Greenleaves (previously Mirkwood)

Author:  lwarren
 
Summary:  Nothing worth having ever comes easily, as the Prince of Lasgalen discovers...oh, and there is THAT problem with the sea, too, amongst other minor irritations.
 
 
Disclaimer:  Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.  I do not own them (wish I did!), and make no profit from this story except the joy I gained in writing it.
 
Acknowledgments:  Teanna, for allowing me to reference THE ELVISH WAY WITH ALL GOOD BEASTS.
 
*Hopefully, all characters' thoughts are in italics.

 
 
Chapter 6:  Lingering Shadow
 
 
     The next few days could not have gotten any worse.
 
     The third evening slipped into the darkness of full night and Legolas once again sat in front of the small fire located close to the Rhawiath.   He gazed into the flames, seeking answers and finding none.  He felt the heat from the flames, but not the warmth.  In the enclosure a hundred or so feet away he could still hear the restless pacing of the mare inside, a perfect compliment to the restless discontent in his heart. 
 
     Perhaps those missing orcs will attack...or maybe a roving band of thieves and murderers...that would make everything just...about...perfect!  The elf punctuated each bitter thought with a small piece of wood thrown savagely into the fire before him.
 
     He shook his head slightly.  Three days had passed...three days and the mare showed no sign of responding to his patient attentions.  He frowned at the fire.   He could not afford to give into impatience, for she would certainly sense it.  He shivered, for beyond his frustration he could hear the haunting melody of the sea and the beckoning song of Valinor once more.  It had been quiet for the past weeks and he had slipped into complacency, thinking he was free of it for a time. 
 
     Too soon...it is too soon for another attack.
 
     Legolas closed his eyes and focused his thoughts on remembering the past days, recalling each event detail by detail in an effort to once more silence the song. 
 
     Eomer and Ranalf chose well when they picked those four colts.  They are swift and intelligent...the blood of the Mearas runs strong in their veins.
 
      He pictured each of the four horses in his mind; the dark gray in particular had been wondrous indeed.  Had his heart not been set on gold, he might have been tempted by the smoky dark strength of that one.  He shook his head, redirecting his thoughts.  He could scarcely attain peace of mind through regrets. 
 
     He saw himself once more in the Rhawiath with the mare, shadowing her nervous pacing move for move.  He heard himself whispering and singing to her to calm her fears. 
 
     Easy, mir nin...be easy...you will come to no harm here...sedho...
 
     He saw her ears come forward for the first time, acknowledging she heard and found comfort in his voice. 
 
     Sedho...be at peace, my lady...
 
     He saw her wheel away from him to begin circling and pivoting again and felt the disappointment as keenly as he had then.  He saw himself crouched before her, motionless for hours as he listened...trying to discern her thoughts...trying to reassure her...all for naught.  He saw her remain apart from him, showing no interest at all. 
 
     Finally, that very morning his disquiet had sent him to Arod.  He took the silver white horse from his place with the rest of the company's horses and led him away from camp.  They walked for a long way in total silence before Arod had broached the subject of the mare. 
 
     You are troubled.  The big horse paced slowly by his side, a familiar and reassuring presence. 
 
     She will not have me, Arod.  She refuses all my efforts to reach her.
 
     You are certain of this?  Perhaps she is only upset by her confinement.  The rest of her herd is gone...she is alone...it may take time for you to get past her fear...for her to reach out for you.
 
      "I hope you are right, my friend," Legolas had said softly, "for I am not sure I can bring myself to choose another."
 
      Take me to her.  You said you wanted my help in choosing...let me see if she is worthy of you...Legolas had had to smile at Arod then; he knew the horse felt rather insulted on his behalf.  He had brought Arod to the enclosure early that afternoon.  The dappled white horse had watched her for long moments.
 
     She is fierce and swift.
 
     "Yes, she is, Arod," Legolas had acknowledged. 
 
     Arod had left his side and approached the corral, looking over the top of the fence and nickering softly, but the mare ignored him as well.  Legolas joined him after a time and for long moments elf and horse had remained silent, watching the mare trot back and forth, back and forth, stopping only to paw at the ground before beginning the cycle of movement all over again.
 
     Arod had turned his finely sculpted head towards Legolas then and rubbed his muzzle comfortingly against the elf's shoulder.
 
     She values her freedom...it is a fire in her...I am sorry...she may never really hear you.
 
     Legolas' shoulders had sagged slightly then.  I know, Arod nin.  She reminds me of another like her...strong and proud, with a heart that ran before the wind and refused to be tamed.
 
     Turning to Arod, he had laid a hand on the horse's warm neck and led him back to the others where he spent a long time grooming Arod's dappled coat to a polished sheen and meticulously cleaning and examining each hoof.  Arod had remained quiet, knowing that the familiar chore was calming and what Legolas really needed at that moment was to be with him.  Legolas had completed his care and bid Arod a subdued goodnight before returning to his fire.
 
     Now here he sat, brooding.  Legolas sighed and pitched another small piece of wood into the fire, his eyes following the sparks as they rose up and took flight, looking like glowing insects swept before a gentle wind...like a golden mare's spirit that longed to flee before that same wind to wander the plains.  At least through his concentrated efforts the song within him had quieted for the time being, thank the Valar.
 
     He heard someone approaching from the main camp and recognized Strider's steps immediately.  The man crouched down beside his friend, noting the shadowed eyes and resigned expression.
 
     "She still resists?" he asked quietly.
 
     Legolas tossed another piece of wood on the fire and marked the flight of the glowing sparks once more with thoughtful gray eyes.  "Still," he replied.
 
     "Eomer says that you may have your choice of any of the four colts they kept," Strider said, easing down to sit beside the silent elf.  "He said you thought that dark gray showed tremendous promise."
 
     Legolas nodded.  "The gray is a very fine horse...swift and lively.  Eomer is very generous."  Another piece of wood scattered more sparks; elven and human eyes tracked their path into the midnight sky.
 
     Strider spoke again, choosing his words carefully, "Perhaps this one is not meant for you, mellon nin."
 
     "Perhaps," Legolas agreed, "but I shall try once more before I release her."
 
     "But, Legolas..."
 
     Legolas raised troubled blue-gray eyes and studied his friend.
 
     "When I was still a very young elfling, Estel, I learned a rather difficult lesson about horses."   A trace of a sad smile softened the Prince's face.
 
     "In my impatience to possess one of my own, I embarrassed myself before everyone.  I was so mortified I went and sulked in a tree for the rest of the day!"  He turned to look at Strider, his eyes openly smiling now at the memory of that small, indignant younger self.
 
     Strider laughed softly.  "You?  Sulk?  Why, Legolas, I cannot believe you would do such a thing!" 
 
     The elf laughed with him and then looked down at his strong, slender hands.  After a moment of thought, he raised his eyes to look at Strider once more.
 
     "My father found me.  He told me I should never demand that a horse give me its friendship and trust.  He told me before a horse would gift me with its strength and heart, I must first learn to LISTEN."  Legolas paused, picking up another stick and drawing aimlessly in the dirt before the fire.  Strider waited quietly for him to continue.
 
     "A few months later, I was called upon to put his words to the test."
 
     "A group of elves from Lasgalen joined some men who lived between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains; the Eotheod they called themselves then.  We met from time to time to replenish our herds together.  One day during the hunt they brought in a magnificent stallion the color of the sun.  I was determined to have him.  He, too, did not respond...much as the mare does now.  I finally LISTENED...and do you know what he asked me, Estel?"
 
     "He asked me who I thought I was to capture him so.  Was I a great King of my people?"
 
     Legolas looked at Strider and grimaced.  "He showed me his battle scars, earned protecting his herd, and basically told me to come see him when I had grown some wisdom!  I let him go...and in freeing him, earned his respect.  It was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do...at least, until now." 
 
     The mare made a sudden racket within the fence and both turned their heads, just able to see her pale, gleaming form through the shadows.
 
     "She is so like that other one," Legolas whispered, his voice strained.
 
     "Perhaps we should look at another herd," Strider suggested.  "Gerrith says there are several more in this area and Ranalf was saying..." 
 
     His voice trailed away as Legolas turned his head and speared his friend with a suddenly hard cold gaze, his remarkable gray eyes glittering like shards of silver and ice.  The elf surged to his feet, looking down on the man.
 
     "I will decide when or if that becomes necessary," he snapped in an abrupt, harsh voice and walked away into the darkness.
 
     Strider jumped up, but a small voice inside whispered to leave Legolas alone for a time.  He stood for long minutes staring into the night, willing the elf to come back
 
     Let me help, my friend.  He waited by the fire for a while, but Legolas never returned.
 
     At last, he walked back to the main camp; head bowed, lost in thought, he almost ran over Gimli.  His strong hands grabbed the dwarf by the shoulders to steady him and he murmured a quick, absent-minded apology before he started to walk on to his tent.
 
     "Wait just one moment, laddie," Gimli's gruff voice stopped him in his tracks.  He turned back to face the dwarf, who stood looking up at him with a considering look on his face.  "What...or should I ask who...has put you into such a study you cannot see where you are going?"
 
     He watched a series of emotions flit across Strider's face and said, "I know of only one who could cause you to feel worry, anger, impatience and fear all at the same time.  Where is that pointy-eared princeling anyway?"
 
     Strider motioned Gimli to follow him to his tent.  They sat before the entrance and he looked at the dwarf, who patiently waited for him to reveal the problem.  Honestly, the dwarf's solid, no-nonsense presence was actually comforting sometimes!  He reached over and clapped Gimli on the shoulder.  "Thank you, Gimli," he said gruffly.
 
     "For what?" the confused dwarf returned.  He eyed the man suspiciously.  "Do not think to distract me, Strider.  Where is the elf?"
 
     "Thank you for being someone I can always count on, Gimli," Strider said.  "As for Legolas, I do not know where he went."  Gimli sat up straighter, alarm flaring in his dark eyes.
 
     "Something is wrong, Gimli...I can feel it.  He seems troubled and it is not just the mare causing his unrest.  I fear it may be the sea-longing and if that is the case, I have no idea what to do for him."
 
     He and Gimli looked at each other for long moments, their concern for their friend shadowing their faces.  "It is too soon," Strider said, his voice low. 
 
     "Aye.  Well, then lad, what do we do?" the dwarf asked, his need for action reflected in the impatient expression on his face. 
 
     "We have only one course available to us right now, Gimli," Strider replied.  "We wait."
 
     Gimli looked as if to argue, but thought better of it.  Giving Strider a nod, the two sat back to wait for the dawn or the return of their friend, whichever came first.
 
~~~~~*~~~~~
 
 
     Hidden deep within the shadows of the nearby trees, Legolas watched Strider walk back to the main camp.  He was trembling slightly, his earlier, hard-won calm almost destroyed by the sudden gust of anger that had flared when Strider had suggested he choose another horse.  He was not ready to quit trying yet!   When the man finally disappeared among the tents, he stepped out and made his way back to the corral.
 
     Slipping inside, he approached the mare once more, singing softly to calm her and himself.  She had become accustomed to his presence in the past days, and her restless pacing back and forth ceased as she stood quietly, watching him come towards her.  Delicate ears pricked forward, listening to the song.  She snorted, lowering her head and pawing the loose dirt with a front foreleg, but was otherwise still. 
 
     Legolas sank to the ground a few yards away, silent.  If it was to happen, it must be now. 
 
     Lady, hear me.  I mean you no harm.  You are safe here.
 
     After a time, he sat quietly, watching her...listening with his mind and his heart.  Minutes passed and became an hour and still she shut him out.
 
     Legolas raised his knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them and buried his face.  Disappointment and the sea threatened to swamp him.  He had tried and failed.  He really had no choice but to release her.  He would not keep her here against her will.
 
     You also long for something.
 
     His head snapped up at the gentle mind voice and he looked at the mare, eyes wide with surprise.
 
     Yes, lady, I do, but I cannot have it...at least not for many years.
 
     I long to run free again...to go where I will.  The mare shook her pale mane and snorted softly.  Will you give that to me?  Legolas gazed at her for long moments, his heart heavy.  What a question!  Could he?
 
     Aye, my lady, I will.
 
     He climbed to his feet slowly, and moved towards the gate.  Once opened, he stood to one side, inviting her to leave.  The mare walked to the opening and paused.  She placed her soft muzzle against the elf's neck, snuffling, learning his scent.  Legolas stood very still, allowing her that freedom.
 
     You are strange, not like the others...and kind.  It is possible we will meet again.
 
     "I hope so, my lady," Legolas whispered.
 
     She threw up her head then and trotted through the gateway.  Turning to avoid the men's camp, she moved slowly away.  When she had reached a safe distance, Legolas saw her turn once more to look at him before she disappeared into the night.
 
     He watched her go and let out the breath he had been holding.  He lifted his face to the stars, finding some comfort in their soft light.  There would be no other horse for him, he decided.
 
     For I cannot bear these partings...I will choose a different mount every time and avoid any further attachments to those I will only lose.
 
     Legolas took a deep breath.   It was becoming clear that strong emotions weakened him, making him more susceptible to the attacks of sea-longing.  Had not the strongest attack he had ever experienced come after Arod's injury, when he had finally begun to face the mortality of his friends, even the horse?
 
     This one is yet again different...I had no warning before...now I can feel it coming upon me...
 
     The song of the sea swelled more strongly, loosening his tenuous grip on reality bit by little bit.  It was only a matter of time now.  His jaw clenched and he stood, rigid with tension and growing distress.  He could not bear the thought of the others seeing him incapacitated like before. 
 
     The concerned, questioning whisper of the forest caught his attention.  Perhaps the trees would offer the solitude and solace he needed until this passed.  Yes, the trees would not judge him or wonder at his weakness.
 
     He returned to the fire, which he quickly banked, then drew on his quiver and knives.  Taking up his bow, he turned towards the woods and walked blindly away from the camp.  He did not stop to consider the wisdom of leaving without telling the others.  He did not know where he was going, nor did he care.   All he could think of was finding a hiding place where he might wait alone until he recovered from the effects of the sea.
 
     As Legolas made his way through the night-shrouded trees, other eyes also noted his passage.  The sheer numbers in the party of men had kept him at bay, but this one, separated from the larger group, walked alone.  That changed things considerably.  Slowly and silently, the watcher withdrew to take his news to his companions.
 
     Legolas had been walking aimlessly for almost an hour when he sensed a difference in the trees.  Their song changed, became agitated and fearful.  Something evil approached, they warned...something that meant him harm.  He leapt into the nearest oak, hiding in the thick foliage.
 
     Before long, he heard the heavy movement of something or someone moving through the underbrush.  Then, the smell reached him.  Orcs!  Eru, the stench alone identified them!
 
     These, then, were the "rumors" he had been chasing seven months ago when Arod had injured his leg.  Or perhaps, they were a new group just now making their presence known on this side of the Entwash.  Whatever they were, they were a danger he must deal with before they attacked his friends or one of the settlements. 
 
     Legolas considered his options.  Returning for help was out of the question now; he had traveled too far into the woods to just slip past them, even if he stayed in the trees.  If they sensed his presence they might follow him right back to the unsuspecting camp.
 
     His best chance lay in observation.  He would see how large the group was and where they were going.  Then he would return to the camp for reinforcements and lead Eomer and Strider to destroy their foul nest.  However, if they discovered him...
 
     Here is an enemy I can see...and defeat.
 
     He smiled grimly, allowing the rage honed by numerous battles against Shadow to cleanse his mind of the sea's lethargy, burning away the weary longing with the hot flames of anger.  Calling upon the skills learned over centuries of fighting darkness, he waited patiently for the orcs to show themselves.  He silently drew an arrow from his quiver.  A single orc appeared, sneaking out from the brush, searching.
 
     For me...It will be his last search.
 
     Another appeared, and another, and another until the small clearing was crawling with fifteen of the foul creatures.
 
     So many...He noted the heavy bows the orcs favored carried by about half of the group. 
 
     I had forgotten the sound of evil...Mithrandir warned that it would always be with us...we will have to send out patrols to search out their hiding places before they become too numerous...   Strong, deadly hands tightened on the elegant bow of Lorien as he listened to the enemy snarling and snapping at each other below.
 
     "Where is it, Gurlash?  You said it walked under these trees," one of the orcs, obviously the leader, growled at another.
 
     So they know of my presence...they are tracking me...or trying to! 
 
     "It did," the other slightly smaller orc hissed.  "But it's a tree rat...maybe it's in the trees now."
 
     The leader snarled at several of the warriors, including Gurlash, to start a search.  Knowing they counted on his movement to reveal his location once the search began and realizing he had no other choice, Legolas stood, targeting two of the dark creatures below him.
 
     Notching the arrow and drawing back, Legolas loosed it into the neck of the one called Gurlash.  Thick gouts of black blood spurted and his bow continued to sing its song of death as he killed the second orc below his tree.  He quickly picked out and began firing on the most dangerous members of the group, the archers.  Before the others realized what had felled the two scouts, he had dropped four more.  The outcry came immediately.  With growls of rage and warning, orc arrows started flying wildly, forcing Legolas to move.  Leaping silently from tree to tree, keeping slightly ahead of the creatures, he drew them on, deeper into the woods.
 
     Twelve of the fifteen lay dead by the time he loosed the last of his arrows.  Dropping gracefully to the ground, drawing his knives as he jumped, he landed lightly and engaged the first enraged orc.  Slashing and pivoting, he gutted the creature quickly and turned to the next one rushing to the aid of its companion.  He made a quick end to its life, not realizing that the last surviving one had stepped back to admit five additional creatures that had materialized from the concealing undergrowth.  The six formed a loose circle, now content in surrounding the elf instead of attacking. 
 
     As Legolas turned seeking the last of the enemy, his startled eyes took in the increased numbers around him.   Choosing a smaller orc to charge, he made a dashing, running attempt to gain the safety of the trees.  One sweeping stroke of a knife dispatched the small one and he gave a great leap for the lower branches of the nearest tree.  Those branches stretched towards him, reaching, the voice of the tree urging him on, when something struck him in the back high on the shoulder, and a searing pain blasted through him.  The force of the impact knocked him to the side and he missed the branch, crashing to the ground.  Rolling quickly to his knees, shaking his head to clear it of the fog caused by the force of his landing, he struggled to rise.
 
     Blackness swam at the edge of his vision and he sensed rather than saw something nearing him.  With one last, gasping swing he managed to disembowel the approaching orc, but not before the creature's first clumsy thrust of its weapon sliced up under his guard and opened a five-inch gash in his side.  His failing senses registered the fiery pain, the sudden outpouring of blood and the heavy blow landing on the side of his head before his vision failed, and he knew no more. 
 
~~~~~*~~~~~
 
     Several hours crawled by and Strider and Gimli marked each second of every minute.  Neither slept and finally, by unspoken agreement, they rose and headed for the Rhawaith and Legolas.
 
     As they approached, Strider could see that the elf was not in his usual place before the fire.  He frowned.  "He is not here," he murmured.
 
     "The fire has been banked," Gimli noted, his eyes searching the area.
 
     Strider's gray eyes swept the neat campsite and he exclaimed, "His quiver and knives are gone!  The bow also!"
 
     The two ran on to the corral and found it empty.  "Do you suppose that wild horse finally let him on her?" Gimli asked.  He looked at Strider, who had knelt before the gate and was examining the ground for any evidence of Legolas.
 
     The man's worried eyes lifted and locked on the dwarf.  "I cannot tell for certain, Gimli.  It is too dark to see and Legolas goes over the ground too lightly."
 
     He stood and seemed to come to a decision almost immediately.  "Quickly, my friend, go back to the camp and rouse the others.  Tell them to arm themselves and bring torches."
 
     Gimli had turned to leave when Strider added, "And send Aravir to me at once." 
 
     The dwarf sprinted for the camp, his deep voice bellowing the alarm before he ever reached it.  Strider stepped carefully away from the Rhawiath, afraid his heedless steps had already destroyed the tracks he sought and waited for the others to join him.
 
     It seemed only minutes had passed before Aravir appeared silently at Strider's side. 
 
     "What has happened, hir nin?" he asked quietly.
 
     "The mare is gone and Legolas is nowhere to be found," Strider replied.  "I spoke with him several hours ago and he was troubled, Aravir...sad at first and then suddenly angry."
 
     Aravir frowned.  His heart sank as he considered what might have caused Legolas to rage at the friend whom he counted closer than a brother.  Well he knew the price the sea-longing exacted from the normally calm and composed Prince.
 
     "I fear it is the sea-longing, my lord," he said softly.
 
     Strider turned to look at him, aware that his thoughts had traveled the same path as the elf's, had he chosen to recognize it. 
 
     "But Aravir, it is so soon after that last attack...only a matter of weeks," he protested.
 
     "I cannot say I understand these attacks, my lord," Aravir said sadly.  "But in Ithilien it seemed his entire personality changed before they came.  It does sound as if another has begun."
 
     The man and elf stood silently, each lost in his own thoughts until they heard the sound of many running feet and raised voices.  Gimli had returned with the requested reinforcements.
 
     Strider and Aravir quickly moved to stop them before they destroyed any further evidence.  The large group listened with growing concern as Strider related what he knew so far of Legolas' disappearance.
 
     "Tell us what to do, Strider," Eomer said. 
 
     Strider quickly positioned the men around the camp and near the Rhawiath, instructing them to hold their torches so that if any prints existed, they might become visible.  Then he began a careful, methodical examination of the ground between the fire and the corral.  Aravir accompanied him, his sharp elven eyes and training as a Mirkwood scout making him a welcome partner in this search. 
 
     Aravir found the first sign.
 
     "He went into the Rhawiath and sat here for a time, it seems," Aravir said, his hands delicately marking the faint impression in the soft soil.
 
     "Then he rose..." the elf stood, his eyes scanning the corral between him and the gate, and finally lighting on one very faint footprint by the entrance.  Keen eyes noted the fresh drag marks where the gate had been pulled aside.
 
     "...and came to the gate and opened it.  He stood here."  Aravir positioned himself beside the gate.
 
     Strider, who had stood to one side while Aravir traced Legolas' path within the corral, noted the horse's prints leading to the gate...the pause before the place Legolas had stood...and the continued path through the gate and out of the corral.
 
     "He must have tried one last time to reach her," he breathed, his brow creased with distress, "and failed.  Look, Aravir, her tracks lead to the gate where she paused, and then left the Rhawiath.  He released her, as he said he would." 
 
     Strider walked through the gate, following the prints.  "She went south, away from the camp."  Sharp eyes followed the tracks until darkness swallowed them. 
 
     "Ranalf!" he called.  The stable master came quickly to his side, his eyes questioning.  "Take a few men and follow the mare's tracks...see where she went after she left the corral.  I do not think Legolas followed her, but I would know where she went regardless."
 
     Ranalf nodded and motioned to two of the skilled trackers he was acquainted with to go with him.  Torches held high, the three began following the mare's path away from the camp.
 
     Strider then turned his eyes back to Aravir.  "Come, my friend, let us see where he went after she left."
 
     The elf and man knelt by the gate, sharp eyes and sensitive fingers searching the ground for any sign of a footprint left by a light-footed elf.  Aravir found the first a few feet from the gate, on a line headed for the fire.
 
     "He returned to the fire, I think," he said, and they began retracing the path back to the campsite, finding one additional faint impression in the dirt.  Strider stood beside the fire, looking at the rumpled blanket and abandoned pack.
 
     "He probably returned for his weapons.  Why, in Elbereth's name, would he disappear if an attack seemed imminent?  He knows what they do to him..."
 
     Aravir interrupted, "Your pardon, my lord, but that is probably why he left.  After almost fifteen years of working with him I know of his pride, and I am certain you are very aware of it.  Think you he would stay and let us see him brought low by an attack?"
 
     Strider looked at him in dawning fear.  "B..but Aravir, he spoke of them openly to Gimli and me, just before we left the camp at Edoras.  He knew we understood..."
 
     Strider stopped and after a moment, said softly to himself, "Ai, Legolas, could you not trust me?"  His hands clenched to fists and he fought both the uneasiness and the irritation that Legolas' disappearance caused.
 
     Taking a deep breath and asking Elbereth for patience, Strider finally looked at the dark-haired elf and asked, "Now, where would he go, Aravir?"
 
     Aravir stood silently for a time, remembering past attacks and his Prince's need for solitude.  His green eyes flew to the nearby trees.  Strider followed his gaze and sucked in a quick breath.
 
     "Of course...the woods."
 
     By unspoken consent, the two trackers bent their eyes to the ground and began to cast about for a trail.
 
     "Ahhhh - here," Strider's low exclamation carried a wealth of relief as he located one faint partial print leading into the forest.  Aravir joined him and they stared at the dark trees.
 
     "How will we ever follow his path in the dark, Aravir?" Strider questioned.
 
     Aravir studied him, a somewhat surprised look on his face.  "We will ask the trees for their help," he replied, as if answering a slightly backwards child.  He promptly scaled the nearest one, leaving the King looking after him, bemused understanding in his eyes.
 
     Gimli and Eomer joined him, the rest of the men and Elfwine trailing quietly behind them.  "Elves!" snorted Gimli, in disgust.  "Show them stars and they will sing to them, give them a tree and they will climb it...or talk to it."
 
     The men standing around him chuckled at his comment and Strider placed a comforting hand of the dwarf's tense shoulder.  They waited.
 
     Minutes passed and accumulated.  Then, as the tension building within the group threatened to explode, Ranalf and the two trackers returned, jogging up to Strider to report their findings.
 
     "The mare trotted south for a time, my lord, but then suddenly turned and entered the woods almost a league from here."  Strider looked at Ranalf sharply.
 
     "You are sure?" he asked.
 
     "Yes, my lord, although I can hardly fathom why," Ranalf answered, while the other two nodded in agreement.  "It hardly makes sense, when her first instinct would lead her to return to the herd."
 
     Strider thanked him, then set about explaining what they had found and why they were presently waiting at the forest's edge.  Many more long minutes passed before Aravir dropped from the tree to stand before Strider, his breathing rapid from the speed of his exertions and his fair face alarmed.
 
     "He did indeed enter here, my lord," he said, "and his path leads deep into the forest.  My lord, the trees are unsettled and upset.  I cannot quite understand what has disturbed them so, but I sense a great danger in their song."
 
     The crowd of men behind Strider began murmuring in concern as Strider frowned at this announcement.  "Can we follow him, Aravir?"
 
     "Yes, my lord, the way is actually easy to discern.  The trees have marked his passing well, " Aravir replied, motioning the group to follow him. 
 
     Strider looked at Eomer and his men.  "Aside from the fact that we must hurry, I am afraid we must continue on foot.  With or without the trees' help, we must be certain that we do not miss anything." 
 
     Eomer nodded and other men murmured their agreement.  While some appeared faintly alarmed at the prospect of a search without their mounts, all trusted the leadership of these two kings implicitly.
 
     Eomer's eyes swept the group, lighting on the figure of his son who had desperately tried to blend into the group near the back.  His handsome face grim, he called the youngster to him.
 
     "But, Father..." the boy began before he even reached his father's side.  "Legolas needs us!"
 
     "Yes, he does, my son," his father agreed, crouching beside the boy so their eyes were level.  He looked at his son, his dark eyes serious.  "He needs men who will not be concerned for the safety of one small and as yet, untrained."  He raised a hand to still his son's ready protest.
 
     "I know you are worried about Legolas," he said, "and I will send for you as soon as we find him and I know that it is safe.  You cannot help this time, my son.  But I promise you, we will begin some sort of weapons training once we reach home.  Will you return to camp and await word from me there?" 
 
     Elfwine agreed reluctantly, saying,  "Yes, of course, only hurry, Father.  Find him before something bad happens!"
 
     His father reached out and hugged the boy fiercely for an instant, then rose, calling one of his personal guard whom he knew Elfwine considered a friend, to him.  "Eodreth, take him back to camp and keep him safe.  Perhaps he could curry Storm or help with the other horses."  The soldier nodded and motioning to Elfwine, the two walked back to camp to wait.
 
     Eomer turned to his men.  "Stay alert."  He motioned to those members of his guard to fan out slightly in order to cover a greater area.  Then, he turned and followed Strider into the looming trees.
 
     The group moved quickly, led by the wood-elf who remained in close communication with the trees surrounding them.  They had traveled several leagues when Aravir stopped them.
 
     "The trees are very agitated now, Strider," Aravir whispered, his face troubled.  "They speak of blood, and death."
 
     He had notched an arrow long ago, and now Strider and Eomer drew their swords while Gimli hefted his ax.  The others behind took note and drew their own weapons, scanning the darkened trees with growing trepidation.  It was not five minutes later they stumbled over the first body.
 
     "Orcs!" Eomer gasped and the voices of the men behind him rose in dismay.  He turned on them instantly and his whisper thundered.
 
     "SILENCE!"
 
     The group fell quiet instantly.  Their King glared at them for another instant, then turned back to Strider.  He and Aravir were examining the orc's body and Aravir had pulled the arrow from its throat.
 
     Looking closely at the fletching, he spoke one word in a terse voice, "Legolas." 
 
     Strider motioned the others to follow and he and Aravir continued to lead the group, the pace quickening as fear lent speed to their feet.  They did not need the trees' counsel now...they merely followed the trail of dead orcs.
 
     Strider had counted fourteen when Aravir gave a cry of dismay and sank to his knees.  Strider and Gimli rushed to his side.
 
     The light from the torches wavered and flickered eerily over the kneeling figure before them, the object in his hand gleaming brightly.  Strider recognized what Aravir held, the sight ripping a groan from his very heart.  "No!"
 
     He dropped beside Aravir and they looked helplessly at the white, bone-handled long knife Aravir held in his hands.  Eomer found its mate a few feet away along with the Lorien bow.
 
     But it was Strider's questing eyes that saw the dark streaks on the grass nearby.  Crawling over to them, his torch held high, he brushed his hand across the blades.  They came away streaked with red.
 
     "Blood," he sighed, and turned tormented eyes back to Aravir. "Elven blood.  They have him, Aravir."
 
     His voice broke.  "They have Legolas."
 
     He felt a strong hand clasp his arm and tug him up to his feet with inexorable strength.  "Not for long, lad," a gruff, implacable voice said and he looked down into the dark eyes of an enraged dwarf.
 
     "Come, Strider...Aravir...if we hurry, we will catch them.  Aravir, ask those trees of yours which way they went."
 
     Before Aravir could leap into a nearby tree, though, he paused, his head cocked in an attitude of careful listening.  He placed a restraining hand on Gimli's shoulder and whispered, "Wait!  Listen!  Something is coming!"  They could all hear the crashing of something rather large moving quickly through the thick underbrush.
 
     At that moment, the last thing they ever expected to see broke through the tangled brush.  The golden mare burst into the small clearing where they waited and came to a swift, sudden stop before them.  She stood before them, shaking her moonlight pale mane and pawing the ground in obvious agitation.  Her golden coat shone with dark patches of perspiration, her eyes wide with fright.
 
     "She came back," Strider said, his voice low and filled with wonder.
 
     The mare gave a low whinny of distress and paced away from them.  She stopped and looked back... then turned and trotted towards them again.  She stopped, rearing slightly, and then turned away again.  Always in the same direction...always along the same path.
 
     "She wants us to follow," Aravir breathed.  "She knows where Legolas is, my lord."
 
     "How can we be sure?" Strider asked.
 
     "Consider your friend, my lord, and the relationship he enjoys with Arod.  You know how animals react to him.  Why else would she be here?"  Aravir asked, his eyes on Strider's face.  "We must follow her, and quickly!"
 
     Ranalf came forward and stated firmly, "I believe he is right, my lord.  This is an extremely intelligent animal.  I know she left, but perhaps she sensed the danger and followed Legolas.  It would explain why her trail veered into the forest.  She probably scented the orcs and knew that Legolas was walking into danger.  She may not have wanted to stay with him, but I had watched him while he worked with her.  She was not afraid of him...she seemed to sense his kindness."
 
     Strider finally nodded.  "All right, we will follow her.  Stay back, though.  I would not want her frightened in any way."
 
     While they had talked, Aravir had approached the mare cautiously, singing to her softly.  She stood still, listening to the song, her graceful ears pricked to attention.
 
     Strider walked up beside Aravir, watched her carefully for a moment.  "Can you hear her?" he asked the elf. 
 
     Aravir shook his head regretfully.  "No, she is closed to me, my lord."  
 
     Then, Strider called softly, " Lead on, my lady.  We will follow...only please, take us to our friend." 
 
     Whatever the mare heard in his voice, she seemed to approve as she shook her mane and turned away, leading them through the forest.  They had followed her for almost an hour when Strider noticed that the inky blackness of night had faded to pale gray and a fine mist lay on the ground, its ghostly tendrils curling around the trees like fingers.  He shivered.
 
     Dawn, and still no sign of Legolas.  He knew if the orcs went to ground to escape the sun's light they might never find them.  He gritted his teeth, banishing the panic that threatened to overwhelm him and pressed on.
 
     Suddenly the mare stopped and refused to go any further.  Aravir slipped around her and disappeared up a nearby tree.  In only a few minutes, he returned, his face tight with both exultation and pain. 
 
     "I have found them," he said softly.  "The forest ends and they have made a rough camp in some rocks up ahead.  Legolas is with them...he lives...but his wounds look serious."       
 
     Strider clasped his shoulder reassuringly and gathered Eomer and Gimli to his side with a look.  As the sun rose ever higher and the weak morning light strengthened, Aravir drew a quick sketch in the dirt showing the layout of the camp and Legolas' position, as well as the location of each of the six orcs.  Eomer dispersed his men with quick gestures.
 
     Quietly, the group surrounded the camp.  On Eomer's signal, they moved into position, Aravir silently making his way close to Legolas in order to protect him once the attack began.   Eomer's next signal sent the men into the camp in a rush.  The battle was short and bloody, the remaining orcs dispatched in a matter of minutes with only two men slightly injured.  Strider and Gimli rushed to Legolas who lay, bound hand and foot, on his side, with Aravir kneeling beside him cutting the bonds and turning him gently.
 
     His face was bruised, his wrists bleeding and raw from the rough ropes.  The sight of the wounds to his shoulder and side made Strider catch his breath.  One in his shoulder appeared to be caused by an arrow, which the orcs had apparently removed none too gently; the gash to his side obviously inflicted by a sword.
 
     Legolas' tunic was soaked back and front with blood, and his body shuddered intermittently.  Strider dropped to his knees beside him, feeling for the pulse point on his neck.  It beat slowly, sluggishly and Legolas' skin was cold and clammy to the touch. 
 
     Strider quickly cut away the elf's tunic and used clean, soft pads handed to him by Aravir, who had immediately removed his undershirt and began ripping it into long strips.  Pressing down firmly on the wound in the elf's side, Strider closed his eyes and prayed as he struggled to staunch the loss of blood from the shivering elf.  Long minutes passed before the flow diminished and finally stopped.  Strider quickly bound both wounds tightly. 
 
     Finally satisfied that his friend would not bleed to death, he stripped off his cloak and wrapped Legolas in its warm folds.  He looked up at the concerned faces watching him work. 
 
     "I cannot detect the presence of poison at present, but I will be better able to tell later.  The bleeding has stopped for now.  Let us move him to another place away from the stench of this one where I can tend to him," Strider informed them. 
 
     As they prepared to leave, one of Eomer's guards approached and asked what they should do with the bodies.  Strider's reply was short and succinct.  "Burn them." 
 
     The men left to carry out that task and Strider checked the elf's wounds once more.  Satisfied, he slipped his arms under the unconscious elf's shoulders and knees.  Lifting his frighteningly still body into his arms, he stood carefully.  Gimli gently straightened Legolas' head so it would rest easily against Strider's shoulder.  Aravir tucked more cloaks around him as Gerrith came forward and whispered in Eomer's ear for a moment.
 
     "Gerrith will lead us to a stream which flows not too far from here," Eomer told Strider.  "You will have fresh water for cleansing his wounds and we can set up a temporary camp until you deem it safe to move him again."
 
     Strider nodded and followed closely behind Eomer and Gerrith.  Gimli and Aravir walked on either side of him and off to his right, in the trees, Strider saw the golden mare pacing them.
 
     "She stays," he remarked quietly, nodding to the mare.  Aravir followed his gaze.
 
     "Yes," he replied, surprised and pleased at the horse's obvious change of heart.  "That is a good thing, I think.  Perhaps she has chosen Legolas after all."  At those words, he and Strider shared strained smiles.  Both hoped she had not made her choice too late.  Strider's hold on Legolas tightened and he hurried his steps. 
 
     They reached the stream in short order and the men quickly built a fire for Strider.  "I will need boiling water and lots of it," he instructed, cradling his precious burden carefully.   "And more clean cloths for bandages, if there are any available." 
 
     Under Ranalf's direction, the men rushed to provide the supplies Strider had requested.  Several had carried packs and water was set to boil over the fire in several of the small metal pans one of the men produced.  Two others busied themselves tearing clean shirts into long strips.  Strider thanked the men and Ranalf with a grateful smile and carried Legolas to the mossy, level ground beneath a huge beech tree that Aravir had chosen for his Prince to rest upon.
 
     Eomer and Gerrith had others arranging the remaining cloaks to make a bed of sorts for Legolas.  Strider gently placed the injured elf on the pallet while Aravir knelt by his side, sponging the dried blood and dirt from his lord's face.  The elf raised stricken eyes to Strider as he settled himself next to Legolas.
 
     "He is so cold, my lord," Aravir whispered, "and pale.  He has shown no signs of awakening either.  Do you think the arrows were poisoned after all?"
 
     Strider placed a calming hand on Aravir's shoulder and said, "We shall see.  Try not to worry overmuch, my friend.  Legolas is strong.  With time and care, he will recover."
 
     He looked at Aravir sternly.  "I will have it no other way, Aravir."
 
     The elf smiled slightly.  "Now you sound like Thranduil, my lord."  He studied Strider's face thoughtfully.  "Perhaps all kings share that surety that when they command a thing, it will be done."  He returned to cleaning Legolas's face. 
 
     Strider pondered the truth of that statement, wishing it were even half true, as he took out his healing pouch and chose various leaves and bark for use later.  "Where is Gimli?"
 
     Aravir slanted a look at him as he continued his gentle cleaning and replied, "He has gone to hurry the heating of the water."
 
     The man shook his head with grim amusement.  If anyone could make water boil faster, it would be Gimli! 
 
     Indeed, a few minutes later Gimli returned carrying the container of steaming water carefully.  He set the water beside Strider and then settled himself nearby, out of the way, but well within sight of his friend's face.  Strider carefully cut away the makeshift bandages and examined the deeply torn flesh on Legolas' shoulder.  He pressed on the wound slightly, causing fresh blood to flow.  Taking some of the blood on his finger, he sniffed, trying to sense the taint of poison in the blood itself.  There was none.
 
     Breathing a sigh of relief, he took the medicinal leaves he had selected earlier; different herbs, including athelas.  He ground them quickly to a fine dust, stirring them into the steaming water.  He used the mixture to thoroughly clean the wound, flushing it repeatedly to remove any fragments of cloth or metal possibly embedded there.  A glint of dark metal caught his eye and he used the tweezers he kept in his pouch to delicately extract a long sliver of the orc's arrowhead from the wound.
 
     When he was satisfied the wound was clean, he took out needle and thread and carefully stitched the gaping hole closed.  He sprinkled more athelas on the wound before bandaging it carefully.
 
     Aravir, who had been efficiently and silently assisting him, looked at him, hope and fear at war in his green eyes.  Strider shook his head no in answer to the elf's silent question, his own gray eyes dark with relief and turned his attention to the long gash in Legolas' side. 
 
     The King repeated his careful treatment on the second wound.  Lifting a finger coated in blood from the injured elf's side, he sniffed...and froze.  A cloying, rotten aroma reached his nostrils.  Strider closed his eyes, then opened them and sniffed again.  Yes, there it was.  The orc had apparently coated its sword with the poison he had so feared.
 
     Aravir, seeing his expression, asked, "My lord?"
 
     Gimli, too, had come to attention at sight of the look on Strider's face.  The grim faced man placed a hand on Legolas' forehead and underneath the cold clamminess of shock, he felt the first heat of poison-induced fever beginning to bloom.  Stifling a curse, he looked at Gimli.
 
     "I will need more water, Gimli ...both heated and cold, if you do not mind."  The dwarf grunted, heaving himself to his feet and hurrying off to get the water. 
 
     Strider handed his pouch to Aravir.  "You are familiar with willow bark, Aravir?"
 
     Aravir was and familiar with its uses also.  "Poison?" he asked.
 
     Strider nodded.  He studied the wood elf sitting across from him quietly for a moment, before adding,  "Do not despair, my friend.  He needs you even more now, and I need you to care for him without fear clouding your thoughts.  Do you understand?" 
 
     Aravir shook his head yes, steeling himself to the task ahead.  He had unlimited training as a warrior, but healing...Ai!  He had always left that to the healers of Lasgalen or Ithilien.  He certainly had never cared for a friend before! 
 
     I will do this for my Prince...and my friend.  He will not suffer alone...not while so many who care for him are near.    
 
     Strider smiled at the determined set of the elf's jaw and continued, "Take this pouch and use the bark in it.  I will need some steeped in boiling water to make a tea for him to drink.  Also, go later and see if you can find any more.  You know willows more often than not grow near streams or rivers.  If we are fortunate, you will find a tree nearby."
 
     Aravir took the pouch and stood.  "I will see to it, my lord."  He left quickly to prepare the tea.  Strider finished cleaning the wound and stitched it closed.  He sprinkled on the athelas and bandaged it.  Then he set about cleaning the blood from Legolas' chest and arms.
 
     Once he was satisfied that Legolas was as clean as possible, he checked the bandages again, and found the wounds free from any further bleeding.  Frowning at the sound of Legolas' labored breathing, he placed his hand over his friend's heart and focused his attention on the elf.  Closing his eyes, he allowed the sweet song of healing he had learned at the side of the Lord of Imladris to sing through him and flow into the suffering body of his friend.
 
     We are here, Legolas.  You are safe.  I have not the skill of my Adar, but take my strength now and rest.
 
     "Legolas, mellon nin," he whispered.
 
     After a time, he raised his head and looked closely at Legolas' pale face.  His color seemed better and his breathing easier.  At least for now.  He covered Legolas warmly and leaned back tiredly against the bole of the great beech.
 
     Aravir returned with the tea, and together he and Strider coaxed a cup down Legolas' throat.  The fever, however, continued to rise as the morning passed.  Moving Legolas was out of the question for the time being so the men quickly readied the camp for the night. 
 
     After Aravir and Ranalf tended the two wounded men Eomer sent them and a number of the others to rest while Gerrith and several of his chosen friends mounted a watch.  Eomer and Gimli retreated a distance from Legolas, though not too far, and sat quietly talking.
 
     Aravir prepared a mid-day meal of sorts from the supplies carried and later wandered the stream in search of a willow for its medicinal bark and perhaps a rabbit or two...or three for supper.   The golden mare grazed silently on the other side of the stream, suffering no one near her, but refusing to leave. 
 
     Strider, too, slept briefly, lulled by the shushing of the flowing water.  The sound of Aravir returning woke him and he sat up, checking his unconscious patient first, before running an experienced eye over the camp and its occupants, the Ranger in him nodding approvingly.  Picking up the cloth Aravir had used before, he dipped it in the container of cool water and began sponging his friend's fevered forehead, face and neck. 
 
     He paused after a time, feeling the elf's pulse and frowning at its increased rate.  An increased pulse rate, though, was expected - the fever caused that.  Still, his breathing remained easy and there was no bleeding.  At last the shock seemed to be fading.
 
     Strider closed his eyes wearily.  Now we fight the fever from the poison until it leaves his system.  If the blood loss has not weakened him too greatly, he will survive.  Strider brushed back strands of bright hair from his friend's flushed face and settled beside him to watch and wait.

TRANSLATIONS:

mir nin - my treasure (jewel)

sedho - be still; peace

Arod nin - my Arod

mellon nin - my friend

hir nin - my lord 

THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary:  Legolas receives help from an unexpected source.

Disclaimer:  The characters and places of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  I am merely borrowing them for a time, and gain nothing but the joy of writing about them.

Reviews:  PLEASE!  I treasure each and every little comment I get, and will see them as great encouragement  (I had my first experience hitting that great “wall” of writer’s…words fail me.  Nothing looked or sounded right for weeks!)   

A/N: I must apologize for the long delay between postings.  Between a family illness (my mom) and the beginning of school (this year I have a third grade class of “killer squirrels”), I have had very little time for much of anything.  Maybe things will improve, but with RL (and squirrels) in charge, I doubt it. L

*All characters’ thoughts will appear in italics.

Chapter 7: Out of Time and Mind

     Legolas fought grimly, trying to lift himself above the searing heat of the poison and the unrelenting pain of his injuries.  He could hear Estel’s voice from time to time, and struggled to reach him. 

     Estel!  I can hear you, mellon nin, but I cannot see you!  Help me!

     Gathering his fading strength, he made a desperate attempt to reach his friend.  Aragorn paused abruptly in sponging down the elf’s burning body, gray eyes locked on his friend’s face.  He saw a spasm of pain twist the pale features, and took Legolas’ hand in his, squeezing it reassuringly. 

     “Legolas!  Awake now, my friend!” he called, stroking the sweaty blond hair and patting the hot cheek gently to rouse him further.  At the sound of his voice, the elf’s dark lashes fluttered, and Aragorn felt his heart quicken with sudden hope.

     “Come now, you have slept long enough, Thranduilion,” he cajoled.  “Wake, Legolas!  Please!  Legolas!”

     The limp fingers tightened for an instant, then relaxed.  Legolas remained still, his eyes closed.  Aragorn bowed his head over his friend’s hand for a moment.  

     Please, Legolas, do not give up.  Keep fighting this.  I will be with you every step of the way.  I will not leave you.

     He sighed and raised his eyes, scanning the trees overhead as if in search of a measure of comfort, allowing the gentle whisper of wind to cool his face and the peace of the forest to ease his disquiet.  Picking up the cloth again, he resolutely returned to cooling the fever-ravaged body. 

     Early the next day, the men left their impromptu camp, and returned through the forest to the others.  The golden mare followed, maintaining her distance but refusing to abandon the elf whom, it seemed, had captured her after all. 

     Once back in the relative safety and comfort of the main encampment, Aragorn and Aravir continued fighting the unseen enemies of shock, infection and poison that threatened the Prince’s life.  Eomer brought his son to visit them, and afterwards Elfwine went immediately to see Arod and tell him about his friend.  Sadly, there was not a great deal to report, and the boy ended up with his face buried in the dark silver mane, weeping bitterly.

     The day after their return, as the fever took its inevitable toll, Legolas weakened to the point that even those brief flashes of consciousness ceased, and he fell into a dark bottomless pit.  His last coherent thought was one of love and regret.

     It was several hours later that the tears began.  Aragorn and Aravir knelt beside the elf’s cot, staring at the wet trails streaming down Legolas’ cheeks.  Aravir wiped some away with his fingers.

     “He weeps, hir nin,” he whispered.  “What would possibly cause him to weep so?”  He turned stricken green eyes to the King.  “Is it the sea again?”  Aragorn shrugged helplessly, tossing a cloth to Aravir. 

     “I am not sure,” he replied.  “The only thing we can do now is see to his comfort, try to control this fever, and attempt to keep some of the medicines and fluids in him.”  Wordlessly, Aravir dampened the cloth and began gently sponging the arms and hands of his lord.  He hoped with time the effects of the poison would pass; he also hoped Legolas was strong enough to outlast those effects.

     The mysterious tears continued through the following days and nights as the battle for Legolas’ life raged.  Only after Aragorn declared him out of immediate danger did the tears begin to subside, although they never truly ceased.

                                    ~~~~~*~~~~~  

     With the gradual return of thought came the sensation of drifting. 

     How odd. 

     Legolas held himself very still, and slowly realized that he seemed suspended somehow in a dim, endless corridor.  He tried to determine where he was exactly, but nothing looked familiar.  The corridor was lined on both sides with closed doors.  The silence was complete, and his body seemed unreal and insubstantial.  Legolas considered panic, but dismissed that path as unproductive.  Panic would not likely remove him from this place, nor return him to the living.

     An attempt to raise his arm produced nothing, and he discovered the struggle to call out to someone – anyone – pointless.  In fact, the more he tried, the greater his disorientation became.  Finally, a great weariness overwhelmed him once more and he slept. 

     When he awakened, he was in the corridor again.  This time he remained quiet, allowing his senses to expand and explore this new place. He sensed no threat, but he could sense no way out either.  Still, with the passing of time and careful consideration, he decided that he rather liked the dim silence.  It demanded nothing from him, and kept the pain at bay.  And the doors – such a curiosity!  Whatever did they conceal?

     Perhaps it would be better to stay here after all.  Maybe I will discover the secrets behind these doors.   

     So he remained, quietly content to hover in the curious limbo rather than face what waited in that other place.  From time to time, he thought he could still hear Gimli or Estel calling him, but he now had neither the strength nor the inclination to answer them.

     Time passed, or so he believed.  Sometimes one of the doors would open, and to his surprise, he was “allowed” to see beyond it.  What he saw was often unsettling as he glimpsed past events in his life…a picnic with his mother in her garden when he was still a small elfling…his first experience in his father’s court…the first words between Estel and himself…Moria…

     But he never ventured into the rooms beyond, content to watch from a distance and remember.  After seeing Estel again in one of the “dream rooms”, as he had named them, he tried once more to reach the conscious world.

     This time, as he struggled up through layers of heat and pain, he could hear Gimli urging him to “fight, you stubborn elf…do not dare think to leave us like this.”   He could feel Gimli’s hand, rough with the calluses of his trade and battle, holding his hand firmly while a cool cloth gently blotted the sweat of illness from his face…but his strength proved incapable of pushing past the last veil and he slipped once more into the darkness… 

     Ah Gimli, I have tried.  I am sorry…but I am so tired.  This is really not such a bad place, though I doubt you would like it overmuch.  It is so quiet here…peaceful.  I had forgotten what complete peace feels like, and it seems I am to stay.  Forgive me, my friend…

     Legolas.  A soft, strange voice fell on his ears, calling him.

     His mind recoiled at this interruption by what was apparently the keeper of this place.  No!  Who are you?  Go away!  He turned, searching for the speaker.

     Thranduilion, hearken to me.  The voice’s tone remained gentle yet grew in its implacability.

     Legolas shook his head stubbornly.  No!

     Come now, Legolas, it is time to quit the darkness and leave the past; you cannot remain here forever.  If it is peace you seek, come and abide with me for a time.  You will find both peace and rest in my garden.

     A garden?  With trees?  That sounded pleasant.  He had missed the color and feel of living things in all this grayness.  He strained to see, but could not discern any other presence in the dimness.  However, at the far end of the hall, a glow of light caught his attention.  It grew, until the whole corridor shimmered with the soft, beckoning illumination.

     Legolas reached towards it.  If I could just touch the light…

     The sudden jolt from nothing to something shocked the elf.  He raised one hand to touch the smooth skin of his face to see if it…he…was really there.  This time, he was.

     I am real again!  Well, if I can raise my arm and actually feel my face, perhaps I will be able to move…

     Taking a deep breath, Legolas stepped forward uncertainly…and found himself in the promised garden.  It was a secret, green place of growing things bathed in gossamer, shifting fog.  He breathed deeply of the cool, moist air and looked around curiously.  He stood on a graveled path, which wound its way through clusters of trees and disappeared into the misty distance.

     “Am I dead, then?” he wondered aloud.

     No.  The same soft voice that had drawn him from the darkness whispered in his mind, accompanied by a faint suggestion of amusement.

     Not dead, Prince of Lasgalen, merely sleeping a deep sleep.

     That did not sound too bad.

     “A dream?”  He turned, searching for the owner of the voice.

     Of a kind.  Follow the path to your right, son of Thranduil.  It will lead you to me.

     All right.  Follow the path.  That seemed simple enough.  He began to walk slowly, his inquisitive eyes captured by crimson flowers blooming here, or a saffron butterfly drifting there.  His steps slowed when the trail curved, and his breath caught at the sight of a magnificent old oak growing close to the path.

     Leaving the walkway, he approached the tree, his awestruck gaze tracing the trunk up and up, following the graceful branching of limbs draped in a gray-green robe of leaves and mist.  He sang a soft, delighted melody of greeting as his outstretched hand reached to stroke the rough bark.

     The venerable old tree answered the elf’s song, its distinctive music releasing the smile that had threatened since Legolas had stepped into this enchanted place.  

     I recognize that song…or at least parts of it!  

     Legolas laid his cheek against the tree.  Eyes closed, he basked in the oak’s welcoming presence, soaking up the low thrumming life song like a dry sponge.  Unnumbered minutes later, he straightened slowly, feeling the urge to move on almost like a shove between his shoulders.  With a farewell pat and a silent promise to return, he reluctantly left the tree behind.

     Walking once more along the path, he left the wooded part of the garden.  Across a wide verdant lawn, he saw a towering beech growing on the bank of a swiftly flowing stream.  Beneath the tree stood a stone bench, and as he approached, a figure rose to greet him.

     Legolas studied the being awaiting him.  His eyes perceived a tall, slender maiden with hair the silver silk of starlight and wonderful sad eyes the deep crystal violet of amethyst.  She wore pale gray robes, the hem embroidered with delicate mithril thread and dusted with tiny shimmering jewels, and a deeper gray cloak, the hood draping her silver hair and shadowing her perfect features.

     Neither elf maiden nor woman, but much more than either, the power and light emanating from her person brought him to his knees.  It was the understanding sorrow in her own tear-glazed eyes, however, that released his own tears to course down his face.

     He bowed his head, one hand covering his eyes as he tried to swallow emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.  A slender, strong hand began stroking his golden hair gently, while an equally gentle voice instructed, “Do not resist, Legolas.  I will keep you safe.” 

     At those kind words, he felt some hidden wall of control inside shatter.

     Surely this will destroy me. 

     No, Legolas, it will not…you must trust me.

     He wept openly then…for love and loss and longing, wondering if his father had been right after all.

     Why do you doubt yourself, Greenleaf?

     “It is my ties to the mortals and to Ennor itself.  My father warned me against them, my Lady,” he whispered huskily. “He said they would bring me only pain and destruction.”

     Your father is wise in many ways, Legolas, and strong.  We admire him greatly, but he has ever guarded his heart more closely than you.  While it was necessary for him to do so, it has never been for you.  You have always kept your heart and mind open to the things and peoples of Ennor.  Yes, you experience hurt now…but what would your life have been without these ties of which you speak?

     “Empty,” he answered slowly.  “Empty of the joy I have found in my friends.”

     The Lady nodded approvingly, and waited patiently until his tears finally ceased, and he quieted.  Then she knelt beside him and tenderly dried his face with a soft linen cloth.  Brushing his disheveled hair back, she studied his face with calm, knowing eyes. 

     “Who are you?” he whispered.  “Where am I?”

     “I am Nienna,” she replied.  Legolas’ eyes widened, and he bowed his head respectfully.

     “My Lady, forgive me!” he pleaded.

     She placed a delicate finger under his chin and lifted his face to hers once more.

     “You have done nothing to warrant forgiveness, Thranduilion,” she admonished him.  “Grief is not an emotion that begs another’s pardon.”

       He flushed at the mild rebuke, causing a slight smile to lighten her sad eyes.  “As to where you are,” she continued, “you are in the garden near my home…on Aman.”

     Legolas sucked in a shocked breath.  “How came I here, Lady?”

     “Patience, young one, all in good time.  For now, we will talk of many things and I will try to answer some of your questions.” 

     She stood and, offering her hand, lifted Legolas to his feet.  Leading him to the stone bench, she invited him to sit beside her.  They rested silently, each watching the glint of light on the rippling water before them.

     Finally, she spoke in a distant, sorrowing voice.  “Always have I pitied greatly the marring of Arda, and the suffering caused when Melkor sought to destroy that which we had wrought through our song.  Long have I wept with, and comforted those who come to the Halls of my brother, Namo, and helped them understand their own sorrows in order that they might be made whole once more.”

     She turned her tear-filled eyes on him.  “Long have I taught them the lessons of endurance and hope through the understanding of pain.  But every now and again, it is my reward to help one of the living Eldar deal with grief too great to be borne.” 

     One slim, cool hand lifted to cup his cheek, and that small, sad smile graced her lips once more.  “Your plight has been brought to the notice of the Valar, and we would help you achieve your goal of remaining on Ennor with your friends.  True, loving friendship is so rare, Legolas.  It does not hesitate to sacrifice itself, just as you have not hesitated to suffer for your friends’ sakes.” Legolas closed his eyes as more tears threatened.

     “But who told you?” he whispered.  “Certainly I am no one of importance.”

     Nienna sighed, eyeing the elf with impatient fondness.  “Perhaps not in your eyes, Legolas, but we would honor you nonetheless.  It matters not whether you understand just now.  Will you accept this boon offered to you, son of Thranduil?”

     Legolas nodded slowly.  “I do not mean to seem ungrateful, My Lady,” he answered earnestly, “nor would I ever wish to seem presumptuous.”

     Her violet eyes softened again with approval.  “Have no fear of that, Legolas.”  She tilted her head, considering him before continuing.

     “Attend me now.  I have prevailed upon my brother, Lorien, to aid me in addressing the griefs that threaten to consume you.  It is he who weaves this dream that I might speak to you.  Later, his spouse, Este, will also help by giving you the rest you so desperately need.  All you learn and discover here, you are free to remember when you awaken.  It will be your choice…to remember your time here and learn from it…or to see it only as a fever-induced dream and discard it as such.”

     At his nod of understanding, she added, “We will speak of many things, you and I –foremost among them your mortal friends…and then later, the sea.” 

     She stood.  “Come.  Walk with me and we will talk of Aragorn, Gimli, and the rest.”

     For the remainder of the long afternoon, Legolas spoke of his friends and his fears.  And he wept.  Often.  To his great surprise, he did not weep alone.  Nienna shed her own bright tears for his future losses, which comforted him almost as much as the words she spoke. 

     “Mortal and frail they may be, Legolas, but never think them forgotten.  Iluvatar’s plan for men is unknown to us, but He cares for them in ways we cannot comprehend.  As for your fears of eternal separation from them…you must, in the end, trust that He will reunite all of you someday.”

     “Gimli, too?” he asked, his heart stumbling briefly in dismay. 

     Nienna placed a comforting hand on his arm.  “Especially Gimli.  Aule may have created the dwarfs, Legolas, but never forget that it was Iluvatar’s will that allowed them life.  We are well aware of your friend Gimli, and his special qualities.”  Wiping tears of relief from his eyes, Legolas laughed softly.  Special qualities, indeed!    

     At the conclusion of the first day, Nienna took him back to the old oak.  She bid him climb until he found a comfortable resting-place, and watched as he settled at the juncture of an immense branch and the trunk.  Leaning wearily against the massive bole, Legolas closed his eyes.

     Placing a delicate hand on the ancient tree, Nienna whispered to it quietly, then left the sorrowing elf in its care.  As she walked away, she summoned Este to her side.  The two turned and stood, silently regarding the huddled figure in the tree.  

     For one so young, his spirit is quite indomitable. 

     Nienna nodded.  Give him his rest now, Este.  He needs the healing of sleep to recover before I show him the sea.

     Este smiled gently, and began humming a sweetly comforting melody, which she sent to the elf on the wind.  Legolas finally found his rest in the song and the stars, sleeping soundly in the tree’s protective embrace throughout the night.

                                       ~~~~~*~~~~~

     Nienna called him from his perch the next morning, and led him up the path towards an immense, graceful structure at the top of a steep hill.  The Valie took him through the open, airy halls of her mansion and out the front doors.  There, she stopped.  At his questioning look, she indicated a fog-shrouded path that continued from the house into another wooded area.

     “Follow the path, Legolas,” she instructed.

     “Where will it lead, Lady?”

     She smiled slightly and replied softly, “It will lead you to many answers.  My hope is that you will LISTEN closely, pen-neth, and hear that which is not obvious.”

     Legolas walked a few steps forward, then hesitated and looked back at the bright form of Nienna.  She waved him on.

     “Go, Legolas…all will be well.”

     At those words, he turned back and slowly followed the path.  He had walked only a few steps before he noticed a low roaring sound that gradually grew louder the farther he advanced.

     He finally broke from the cover of the sheltering trees, and stopped abruptly.  The path, the land itself dropped away suddenly.  Before him, gilded to glittering silver by the newly risen sun, stretched the shifting expanse of the sea.

     His breath hitched painfully, his eyes glazing with new tears.  Here was his heartbeat.  Here was pure longing.  He closed his eyes against the majestic sight and stood there trembling. 

     I want to continue, but desire has paralyzed my legs and robbed me of my strength.  The elf drew a shuddering breath.  Ai, the sea! 

     A gentle breeze tasting of salt caressed his face as if in greeting, ruffling his fair hair with playful fingers.  Legolas opened his eyes and forced his shaking legs to carry him to the edge of the promontory of land overlooking the rocky coastline below.

     Glancing to his right, he spotted the garden’s stream tumbling over the edge in a rushing cataract of water.  The crags of large cliffs past the waterfall disappeared in the distance.  To his left more steep, inhospitable rocks loomed.

     Slate blue eyes returned to the sea and traced the swell of waves as they built higher and higher.  He marveled at their sheer power as the swells broke and cascaded downwards, shattering into innumerable droplets of sparkling water and foam against the unyielding rocks of the shore.  And always the compelling song of the sea throbbed around and through him.  Dazzled by mist and music and sunlight, Legolas watched as the cycle began again, the eternal ebb and flow of the waters oddly comforting him by virtue of their unchanging constancy.

     The elf sank to the ground, folding his long legs under him and settling on the carpet of grass.  Obviously the Lady had sent him to this place for a reason.  He turned back towards the woods and the path and found, to his surprise, they had vanished.  In their place remained a heavy mist, concealing all from his eyes.  He watched the shifting fog for a few moments, distantly amazed at his lack of alarm at being trapped here against the sea.  Then shrugging slightly, he returned his gaze to the power and wonder of the waters.

     His eyes drifted shut, and he opened himself to the sea and whatever it would tell him.  As he waited, different voices from throughout his life began to drift through his mind…

     “Listen, my little leaf, the trees are speaking to you…”

     “Prince Legolas, your Adar wishes you to learn this.  You must listen if that is to happen…”

     “You do not really want the horse, ion nin, you want the power the horse possesses.  Before you are gifted with that, you must first LISTEN…”

     “My hope, pen-neth, is that you will listen and hear that which is not obvious…”

     A small voice whispered in his mind. Listen and remember, Thranduilion.  Listen and understand…

     Then all was quiet.  Except the voice of the ocean.

  TRANSLATIONS:

pen-neth  -  young one

hir nin  -  my lord

mellon nin  -  my friend

Thranduilion  -  son of Thranduil

Title:  THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author:  lwarren

Summary: Forced back to the settlement, Aragorn and the others face their growing fear as Legolas remains unconscious. 

Disclaimer:  The characters and places of Middle-earth belong to J.R.R. Tolkien.  I am merely borrowing them for a time and make no profit from their use, except for the joy I gained in the writing of this story.

Reviews:  PLEASE!  I have discovered there is nothing more encouraging than a reviewer, and treasure each one sent!

A/N: Chapter 7 became so long and unwieldy I decided to split it in two.  With the long holiday coming up, I’m going to post 7 and 8 at the same time, because who knows when school will let me post again!  I hope each of you has a blessed day of thanksgiving!  J

*Characters’ thoughts will appear in italics.

Chapter 8: Safe Havens

     A rising wind chased down the mountain slopes, swirling across the plains and bending the tall grasses almost to the ground.  The sound of wind mingled with the thunder of the hoofs of many horses as a large collection of travelers made their way towards one of the settlements of the Rohirrim.  The King of the Mark and his guard led the procession, with trailing scouts keeping a sharp lookout for any unexpected dangers. 

     The dark gaze of the King swept the open land around them.

    We have become complacent during these years of peace.  Eomer’s eyes hardened as he remembered their encounter with the “unexpected” a few days past. 

     How could we have ignored the signs?  Rumors have been rampant lately…I even asked Legolas to investigate their validity…and still we were caught unaware.  His handsome face as grim as his thoughts, the King shifted his hold on the precious passenger riding in front of him and shook his head. 

     The price paid is too dear.  They will not catch us unprepared again.  In a few days, once this storm has passed, I will dispatch hunting parties to search for any remaining orcs that might still hide in those heavily wooded places near the mountains, and reinforce the existing border patrols.  We have sent word to a few scattered settlements along the way, warning them of the danger.  For now, it will have to be enough.

     “What of Legolas, Father?”

     Eomer, startled from his thoughts, looked down into the worried blue eyes of his son seated before him on his big stallion.  Because of the abrupt nature of their flight, the boy had ridden with his father to ensure his safety.

     “Will not this move hurt him more?” Elfwine asked, twisting to look past his father’s broad shoulders and locate the tall roan stallion ridden by Aravir.  The boy’s brow wrinkled slightly in concern as he noted the still figure warmly wrapped and held securely in the elf’s strong arms.  All he could see of his fair elven friend was the top of his golden head, and several long gleaming strands of hair that had escaped the covering.

     Eomer shook his head.  “Aragorn thought not, since the fever broke yesterday at the encampment.  Our need to escape the coming storm is the main reason that drives us back to the settlement now.  We decided all would be safer within the confines of more permanent shelters.”

     “You mean houses, Father?” the boy questioned.

     Eomer chuckled at his son’s ability to cut through adult rhetoric, and hugged him.   “Even so, Elfwine.”  The boy looked back into his father’s smiling eyes, answering with a grin of his own.   It felt good to smile again, even if only for a short time.

     In a sudden reminder of the power of the approaching storm, a grumbling sound of thunder rolled down from the mountains behind.  The wind kicked up the dust along the trail.  The air itself felt heavy and threatening.  

     Elfwine shivered at the sight of towering black clouds marching across the summits of the mountains to spread across the plain, darkening the land as they came.  Jagged streaks of lightning pierced the darkness as portions of the clouds dissolved to gray and sheets of rain poured down upon the earth.

     He turned back and concentrated on moving in harmony with the ever-quickening pace of his father’s horse.  His fears about Legolas, however, continued to plague him in spite of Eomer’s comforting words. 

     The boy wrestled with them for a time before giving in and turning to look up into his father’s dark eyes once more, asking, “Why does he still sleep then?  Should he not awaken now?  And what of the tears?”

     Eomer tightened his arms around his son reassuringly and replied, “Aragorn is actually encouraged, my son.  He says Legolas is not caught in the unconsciousness of the fever any longer, but instead sleeps deeply.  He says that sleep will help in his recovery, as Legolas is still healing from that poisoned wound.  As for the tears, we can only wait and ask him when he awakens.”

     Elfwine nodded slowly.  “Oh … all right.” 

     He returned his gaze to the passing countryside.  Suddenly he straightened, pointing to the left of the trail.

     “Look, Father!  The mare and Arod!” 

     Eomer smiled at the two horses galloping alongside the column of riders, both moving easily side by side.  “The sun and moon travel together,” he murmured softly to himself. 

     Elfwine turned shining eyes to his father.  “Legolas will be pleased when he awakens and sees her, won’t he?”

     The man smiled at his boy’s enthusiasm.  “Indeed.  He will be pleased, my son.”

                                       ~~~*~~~*~~~

     The large mounted party swept into the village about two hours ahead of the storm.  A somewhat controlled chaos reigned for a time as the townspeople claimed the visitors, starting with the injured Prince, and took them to safe lodgings.  Men led the horses to the shelter of several large barns near the edge of town. 

     Eomer installed Elfwine in the room they would share, with strict instructions to unpack their belongings and await his return.   He then left to see about Aragorn and the stabling of the horses, leaving behind a disgruntled, rebellious child. 

     The boy quickly obeyed his father’s edict, stuffing their clothes haphazardly in the room’s empty wardrobe drawers before standing at the window to watch the weather grow progressively worse.  Storms were not uncommon, although usually by the time they reached Edoras they had lost some of their power.

     The boy found the unbridled power of this one fascinating as well as frightening.  He brought a quilt from the bed over to the window and climbed onto the window seat.  He then spent long minutes twisting and wrapping and turning (in the manner of young boys and puppies) until he finally felt comfortable.  But the gray skies soon reminded him of elven eyes, and his thoughts turned abruptly to Legolas.

     Elfwine stilled, remembering the return of his father and the others to the main camp days ago, the bloody, unconscious body of Legolas carefully cradled in Aragorn’s arms.  He remembered the fight for the elf’s life over the next days, his own fear and despair and finally, the overwhelming relief when the fever had broken and Legolas slipped into a deep, healing sleep.

     He thought back to the urgency Gerrith had displayed when he had come to his father yesterday and warned him the weather would change, and soon.  The late summer storms that swept down from the mountains and across the plains were brief but vicious, and not to be taken lightly. 

     Eomer had conferred with Aragorn about Legolas’ condition and once reassured that the elf could travel safely, had given the orders to strike the camp and leave by morning.  Judging by the increasing ferocity of the wind, they had arrived at the settlement just in time.

     Elfwine frowned.  He wanted to see Legolas, but knew that was not possible at the moment.  He wished he could go to the stables and help Ranalf.  He also wanted to see to Storm, and make sure Arod had been taken care of.   His father still showed an unfortunate tendency to treat him like a child.  He was, after all, nine years old now.  Everyone said he was strong for his age.  He could help if they would let him.  He leaned both elbows on the windowsill, and propped his chin on a fist, sighing gustily.  This stupid room did not even face the streets!  How could he see what was going on?

     An hour dragged by, and his father still had not returned.  Tired of waiting, and chafing at the inactivity, Elfwine decided he had had enough.  Jumping from his perch on the windowsill, he bounded over to the wardrobe, shrugged into his cloak and slipped out of the room.  Hugging the walls of the hallway, the boy stealthily made his way to the back door of the house and slipped outside. 

     Skirting the groups of people rushing about the streets, he made his way through the town to the large community stables each settlement maintained for emergencies.  He hid in a corner outside the building, and found that by standing on an abandoned barrel, he could just see through a window into the stable itself.  He watched the last of the horses, including Arod, led down the aisles into stalls and quickly cared for.  The threat of the storm became immediate, and one by one, the men left quickly to return to their own homes.  The boy scowled as he considered his options.

     Well, I cannot help now.  Storm must be in the next stable…and I do not see Father…maybe he is there, too.   I will wait until everyone leaves and then see about Arod!

     Cheered by that thought, the lad waited about ten minutes, then slipped out of his hiding place in the alley and ran to the large wooden doors.  Pulling and tugging against the strong wind, he slowly swung one of them open and peered cautiously into the dimly lit room. 

     Seeing no sign of the stablemaster or Ranalf, he slipped into the barn and trotted down the aisle, searching for the silver-gray horse in each stall he passed.  Finally, he found Arod in the last stall, and quickly scaling the gate, he hung over the top, calling softly to the occupant dozing in the middle of the large enclosure.

     “Arod?”  The whisper roused the gray horse and, snorting his recognition, he moved over to the gate, nuzzling the delighted boy’s shoulder.  Elfwine petted the broad forehead, straightening the horse’s silky forelock. 

     “Want some company, boy?” he asked, throwing his leg over the top of the gate and quickly dropping to the hay-cushioned floor below.  Arod backed away a few paces, but stood firmly in the way when Elfwine made to pass him and explore the large stall.  A sudden movement in the farthest, darkest corner of the stall stopped the boy in his tracks, and his breath caught as the mare moved into the dim light. 

     “Hello, girl,” he whispered softly.  “I wondered where you had gotten to, but I forgot to ask Father.  I did not think you would let them bring you in here.” 

     The mare watched him warily, but made no move towards him.  Elfwine had not had the chance to see her from such a close range.  She had the look of a queen, with her regally held head and bright, intelligent eyes.  The two observed each other closely.

     A loud, sudden crack of thunder shook the wooden structure, causing both horses to toss their heads and stamp restlessly.  Elfwine tore his eyes from the mare and looked at the ceiling apprehensively, hearing the roar of the wind increase.

     “This barn looks sturdy enough,” he said in a shaky voice, as his frightened blue eyes continued to search the ceiling for any sign of leakage or weakness. “We should be just fine in here.” 

     He jumped when Arod nudged his shoulder, snorting softly and pushing the boy farther into the warm confines of the stall away from the window.  The mare watched the boy carefully for a time, then lowered her head to lip at the fresh hay on the ground.  Elfwine stood close to Arod as the full fury of the storm crashed into the building, pounding the roof with sheets of driving rain and heavy-handed gusts of wind.

     Almost an hour passed before the youngster finally gave in to tired legs and sank to the ground, leaning against the wall.  As the storm continued unabated, he dozed, comforted by the close presence of Arod. 

      Elfwine had slept for about an hour when the heavy pounding of the rain gradually assumed a steady, lighter cadence, the lightning flashing only intermittently and the thunder reduced to low grumbles.  Not much later a dark shadow slipped into the stall.  Arod raised his head, watching the figure approach and kneel next to the boy. 

     “Suilad, Arod…my lady,” Aravir whispered to both horses as he checked the sleeping boy with quick eyes and soft touches.  “And how long has this young one been here?” 

     He laughed quietly at Arod’s vigorous shake of his mane, and scooped Elfwine into his arms, wrapping his cloak over the boy to protect him from the still falling rain and smiling when the boy mumbled something in his sleep and snuggled closer to the elf’s chest. 

     “Well, his Adar is frantic…which of course has made ALL the men frantic.  While the storm’s strength appears spent for now, I think it will return.   I will take him to the others while there is time.”  Arod nosed Elfwine’s shoulder gently, and nudged Aravir towards the door.

     Aravir slipped back outside the stall and turned, “Hannon lle, Arod, for watching after this one so carefully.  He will see you both later… IF his father ever lets him outside again.”  The elf turned and left, striding down the corridor and disappearing into the gray gloom of the rain-soaked evening.

                                        ~~~~~*~~~~~

     Thus Elfwine was returned to a greatly relieved father.  He awakened as Aravir stepped through the door, to the exclamations of those waiting.  To his great consternation, his father reached him first, taking him from the elf’s arms and hugging him fiercely before setting him on his feet and giving voice to his extreme displeasure.   Aravir left the two to their discussion, remembering well times when he had driven his own adar to distraction with ill-thought decisions and escapades.

     Quickly returning to the house he, Gimli, Aragorn, and Legolas were staying in, the elf stopped inside the door, removing his dripping cloak and boots.  Padding on silent feet into the large sitting room, he discovered Gimli sitting before the warmth of a blazing fire, the remains of a simple, yet hearty meal on a table beside him.  The dwarf looked up as the elf walked to a chair nearby and sank into it, his hands held out to fire.

     “Did you find the lad then?”  Gimli asked.

     Aravir nodded.  “In the stables, as you suggested, Gimli.”  The dwarf shook his head, a smile tugging at his mouth.

     “Ahhh…I thought as much.  He is as horse-crazy as all his kin.  I thought he might want to see if his favorites had been properly cared for,” Gimli remarked, looking inquiringly at Aravir.  “Is Arod alright?”

     Aravir smiled.  “Yes, he is fine.  Dry and fed and in fine company.”

     Gimli looked at him oddly.  “Company?”

     Aravir nodded.  “The mare consented to sheltering in the stable with Arod.  I suppose the severity of the storm helped convince her.  At any rate, she is there with him, and they both kept watch over Elfwine during the worst of the storm.”

     Gimli snorted softly.  “Horse has more sense than some I know.”  Aravir laughed. 

     About that time, the lady of the house and her daughter entered the room, their arms full of bedding and blankets.  The older woman placed her load on a bench, and stood, hands on hips, surveying the elf.

     “Well, Master Elf, back are ye?”  Aravir started to answer, but she had continued on, clucking over his sodden state.  “And soakin’ wet, too!  Did ye find the boy?  Probably drier than ye were, runnin’ around in the worst of this rain lookin’ for him…well, don’t just sit there, lad, get yourself into the next room and change.  My daughter will fetch a tray whilst I make up these cots for ye and Lord Gimli.” 

     She shooed the bemused elf out of the room, and bustled about, instructing her daughter from time to time in a low voice.  Gimli rose to help, but subsided back into the depths of the chair at her narrowed look. 

     “Tis no trouble for us, my lord, none at all…just sit down and stay out of the way.  We’ll have ye and your friend settled in no time…” The daughter, who appeared about 14 years old, glanced at Gimli’s face and smothered a grin at his look. 

     The woman and her daughter made the beds quickly, the girl slipping away to the kitchen for the tray of food.  Aravir returned quietly and the woman turned to him to nod approvingly. 

     “Is there naught else I can bring ye, good sirs?” she asked. 

     Gimli shook his head no, murmuring, “My thanks, lady, for all you have done.” 

     Aravir raised bright eyes and smiled.  “We are most grateful, my lady.  Is there any word from King Elessar?” 

     She frowned disapprovingly, and replied, “Well, he ate.  But all his attention is on his friend.  He’ll not sleep much, I’ll warrant.  I did hear what he told ya…eat and rest.  Were I you, I would obey the King.  He’ll be needin’ ya both to help him tomorrow.” 

     Gimli stared into the fire.  “And the elf?” 

     The woman looked at him thoughtfully.  “I could see no change, Lord Gimli.  He still sleeps.” 

     The girl returned then, carrying the tray loaded with food.  Placing it on the table between Aravir and Gimli’s chairs, she waited for her mother’s next order.  Her mother announced briskly, “Now, eat and get some sleep.  The rain looks to continue for some time…these storms can last for several days at this time of year.  Call if ya need anything…”

     She looked warningly at her two guests.  Aravir caught the eye of the girl, who had the beginnings of a mischievous grin on her face.  He returned the grin with a nod, the light in his eyes kindling to a laughing sparkle.  After one last glance around the room, the woman gathered her daughter to her side with a look and they took their leave. 

     Gimli heaved a great sigh and looked into Aravir’s laughing eyes. 

     The dwarf smirked, remarking, “She is a formidable woman, that one…reminds me of my own mother.”

     Aravir sat before the tray, sniffing appreciatively at the bowl of meat stew and fresh bread, and indicating that Gimli should help himself again if he so wished. 

     “All mothers are forces of nature, and not to be trifled with, my friend,” Aravir agreed, and applied himself to the thick stew before him. 

     After finishing the meal, Aravir stacked the dishes neatly while the dwarf banked the fire and they settled on the cots.  “Will he awaken tomorrow, do you think?” Gimli asked. 

     “I cannot tell.  We can only hope he will,” Aravir whispered. 

     They lay there in the dark, the strict orders to rest issued by Elessar the only thing keeping them from the room down the hall.  It was some time before sleep claimed either of them.

                                        ~~~~~*~~~~~

     The large, roughly furnished room gradually lightened as dawn came and went, a blustering wind still blowing sheets of rain against the side of the house.  The door opened silently, and Aravir entered, carefully balancing a tray of steaming porridge, fresh rolls, and tea.  His quick green gaze noted the still, silent figure in the large bed, and the large, equally silent man dozing in the chair nearby. 

     The elf placed the tray quietly on the bedside table, and stepped over to his lord’s side.  Placing a gentle hand on Legolas’ brow, he sighed in relief at the absence of the fever they had fought earlier.  He turned his attention to Aragorn, only to find the King’s gray gaze already fixed on him. 

     “My lord, I brought your food,” he whispered, indicating the tray.  “And Eolyn told me to inform you it is now YOUR turn to rest.  I am to stay with Lord Legolas for a time, and then Gimli will relieve me.  You are to eat, and then sleep in a real bed for the rest of this morning.”

     Aragorn arched one dark brow, causing Aravir to respond.  “You may think to stay, my lord…but trust me, the lady of this house will have her way.” 

     Aragorn leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes, a huff of laughter escaping his lips.  “Oh, a motherly type, is she?” 

     “Indeed she is, my lord.  She and I will look after Legolas’ comfort this morning.  If you do not want her attention turned to you, you should do as she says.” 

     The elf took the large bowl of porridge and handed it to Aragorn, who accepted it gladly and began eating hungrily.  The elf went to the fireplace and stoked the blaze until it burned brightly.  Silence reigned for a time as the man ate and the elf served him.  Finally, the two stood by the bed, looking down at Legolas’ unconscious face.  Aravir leaned over and brushed moisture from the pale face.

     “He still weeps,” he noted softly.

     Aragorn nodded wearily.  “From time to time though it is not constant like it was several days ago.” 

     He raked a hand across his tired eyes and said, “I must confess the lady has the right of the matter.  I am too tired to do anyone much good right now.”  He looked at Aravir.  “Promise me you will alert me if there is the slightest change.” 

     Aravir nodded.  “You know I will, my lord.  Go now and rest.”  The man turned and walked to the door.  He paused for a moment, then opened the door and let himself out of the room.  Aravir straightened the covers over the sleeping Prince, then settled in the chair to watch. 

     The next few days continued much as that first one.  The three friends watched over Legolas, and Eolyn worried and fussed over all of them.  With her help, their patient was bathed and changed often, and warm nourishing broth carefully spooned down his throat three or four times a day, along with strong, sweet tea and water.  All were encouraged at the elf’s ability to swallow, and Aragorn felt in his heart that Legolas would waken soon…which made each day he did not more wearing on all. 

     On the first clear day after the rain stopped, it was Gimli who finally made the suggestion.  “Take the fool elf outside, Aragorn.  He needs to feel the wind and sun and fresh air on his face.  You know how he is when he has been inside for too long…he wilts like a flower deprived of water!” 

     Aragorn had looked at the dwarf, his surprise fading to a growing smile.  “You know, Eomer said exactly the same thing about him.  You are right, Gimli.  That is just what he needs.” 

     An outing was quickly planned, with Eolyn overseeing the removal of Legolas to the small garden she cultivated out behind the house.  It was one of the few gardens with trees, a fact Aravir was pleased to note as he spread the heavy tarp the lady had provided over the wet ground and prepared a place for Legolas to rest. 

     The air smelled crisp and clean, and the temperature remained mild.  Aragorn carried Legolas outside, Gimli striding along beside him.   They settled him under the tree, with Aragorn holding him and making sure he stayed covered.  The others sat beside them, talking in low voices and enjoying being out in the open air again.

                                         ~~~~~*~~~~~

     Elfwine slipped out the back door of the house where he and his father stayed and ran towards the stables again.  The rain had finally stopped, and he had heard his father talking to Gerrith only that morning about Legolas.  The elf still slept, to the increasing fear of all, and Gerrith had come to tell his father that Aragorn had decided to take the elf outside in the hopes the fresh open air would somehow reach past his unconsciousness and rouse him. 

     Eomer had murmured his thanks to Gerrith and made plans to go see Legolas later.  Elfwine had not even seen Legolas since they had left the encampment.  He was determined he would today, even though he knew his father had confined him to the house for the week.  But first, he had something to do.

      He made his way quickly towards the edge of the settlement, reveling in his first taste of freedom in days.  He grinned broadly, running through the streets and avoiding as many puddles as possible.  At first.  But as he went the temptation of the water grew stronger and stronger until the boy finally “misjudged” a leap and landed right in the middle of one very large inviting pool.  No one thought to stop the young Prince, but watchful eyes marked his progress, and Eothred followed unobtrusively behind, curious as to the errand the boy appeared bent on. 

     The man stepped behind one of the smaller outbuildings, keeping an eye on Elfwine and raising a hand in greeting to Ranalf, who had spotted his odd behavior and joined him.  The stablemaster’s eyes widened when he saw the figure of the King’s son a short way down the street. 

     “What is that young scamp up to, Eothred?” Ranalf asked, smiling as he watched the boy land with force in the middle of another particularly large puddle.  “I thought he was confined to the house after his last adventure.” 

     “Not sure, Ranalf,” Eothred replied, leaning on the wall of the building, prepared to wait for Elfwine’s next move.  “And he was…confined, that is.  The King does not know the boy left the house.  I only happened to see ‘em as he ran by.  Thought I’d follow ‘em, though.” 

     Ranalf nodded, murmuring, “Good idea.” 

     They watched in puzzled silence as Elfwine slipped into the stables, only to emerge a short time later and make his way around to the corral containing a dozen or so horses in back.  He climbed up the fence to the top and uttered a soft whistle.  Both men started in surprise as Arod appeared from the middle of the group and trotted over to Elfwine.  The silver white horse stopped before the boy, allowing him to stroke his face as he spoke to the horse in a low voice. 

     After a moment, the boy jumped down from the fence and made his way to the gate, which he carefully untied, allowing Arod to walk through.  The big horse waited while Elfwine refastened the opening, and then the two began to walk back towards the house.  Elfwine had his hand on the neck of the horse, and seemed to be carrying on an earnest conversation with the attentive animal.  Ranalf and Eothred watched them pass, then looked at each other.  Both shrugged, and followed at a distance, keeping the two well within in sight.

     Elfwine led the horse on past his own lodging, to another house at the opposite end of the village.  They walked around behind the house onto an expanse of green grass with a garden carefully planted on one side, complete with several young trees. 

     Sitting under one of the trees, the two men could see Aragorn, Gimli, and the other elf, Aravir.  Cradled in Aragorn’s arms was the unconscious figure of Legolas.  The three looked up in surprise as Elfwine approached with Arod, but greeted the boy gladly, inviting him to sit.  Arod stood by Aragorn, head bent over his friend, snuffling gently at the blond hair visible above the blanket.  Ranalf and Eothred exchanged sad looks, and quietly left the boy and horse in the care of the King of Gondor.

     Elfwine settled beside Aragorn and reached immediately for Legolas’ hand.  He held it carefully, watching the quietly sleeping face until he became aware of the King’s close regard.  He looked up into the silver gray eyes that watched him and flushed slightly.  Aragorn noted the blush with amusement, and heard Gimli huff softly. 

     “Tell me, Prince of Rohan, does your father know you are here?” Aragorn asked gently. 

     The boy shook his head no, ducking his head and becoming quite fascinated by the long, elegant fingers of the elf.  Then he looked up suddenly. 

     “But he is coming, my lord…soon!” he said. 

     “Hmmmm,” Aragorn stroked his chin, apparently trying to decide what to do with the runaway. 

     “Please let me stay, my lord!” the boy begged.  “I haven’t seen Legolas in DAYS!  I wanted to see him for myself…and so did Arod!  We’ve both been very worried about him!”

     Aragorn felt the warm breath of the horse right before he was thoroughly nuzzled behind one ear, and grinned up into the intelligent eyes of Legolas’ equine friend. 

     “Oh, all right!  You may stay, of course!” he smiled openly as the horse tossed his head and the boy stifled a triumphant shout. 

     “Oh, do not be so excited, Elfwine,” he admonished the exuberant boy. “Your lord father will have much to say about this penchant you have developed for sneaking out of the house!” 

     “I know,” the boy said seriously, “but I just had to see him.  Everyone has been saying they do not think he will ever wake up.  I had…I had to tell him that I know he will wake up when he feels he is healed…and that we will be here when he does.” 

     Aragorn felt his eyes sting.  “You believe that wholly, with all your heart, do you not, Elfwine?” 

     “Of course I do.  Don’t you?  He would not just leave us!” the boy declared.  “See?  Arod knows this also.” 

     Aragorn looked up to see the horse nodding his head in apparent agreement. 

     Aravir whispered, “Arod says that Legolas will awaken when he knows the time is right, and that we are to hold fast to our friend and not lose hope.” 

     Elfwine nodded vigorously.  Gimli cleared his throat gruffly, “Well, I for one think the elf is testing us.  Believe me when I say he will have much to answer for when he opens those eyes of his!” 

     Elfwine looked at Gimli knowingly, and said, “He loves you, too, Master Gimli.”  At Gimli’s outraged expression, the others laughed softly. 

                                        ~~~~~*~~~~~

     Nienna stood watching the tall form of the elf as he stood on the edge of the cliff, his eyes closed, his face raised to absorb the waning light of the sun.  The shining, exalted expression on his face confirmed what she had already discerned.

     “Now he knows, Olorin,” she whispered.  “Now he will continue to strengthen his friends and add his appointed part to the Great Song.”

     “And he will experience a measure of peace at last,” the gilded figure beside her spoke, his voice filled with relieved satisfaction.

     “His true peace will be attained when he takes the Straight Road and joins us here,” his companion reminded him, “but, yes, he will find a measure of peace now.  While the sea may still call him, it will no longer haunt him to the degree it did before.”

     “I am glad he was brought to your attention,” Olorin said, smiling as he watched the elf commune with the sea.

     The Valie glanced up at the Maia and nodded.  “Indeed, he is all I was told to expect.”  She cocked her head slightly, as if listening to a distant voice.  “It is time he returned.  Do you wish to speak with him?” 

     The Maia shook his head no, and replied, “I will wait, and meet him and Gimli on Tol Eressea when that time comes.” 

     Nienna bid him farewell and left to make her way down to the cliff’s edge.

     Legolas was roused from his reverie by the soft touch of a hand placed on his shoulder.  He looked into the crystal gaze of Nienna and breathed, “My lady, I did not know.” 

     He took a deep, shaking breath and continued, “Now I do.  Now I understand.”  She nodded, and both turned their bright eyes to watch the sun’s descent into the fiery waters. 

     Finally, she spoke quietly, “It is time for you to return to your friends, Legolas.  They are in fear for your life, and their grief grows by the hour now.  Go to them…relieve their fears and strengthen their hearts.” 

     Legolas bowed his head in acquiescence.  “I will, my Lady.”  He raised grateful eyes to her.  “I cannot thank you enough…

    The Valie placed a gentle hand over his lips to stop him.  “You know very well that I am merely the messenger, Legolas.  Your thanks and mine both belong to Another.”

     “He knows the depth of my heart’s gratefulness, my Lady.  And yet surely the messenger deserves some gratitude also,” he said, “and you certainly have mine.” 

     He bowed, one hand over his heart in the elven salute of respect, and stepped away from her as he asked, “What must I do?” 

     She replied in her strong, quiet voice, “The dream will end and you will awaken.  I trust you will know how to proceed after that?” 

     He smiled.  “I will know,” he answered softly, and closed his eyes as everything faded to black.

     Waking up was like surfacing after a dive into a great container of his favorite pudding.  He pushed past the thick, cloying shadows of sleep and lay quietly, eyes closed as he tried to orient himself to his surroundings.  Oddly enough, he was outside.  He could hear the sound of the wind, and the gentle, tentative song of young trees nearby.  Warm sunlight caressed his face and he heard voices talking above and around him.  A warm, inquisitive nose was nuzzling his ear, blowing softly. 

     Arod?

     There you are. 

     Ai, Arod!  I am so pleased you are here, mellon nin.

     And I am pleased you are able to tell me that you are pleased.

   Legolas started to laugh at the horse’s wry tone, only to find he was quite unable to make a sound.  He began to sort through the voices around him, recognizing Estel, Gimli, and Aravir.  And was that Elfwine?  He thought so. 

     He thought about moving to announce he was awake, but it seemed he was swaddled in blankets like an elfling and held securely in Estel’s strong arms.  So he concentrated on the conversation instead. 

     Elfwine was teasing Gimli, it seemed.  “You must admit it, Master Dwarf.  He is as a brother to you.”

     “Hrrrummph, well…that brother has a lot of explaining to do,” the dwarf said peevishly.  Then, almost under his breath, he muttered, “I just want him to wake up and do it!”

     “I…I am awake, Gimli,” Legolas whispered.  He slowly opened his eyes to the sight of astounded, tearful faces and the sound of joyous shouts from his friends. 

     “Yes, I am awake,” he repeated, and closed his eyes again, a satisfied smile on his face. 

TRANSLATIONS:

hannon lle - thank you

suilad - hello (greetings)

mellon nin - my friend

THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary:  Legolas regains his strength and begins to apply new lessons learned.  (This chapter might have been better named RR&R – Rest and Recovery in Rohan! J)

Reviews:  Please!  I will frame each and every one!

Disclaimer:  The characters and places of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  I am only borrowing them for a time and receive nothing from their use but the joy I’ve gained in writing this story.

Chapter 9:  Comes a New Day

     Legolas sat and ate hungrily of the food on the tray Eolyn had placed before him.  Beside him in chairs arranged on both sides of the bed, Aragorn, Gimli, Aravir, Elfwine and Eomer sat watching every bite that went into the elf’s mouth.   After the initial joyful reaction to his awakening, his friends had said little other than to ask if he was well or if he needed anything.  As he took a long draught of the hot tea, Legolas felt thankful for that small mercy.  He was not sure he was capable yet of explaining his “dream”.

     The careful scrutiny of his friends escaped his notice at first.   His main goal since being carried in from the garden consisted of getting as much food in his mouth as possible while still observing some semblance of manners.  The offering from the kitchen consisted of broth and a light pudding, as well as some dry toast and the tea.  Not very substantial to his mind, but after a token protest and Eolyn’s reminder that he had been unconscious for over a week…nearer two…he had given in gracefully.   No matter…it was food and he was convinced no elf in the long history of Arda had been or ever could be as hungry as he was right at this moment in time.

     So he drank the flavorful broth and scooped the pudding out of the bowl greedily.  He was down to licking off the pudding left on the spoon, and at the point of trying to decide whether or not to dip his finger into the bowl and scrape it clean when the combined weight of five pairs of eyes finally caught his attention.  He paused in the act of cleaning the spoon, his bright eyes lifting to find those present in the room focused on him…and said spoon. 

     He looked at each of them, one eyebrow arched, the spoon half in – half out of his mouth, eliciting a giggle from Elfwine.  Turning his gaze on the boy, he let a very small smile escape and licked the utensil clean before he lowered it and returned the regard of his audience. 

     “What?” he asked.  No reply seemed forthcoming and Elfwine stifled another laugh at his offended expression.

     Aragorn cleared his throat, and asked, “How do you feel now, Legolas?”  A very small grin threatened the corners of his lips as he examined the elf on the bed before him.

     “From the looks of things, he is feeling much better, Aragorn,” Gimli snorted, his relief evident to any who knew him well.  “Do you see?  I told you - he WAS testing all of us!”  Legolas turned surprised gray eyes on the dwarf.

     “Testing?”  Legolas took a deep breath.  “Testing you?”

     The mock-offended expression quickly became honest outrage and the hand holding the spoon turned it into a projectile and bounced it off Gimli’s head. 

     “Tell me, Master Dwarf!  Did you PASS my test?  Or perhaps I should set you another.” 

      Legolas quickly removed the tray to the bedside table, threw aside several of the pillows behind him and slid down in the bed.  Drawing the quilt up, he folded his hands on the covers and closed his eyes wearily.  Testing them?  His lips tightened with displeasure at the thought.  He did not see Aragorn motion everyone to leave the room, or Gimli’s partially perturbed guilty expression.

     In the quiet that followed, Aragorn spoke, “Legolas, he was not serious.”  Legolas opened his eyes and stared at his friend steadily.

     “Well, not entirely serious,” the King said.  “It is just you woke up so quickly and completely…and hungry.”

     “So that, of course, means I was pretending,” the elf replied sarcastically.  He closed his eyes again.

     “Legolas…”

     “I am tired, Aragorn,” Legolas spoke softly.  “And I know well Gimli’s tendency to jest with me.  It is just that…”

     Aragorn waited for him to continue, but the elf closed his mouth and shook his head, repeating, “I am tired.  I would like to rest now…”

     Aragorn opened his mouth to speak again, then thought better of it.  He rose from his chair and walked to the door.  Before leaving, he turned.  “Sleep then, my friend.  We will speak later, if you wish.”

     Blue-gray eyes opened to stare at the ceiling after the door closed behind Aragorn.  I suppose I should have expected this…especially given how long I was unconscious.  It seems I have some explaining to do and yet I am not sure how to go about it.  Gimli especially will never believe my story. 

     He sighed, and felt the heavy weight of sleep pressing on him.  He tried to relax, thinking back to his time with the Lady and all he had learned there.   His eyes going slightly unfocused, he slipped finally into elven dreams of crashing waves and the music of the sea.

     Aragorn walked down the hallway to the large sitting room where the others had retreated.  When he entered the room, Elfwine leaped to his feet and ran to him, his face full of concern.  “Is he all right?” 

     Aragorn placed a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder and led him back to the others.  “He is resting right now.” 

     His eyes lifted to find Eomer standing before the fireplace.  The two men exchanged an understanding glance and Eomer went to his son.  “Come, Elfwine.  We will go and eat, and then perhaps see to the horses.  We can come back later this evening when Legolas is awake again.” 

     Elfwine gazed up into his father’s eyes for a moment, then agreed.  “All right, father.  I need to return Arod to the stables anyway.  We just left him outside in the garden.”

     Eomer nodded.  “Mistress Eolyn had her daughter tether Arod near a nice patch of new grass and give him water and an apple as a treat.  He has not lacked for care, but yes, you do need to return him to the stables.  I am pleased you remembered that, my son.” 

     Slipping an arm about the boy’s shoulders, he led him out of the room, saying over his shoulder, “We will see all of you later this evening.”  

     An uncomfortable silence settled upon the room.  Aravir sat in his chair, staring out the window at the garden and the distant mountains.  Gimli sat staring into the newly cleaned fireplace, his expression closed.  Aragorn sighed, and lowered his head to rest on his hand, staring at nothing.

     “I did not mean it, you know,” a rough voice broke the silence. 

     Aragorn sighed again.  “I know, and so does he, Gimli.  I think for a time we will need to proceed with caution.  There is a story behind these past days; I can feel it when I look in his eyes.  Something has changed.  In order for him to confide in us, we must approach him with care.” 

     The dwarf nodded.  “Fool elf,” he muttered.  “He should know I spoke out of concern.  Usually he is the first one to notice.”  He shook his head.

     Aravir looked up at that.  “We must allow for these oversights, Master Gimli.  He did look tired when we left, as if the strain of awakening had wearied him greatly.”

     Gimli huffed.  “Twas not the strain of awakening that wearied him, Master Elf, but the effort he expended eating all that food so quickly!”

     Aragorn smothered a laugh, and Aravir nodded, smiling.  “It was quite a spectacle, was it not, my lords?” 

     The tension melted away as the three chuckled at the memory of the impeccably mannered, immaculate Prince striving to put away as much food as possible in a very short amount of time.  They sobered quickly, however, and spent the next hour speculating on what might have caused Legolas’ long sleep.  Mistress Eolyn entered the room in the middle of their discussion with refreshments and a question. 

     “Beggin’ your pardon, my lords,” she said quietly when the conversation ceased as she began handing them their tea.  “Do the Firstborn sleep differently from men?”

     Aragorn nodded.  “If he has recovered sufficiently, his eyes will be slightly open and unfocused.”

     Eolyn heaved a sigh of relief.  “Oh good.  Then it’s all right.  Gave me quite a turn, he did, when I went in his room to get that tray.  I’ve never seen the like…I thought…” she stopped, her distress obvious to the three. 

     Aragorn patted her hand consolingly.  “No, actually, I am relieved to hear your words.  It is when his eyes are closed that something is wrong.”

     Eolyn eyed her three guests, and said, “I couldn’t help hearin’ what ye were talkin’ about when I came in the room.  Seems to me, the more normal ye can make things, the better he’ll feel about ever’thing that’s happened.  Ye make the lad feel strange, and like as not he’ll never say a word to ye…never mind ye bein’ his friends and all.”  Dipping a quick curtsey, she left the room to return to the kitchen.

     Aragorn eyed his two companions, smiling ruefully.  “The lady speaks truth, no matter if it is Kings or lords who need to hear it.  And she is right, my friends.  We will not make an issue of this.  After all, he is still Legolas.  He will tell us in his own good time.”  Gimli and Aravir nodded. 

     “Right you are, then, lad.  Normal, it is,” Gimli said.  He smirked.  “And it has been far too long since the elf and I had one of our “talks”.” 

     “Now, Gimli,” Aragorn began. 

     “No, Aragorn, you said normal,” the dwarf reminded him.  “What is more normal than Legolas and I insulting each other?” 

     Aravir and Aragorn had to agree that for the moment, nothing came to mind.

                                            ~~~*~~~

     When Legolas awakened once more, it was dark outside. Someone had kindled a blaze in the room’s large fireplace to dispel any chill.  The door opened quietly and a tall, matronly figure with silvered golden hair entered with a large pail in her hand.  He watched as she poured the steaming contents into a large tub standing before the fire and left the room again. 

     His eyes closed briefly in appreciation.  A bath?  I would give half…nay, ALL of my father’s treasure for a bath right now.  An amused grin appeared on his face at the fanciful thought.

     The door opened once more and the lady entered with another steaming pail of water, followed by the tall slender figure of a girl carrying several towels.  Her mother…it had to be her mother…the resemblance was striking…whispered something and the girl nodded in reply, putting the towels on a nearby chair and leaving the room.  Legolas pushed himself up in the bed and watched as the lady continued her preparations.  Finally, she turned and started slightly at the sight of the elf sitting up, watching her with those star-bright eyes of his.

     “Well, my lord, it appears ye are to be givin’ me fits and starts as long as ye are here!” she grumbled good-naturedly.  She walked over to the bedside and stood looking at him closely.

     “I beg your pardon,” Legolas said softly, “If I startled you, I assure you it was unintentional.” 

     She waved her hand, dismissing his apology and saying, “Never ye mind, lad.  Tis not your fault this old woman has ne’er seen an elf before!” 

     She smiled and placed a large, work-worn hand on his forehead.  “Good.  No return of that fever they told me ‘bout.  Now, my lord,” she turned a considering look on the bemused elf.  “Ye look to be the kind that enjoys bein’ clean.” 

     Her eyes widened at the bright beauty of the smile he gifted her with, and she shook her head.  “Here now, none of that.  It remains to be seen if ye can get from this bed to the tub.” 

     Legolas laughed.  “I assure you, my lady, I can.” 

     She sniffed, amused at his words.  “Well, I see one thing for certain.  Seems to me the male elf isn’t much different from a man.  All right, then, up ye come and let’s see.” 

     Legolas waved her away and swung his legs over the side of the bed.  He stood, a triumphant look on his face…and almost fell on that same face.  Eolyn grabbed him under the arm, propping him up until the dizziness passed and he seemed steadier on his feet.  Legolas gasped slightly, his stomach turning over in an alarming manner for a moment. 

     "Not goin’ to be sick, are ye?” Eolyn asked, her worry evident in her deep blue eyes. 

    “Nay, lady,” he whispered.  “What is wrong with me?” 

     She began helping him across the room to the tub, explaining, “You’ve been off your feet for almost two weeks, weakened by wounds to both shoulder and side, one of them poisoned, unconscious with fever and blood loss for most of that time…and you ask ‘what is wrong with me?’.  Lad…”

    Legolas laughed shakily, “I believe I understand, my lady.  It is just that I felt well, and I expected to…” 

     “…get right up and go about your business, I know,” Eolyn replied soothingly.  “And ye will, given a day or so with some good food and rest.” 

     They reached the tub, and Eolyn watched the elf blush slightly.  “Raised two boys of my own, Master Legolas.  So tell me, are elves so much different?” 

     She laughed as his blush intensified, and dragged a chair close to him.  “Get undressed then.  I’ll go find ye somethin’ clean to wear.  If ye feel shaky again, for the love of the Valar, sit.  You’d be twice that embarrassed if I had to pick ye up off the floor!” 

     She met his gaze steadily until he nodded.  “All right then.  I’ll be goin’.  Get yourself into the water before it cools.” 

     “Yes, my lady,” Legolas said obediently, earning a rather stern look from Eolyn as she left the room. 

     Legolas quickly shed his clothing, which consisted of only some kind of long nightshirt, and found he did have to sit in the chair for a moment before slowly climbing into the water.  He almost wept in relief as the soothing heat of the bath eased aching muscles and washed away the grimy feeling on his skin.  He leaned his head back against the edge of the tub and in the space of a few minutes began to doze.  The feel of water creeping up his chin woke him with a start. 

     This will not do.  The lady would not be pleased to have to fish a drowned elf from her tub!

      His lips quirked at the silly thought.  Legolas found a cloth and soap on a small table placed near the tub and quickly worked up a generous lather.  After scrubbing his still-tired body, he had just begun washing his hair when Eolyn returned.  She took over, her manner brisk and matter-of-fact, rinsing the soap from his long hair and gently cleaning the newly healed, still tender wound on his back and shoulder. 

     “I used to do this for my boys and husband, before they left,” she murmured. 

     “Where are they now, Mistress?” Legolas asked, sensing a deep sorrow underlying her brisk efficiency.  

     “Well, the boys married over the past two years and have homes of their own close by.  Good girls they chose, too.”  She smiled down at Legolas.  “Two grandbabies already on the way.” 

     He grinned back at her, then asked, “And your husband?” 

     Her smile faded to a mere shadow as she answered, “He was killed at the Black Gate, my lord.” 

     Legolas closed his eyes and whispered, “Many were lost that day.  I am so sorry.” 

     Her manner became brisk again as she rinsed the soap from his shoulder.  “Aye, many were lost…but much was gained, Master Legolas.  My husband fought for our freedom, and even though it cost him his life, I know he did not count it too dear a price to pay.  I raised my children in peace, and my daughter was born right before he left.  She is a comfort to me now.  As are ye, my lord Elf.  A comfort and a wondrous fair sight to behold!  Up ye come…I’ll hold the towel and promise not to look!” 

     “My lady!” Legolas protested in a slightly scandalized voice. 

     She laughed as she grabbed the large towel and shook it out, holding it as a shield for the elf’s modesty.  By the time he had dried off, struggled into the clean nightshirt, and stumbled back to the bed, Legolas was trembling slightly with fatigue.  Eolyn helped him onto the comfortable mattress, placing pillows behind him to help him sit up.  She fetched a comb from the table and handed it to him.  He began combing the tangles from his hair while she straightened the room and began draining the tub. 

     To his extreme dismay, he was only half finished with the task when his arm began shaking.  His hand dropped into his lap, and he sank back against the pillows, too weary and disgusted to continue.  He felt the comb gently removed from his fingers and the mattress sink as someone sat beside him. 

     “Here now, Legolas.  Sit up, lad, and let me finish.” 

     He opened his eyes to find Eolyn gazing down at him.  She helped him upright again and began gently working the comb through his hair.  Another presence sat down on the other side of the bed, startling him.  Aragorn slipped one strong arm behind his back, supporting him further as Eolyn continued to comb and dry his hair. 

     “I must have dozed off,” Legolas murmured. 

     He heard soft chuckles from both of his caretakers, and Aragorn agreed, “You must have.”  Legolas leaned into Aragorn’s shoulder and let sleep claim him once more. 

     Eolyn met the King’s gray eyes above the golden head and whispered, “He’s a dear lad, this one.  Ye take all care with him, my lord.  He’s still fragile, elf or no.” 

     Aragorn helped ease Legolas back onto the pillows and covered him warmly.  “I will, my lady,” he promised. 

     “Will ye be staying, then?” she asked. 

     “Aye,” he said. 

     “Then I’ll bring ye somethin’ to eat, along with his tray.”  At the King’s surprised looked, she smiled.  “Oh, he won’t be sleepin’ too long.  He’s just tired from his first time up and his bath.  Give him an hour and he’ll be wakin’ starved again.  Stay with him, and I’ll have a tray ready by then.”  She smiled at Aragorn before rising and leaving the room quietly.

                                             ~~~*~~~

     The rest of the evening and the next day passed quietly for Legolas.  He slept a great deal and ate even more, to his consternation and the continued amusement of his friends.  He was allowed no visitors that might disturb his rest (by Aragorn’s order), so his friends checked with Eolyn constantly on his condition.  Eolyn and her shy daughter, Laelith, fussed over the elf at every opportunity, to his secret delight.  Not since his mother’s untimely death could he remember being so pleasantly mothered.

     On the third day, after a pleading talk with Aragorn and Eolyn deemed him fit, he ventured outside.  Gimli met him at the door, looking at his friend with what Legolas easily identified as a semi-repentant expression. 

     “Legolas…” the dwarf began in a gruff, argumentative tone. 

     “Peace, Gimli,” Legolas clapped the sturdy shoulder affectionately.  “I was tired.  Any other time I would have realized you were baiting me.” 

     “And are you sufficiently recovered now, Master Elf?” Gimli inquired, his dark eyes sparkling dangerously. 

     “Yes, I believe I am,” Legolas answered. 

     “Good…good.  I am pleased to see a healthy elf again.  Given your newly acquired hobbit-sized appetite, you should be much easier to bait now!” Gimli said gleefully. 

     Legolas stopped, shocked speechless.  Other ears had been listening to this first exchange also, and Eolyn and Aragorn held their collective breaths. 

     “Oh?  Hobbit-sized, Master Dwarf?” the fair voice was soft. 

     Gimli nodded.  “Never thought I would see the day when you would out-eat young Peregrin,” he chortled. 

     Legolas’ gray eyes narrowed slightly.  “And you, of course, have such a dainty way about you at table, I suppose?” he asked. 

     Gimli sputtered.  “Dainty?  A dwarf may be many things, Master Elf, but “dainty” is NOT an accurate description of one of Aule’s children…  I will take that as an insult, elf.”

     “Good,” the elf replied haughtily, “It was meant as one.”  Their voices faded as the two moved away, arguing happily. 

     Aragorn heaved a sigh of relief.  Eolyn laughed with delight.  “Well, I never!  Ye told me how they were with each other, but I could hardly believe it!” 

     “Join me, my lady,” Aragorn said, offering his arm.  “Call your daughter to come with us also.  If Gimli is taking him where I think he is, I want to be there!  And you should not miss it either, I think.” 

     Eolyn called Laelith and they accompanied the King down the street, following behind Gimli and Legolas, who still engaged in a lively debate.  Halfway through town, Eomer and Elfwine joined Aragorn and the ladies.  Soon, a small crowd of interested observers followed a safe distance behind the oblivious elf and dwarf.

     Elfwine tugged on Aragorn’s sleeve and whispered, “Gimli is taking him to the stables, isn’t he?” 

     Aragorn looked down at the excited youngster.  “Yes, Gimli and Aravir have something planned, I believe.” 

     “Where are you taking me, Gimli?” Legolas asked, looking around with interest.  Sharp elven hearing soon picked up the sound of many horses.  He looked down at Gimli.  “To see Arod?” 

     “Aye, Arod and friend,” the dwarf answered mysteriously.  Legolas stared at him, and when no further information seemed forthcoming, shrugged.  A dwarf with a surprise in mind was not a reasonable being, so he did not even attempt to find out who “and friend” was.  Gimli led the curious elf around the back of the stables to the open land beyond the corral. 

     As they passed the fence, Legolas stopped short, staring.  Aravir stood yards away from them still, Arod by his side…and pacing nervously back and forth behind them was the golden mare. 

     “Ai, Gimli!” Legolas breathed, turning incredulous eyes on his friend.  “How…?”  

     Gimli snorted.  “I told she was a girl, and nothing but trouble.  She changed her mind, you daft elf.  She came back…led us to you as a matter of fact…when the orcs still held you captive.” 

     Stunned gray eyes focused on him.  “She led you…?  To me?” he whispered, tears glazing his eyes and threatening to fall. 

     “Aye, lad,” Gimli replied softly. “Maybe she liked your pretty face after all.” 

     Legolas walked slowly towards Arod and Aravir.  Aravir saluted him, murmuring, “My lord.”  Legolas touched his arm gratefully and went to Arod.

     Arod lovingly shoved his nose into Legolas’ chest in greeting.  Slowly now.  She is quite afraid. 

     Legolas stroked the sleek dappled-gray neck, resting his cheek against the warm coat.  Hannon lle, Arod nin.  He hesitated.  Arod… 

     Go now.  All is well with me.  Sometimes your thinking is…  

     Legolas smothered a choked laugh in Arod’s neck and hugged the great horse.  Straightening, he took a deep breath to calm himself and turned to the mare.

     She stood silently now, a living statue of liquid gold and silver.  Legolas approached her slowly and sank into a crouch some yards distant.  She shook her head, and Legolas could feel now the uncertainty and fear in her. 

     Suilad, hiril nin.  I am pleased to see you again.  Thank you for saving my life.

     But I am well now, and they are gone.  You are still here.  Why?  He held his breath.

     I do not know.

     Would you stay then, mir nin?  Would you carry me when I  must travel?  I have need of your strength and companionship, but it must be your choice.  If you should decide to leave, no one will stop you. 

     Must I go from this place?  It has always been my home.

     Yes, but we will return from time to time.  I believe you would grow to like the forest where I live.  And Arod will be there.  You will not be alone.

     The horse stood for a time, her face turned towards the plains she had roamed all her short life.  Finally, she seemed to reach a decision.  Lowering her head, she walked slowly to where he still crouched on the ground.  Legolas waited patiently, his heart pounding as he watched her. 

     In the small crowd gathered a distance behind Aravir, Aragorn also stood with a pounding heart at he watched the scene unfold.  Of all those present, he and Gimli were the most familiar with Legolas’ dilemma about finding a new, acceptable horse to ride.  They both knew how Legolas dreaded giving up Arod.  They both were aware of the elf’s attachment to the mare, although they were not entirely certain of the reason behind it.  Aragorn held his breath as the minutes passed, watching the silent, motionless tableau of golden horse and elf. 

     He saw Gimli shift restlessly and whisper something to Aravir, who shook his head ‘no’ and continued to watch Legolas.  Beside him, Eolyn and her daughter seemed entranced, the woman actually biting her lower lip as if the little pain might help the outcome.  Behind him, Eomer had hoisted Elfwine onto his shoulders so the boy could see over the taller adults in the crowd.   For once, even Elfwine was silent, his quick chatter silenced by the solemn situation. 

     Aragorn closed his eyes briefly, saying a silent prayer to the Valar to grant Legolas this one thing.  The King tensed as the mare walked up to Legolas, snuffling his hair, his ears and clothing, and allowing him to reach up and gently stroke her elegant face and long neck.  Legolas slowly stood, still running his hand over her sun-warmed coat and straightening her silky mane. 

     Aragorn finally found a breath and all around him low, approving murmurs rippled through the crowd like wind ruffling the surface of the river.  The village had welcomed the elf with open arms at their first meeting.  When he had returned injured and unconscious, they had expressed their concern for him in many small ways, and his recovery had been the source of great joy and excitement for all. 

     Now, they stood witness to a special event, and the people of Rohan recognized the gift the mare had just given freely to her new rider…her trust.  The mare continued to accept the elf’s gentle touch, turning her head back to examine him curiously and nibble at his long hair.

     You have changed somehow.  The pain and longing I felt before is gone.  I told you then you were different, and that we might meet again.  I will stay and carry you, if that is your wish.

     It is, mir nin.  I do wish it!  Legolas clamped down on his elation and continued whispering to her softly in Sindarin.  He kept speaking and singing until all fear left her and she rested her head on his shoulder, content to listen to his fair voice. 

     Once she had settled, Legolas turned to lead her back towards the others.  The joy shining from his face caused more than one in the watching crowd to catch their breath, and Eolyn unashamedly wiped glad tears from her eyes. 

     Aravir signaled Aragorn and Eomer, who turned and dispersed the crowd.  Gathering Arod to his side also, Legolas led the horses back toward’s Eolyn’s garden, skirting the edge of the town and avoiding the crowd of men.  Aravir followed closely, ready to offer help if needed. 

     Once in the garden, Legolas spoke to them quietly.  “I will not fence either of you in.  You may graze as you like, and run free if you will.  There is water in the small stream behind the garden.  Only…be cautious.” 

     We will stay close.  She and I have no wish for others to try and claim us.

     Legolas breathed a sigh of relief and felt a sudden weariness weaken his legs.  Arod gave him a gentle nudge in the direction of the house.

     Rest now.  We will be well.  The other one like you will watch over us.  Aravir smiled and nodded.  “Go, my lord.  We will be just fine…they will take good care of me!” 

     Legolas bid them farewell and walked slowly into the house.  Aragorn met him at the door with a tankard of cider and a bowl of soup.  Eolyn pulled a chair out at the table and motioned him to sit.  He stumbled slightly, and found Gimli at his side, helping him to the chair. 

     “Of all the addle-brained elves!  Sit here and do not move until you have eaten something!” the dwarf growled. 

     He sank down, thankful for perceptive friends as he gratefully drank the cool liquid and ate the thick soup.  Silence reigned for a time until he raised his head to look at them and asked, “Is she not beautiful?” 

     All burst out laughing.  “A fair lass for a fair elven lord, my lad,” Eolyn replied.  “Now eat, and then it’s off to bed with ye.”

     Aragorn raised his hand to silence his friend when he started to argue.  “No, Legolas.  You are looking positively transparent.  Rest for a while, and then you may rejoin them in the garden.  I have told everyone else we will see them tonight, so you will need some rest before they descend on you.”

     “Oh, I suppose you are right,” Legolas complained.  “You generally are.”  He finished his meal, bowed to Eolyn, and made a rude gesture to Aragorn and Gimli before walking carefully to his room.  Crawling into the bed, he was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.

                                            ~~~*~~~

     Legolas awakened to the sound of laughter and singing outside his window.  Quickly rising, he changed into fresh clothing and straightened his sleep-tousled hair.  Walking down the hall, he followed the voices to the garden.  There he saw Aragorn speaking with Eomer, while Elfwine stood before Arod, feeding him an apple as he told the horse about his day.  Others gathered about, talking and laughing.  It looked to be the entire party that had accompanied them from Edoras on the hunt.

     The mare stood some distance away, watching the whole scene warily.  Eolyn motioned him to join the group as she and several village women served the evening meal, bringing large plates of roasted meat and vegetables, along with long loaves of fresh bread.  The guests settled on bright quilts thrown upon the grass, talking and eating and watching the elf and his new horse. 

     “What will you call her?” asked Ranalf, admiring the long, clean lines of the mare and her elegant carriage. 

     Legolas shrugged.  “I am not exactly sure as of yet,” he answered.  “A suitable name has not yet presented itself.  But I will know when the time comes.”

     Legolas had just finished eating when Eomer asked, “What happened while you slept, Legolas?  You were weeping a good portion of the time.”  Legolas’ eyes widened at the statement.  Weeping?  The others turned inquisitive eyes on him, obviously expecting an answer.

     Drawing a deep breath, Legolas replied slowly, “I had a most wondrous experience, Eomer.  You might call it a dream.  It was, and then again, it was not.  I am not certain I have the words to explain it to you, or that any of you would believe me.  I know in my heart, though, it really happened for because of it I have a peace about the sea that I have not experienced since I heard the gulls at Pelargir.”  He lifted his face to gaze at the first stars appearing overhead in the darkening sky. 

     Aragorn placed a supportive hand on the elf’s shoulder.  Legolas turned to look at him as he said softly, “You may tell us whenever you find those words, mellon nin, and know that we will believe you.”   Then he deftly turned the conversation to other topics, much to Legolas’ relief.

     His eyes returned to the night sky and he listened while the others joked and laughed.  Getting up, he excused himself from the group and moved away to the edge of the light from the lanterns placed around the yard. 

     He stopped by one of the trees, and stood quietly.  The voices of the men still distracted and he made his way a short distance outside the circle of light to a grassy knoll.  Sinking to the ground, he wrapped his arms about his knees and shut his eyes. 

     A soft breeze laden with the scent of new grass and the last blossoms of summer lifted his hair, cooling and soothing as it passed.  He could hear the rustle of the tall grasses, the drone of insects and the chorus of creaks and croaks coming from the small frogs that lived on the banks of the stream. He had only been sitting a short time when he felt someone sit beside him, another comforting, familiar presence. 

     Estel.

     “What is it, my friend?” Aragorn asked quietly.

     “I was listening to the song of the world, Estel,” Legolas whispered.  “I had not realized I had grown so conflicted lately that to hear it hurt me.  Now I begin to understand that it played a part in why the sea’s call troubled me so.  She told me that once I truly listened, I might at last understand.  She was right.”

     Aragorn placed his hand on Legolas’ shoulder.  “Who, Legolas?”

     The elf turned starlit eyes to him and replied, “Nienna.”

     Aragorn drew a sharp breath.  “Nienna?  You saw her?  Spoke to her?  How…?”  

     Legolas laughed softly.  “You will find this hard to believe, my friend.”

     “Yet there is a change in you, Legolas.  I have seen it in your eyes…I hear it now in your voice,” he said. “How could I not believe?”

     Legolas closed his eyes again.  “Perhaps later I will explain the details.  Now, I hear the song of the world and I know it is trying to tell me something, if only I listen closely enough.” 

     Aragorn smiled, and said, “Then listen and learn, mellon nin.  I will keep you safe.”  His friend nodded, and opened himself even more to the music.

 The song, as familiar to him as breathing, resonated within until his heart beat in rhythm with it.  But something was different this time. 

     He quickly immersed himself deeper in the music that was Arda Marred.  It still seemed muddled…but wait…perhaps muddled was the wrong word…He hummed a counter melody along with it, one he had heard beside the sea in Aman.  The blending of the two created a clarity of sound that he had never heard before.  Tears burned his eyes. 

     So…all of a part.  This is one of the lessons I am to apply while I remain on Ennor.  Both songs are part of the Great Song…I knew that, but did not realize that through my own song, I could bring them into harmony.

     In his mind, he could hear the song of Aman…the song of the great oak, the stream, Este’s song of healing rest, and the sea.  He began to sing softly of wide plains and deep forests, cleansing rain and sheltering friendship, letting the two songs intertwine and guide his own. 

     Arod and the mare moved over beside him, drawn by the beauty of the haunting melody.  The men in the garden gradually quieted as the song drifted towards them.

     Legolas continued to sing, feeling a joy well inside as this new and unexpected song took shape. The music coming from within me is new and different from any I have ever sung before.   

     Aragorn watched Legolas sing, his fair face lifted to the stars, and felt deep relief and gratitude fill his heart. The core of icy fear he had felt since the day they found Legolas unconscious from the sea-longing slowly began to melt.  He, too, raised his eyes to the stars, offering his own silent praise and thank you to the source of his friend’s newfound peace.  And Legolas continued to sing well into the night. 

     When he finally stopped, the others had already left, and only Aragorn remained.  They spoke no words…none were needed.  Aragorn helped Legolas to his feet and the two friends walked back to the house.  Legolas lay in bed long after Aragorn left, pondering what had happened, and wondering if it would again.  Slipping gently into sleep, he whispered, “I hope so.”

                                            ~~~*~~~

     For the next few days, he spent long hours in Eolyn’s garden, his eyes intensely focused yet unseeing, as he sang softly to himself in an effort to recapture the song of that night.  Sometimes Aragorn would silently join him, a needed support and comfort.

     At night, he sat under the star-studded sky of Rohan and sang songs praising Elbereth and Eru Iluvatar.  Eventually his song would change, becoming melodies he remembered from his dream combined with the song of Arda present, both interweaving in glorious harmony.  But it was never the same as that first night.  In fact, he quickly found the song changed every time he sang it, though it retained its basic melody.

     Eolyn and Laelith would sit together on the back porch of their home when the chores were finished, listening to him sing.  “Mama, did ever ye hear anything so sweet?” the girl would ask, leaning her head on her mother’s shoulder. 

     “Nay, child.  Like as not, we ne’er will again.”  Eolyn looked at her daughter and smiled.  “I heard him teaching you one of those lay songs this mornin’.  Mayhap we’ll keep some of his music with us when he leaves after all.” 

     Laelith smiled.  “I hope so.”

                                             ~~~*~~~

     Eomer finally sought out Legolas one bright sunny morning and found him slowly walking the mare, perched on her back and guiding her with only hands and voice.  He watched in amazement.  He had not thought the elf would attempt to accustom her to his weight so soon. 

     When Legolas saw him waiting, he leaped gracefully from her back.  Throwing one arm across her neck, he walked her over to where Arod was grazing and left her there with a whispered word and a gentle stroke to her forehead.

     As he approached, Legolas smiled to see Eomer shaking his head, his eyes still wide with wonder.

     “How do you do that, Legolas?” the King asked.  “Are you certain you will not move to Rohan and work with Ranalf in my stables?”  The two both laughed at Eomer’s standard joking question, though Legolas sensed he was much more serious this time. 

     “I came to ask if you thought you were well enough to travel,” Eomer explained.  “It is time we returned to Edoras.”

     “Whenever you are ready to leave, Eomer,” Legolas assured him.  “I am fully recovered.  I will still need to ride Storm, if possible and work with the mare as we travel, for as of yet she is not ready to carry me on a prolonged journey.”

     Eomer nodded.  “That would be fine.  I will make plans to leave then in two days.”  He gripped the elf’s shoulder in farewell and walked away, already deep in thoughts of departure. 

     Legolas walked over to the two horses.  “Soon we leave and travel to the city of Edoras.  After a short rest, we will return home.”  Arod tossed his mane, his excitement palpable.  The mare turned her face into Legolas’ chest, and the elf stroked her neck comfortingly. 

     “You will like Ithilien, mir nin,” he whispered.  “You will see.  And if things go as expected, I already have another trip in mind for us both!  There is one thing yet I must do to complete this journey.”

TRANSLATIONS:

Arod nin - my Arod

mellon nin - my friend

hiril nin - my lady

suilad - hello (greetings)

mir nin - my treasure (jewel)

hannon lle - thank you

Title:  THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author:  lwarren

Summary: Legolas and friends return to Edoras and the mare receives lessons in the fine art of bearing an elven rider.

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and its inhabitants belong to JRR Tolkien.  I only borrow them from time to time, and return them hopefully intact.

Reviews: Please do!  I treasure each and every one.

*Characters’ thoughts will appear in italics.

Chapter 10: What the Heart Perceives

          The promised day of departure for Edoras arrived, and the village gathered to give their King and his friends a proper sendoff.  The main body of the group had already taken their leave, pausing at the crest of a nearby hill to wait for one last member.   Inside Eolyn’s house, Legolas scanned the room he had lived in for just over a week, making certain he had all his belongings and the room was neat and orderly.  His elven sensibilities finally satisfied, he drew a deep breath and walked from the room, following the long hallway past the sitting room and to the front door. 

          Stepping out into the early morning sunlight, he made his way to the waiting horses and slipped the last of his belongings into one of the satchels carried by the packhorse.  He gave the patient animal a grateful pat on the neck and spoke a soft word to a restless Storm.  Another deep breath and he was ready to speak to the small crowd waiting to say good-bye to him.

          Legolas walked over to stand before those gathered.  As he looked at their smiling faces, he thought about how welcome they had made him feel.  Such was not always the case…the Firstborn seemed to make men very nervous for some reason.  Mindful of all they had done, he thanked the leaders of the village graciously for their help, placing one hand over his heart as he bowed respectfully. 

          He was instantly surrounded by a small group of well-wishers seeking one last chance to say farewell and invite him to visit again whenever he could.  The generosity and sincerity of each kind word warmed his heart and he was just beginning to believe this leave taking would not be so bad after all when he came face to face with Eolyn and Laelith.

          Eolyn took one look at his stricken slate gray eyes and leaned forward to whisper, “Don’t ye dare look like that, Legolas, my lad.  If ye don’t want me and this girl of mine draped all over ye sobbin’ our hearts out, ye’ll say goodbye, give us both a hug, and promise we’ll be seein’ ya again sometime.”

          Legolas reached out, pulling mother and daughter to him for a quick, fierce embrace before setting them away.  “I will NOT say ‘Namarie’,” he stated in a carefully composed voice.  “Only thank you, my ladies, for all your kind care and concern, and I will see you both again soon.” 

          Strong elven fingers gently brushed the tears from each cheek before he bowed to them both and turned away.  He strode quickly to where Storm waited, leaped onto the black stallion’s back and spoke quietly to the restive animal.   Gathering the lead rein of the packhorse, he urged Storm forward, the stallion’s long fluid strides lengthening quickly as they headed across the plain to the waiting caravan.

          Eolyn turned and led her weeping daughter into the now empty house, never aware that the black horse pulled to a halt some distance away and keen eyes watched until they vanished through the doorway.   Legolas blinked when the door shut and sat quietly, looking for all the world like a lost elfling. 

          He started slightly when Aragorn spoke from nearby.  “You will see them again, mellon nin.”  He took the lead rein from Legolas’ hand and passed it on to one of the guards, who led the pack animal on to join the rest of the procession. 

          Legolas turned to Aragorn, his storm gray eyes bleak.  “Nothing is certain, Estel…and time flees before mortals as quickly as night flees the morning light of Anor.” 

         Aragorn listened to his friend’s words with alarm.  This will not do at all!  I do not want him making himself ill again. 

         Thinking to distract Legolas, the King conjured up the most irritating smile he could and stared meaningfully at the elf.  “Ah, but I know something you do not, Thranduilion.” 

          Legolas looked at the grinning face of the man he called friend.  “Oh?” he asked, eyes narrowing.  Aragorn did not reply, just sat his horse with that insufferable smile growing wider and wider.  Legolas gritted his teeth.  With the unexpected upheaval of this morning, he really was in no mood for games at the moment.  “And what would that be, my lord?” 

          Aragorn smothered his laughter at the suppressed violence in Legolas’ voice.  Good!  Just the reaction I was hoping for.  Now to keep him from leaping on me and pummeling my face! 

          The King, well known for his diplomacy and tact, always found himself suddenly lacking in those skills when faced with the ire of this elf.  It was just too funny; the more Legolas struggled for control of his temper, the quieter he became.  A complete contradiction…that is what his friend was. 

          Aragorn tried unsuccessfully to wipe the smile from his face and finally held his hands up in surrender.  “Strike me not, son of Thranduil!  It is just this – I heard Eomer speaking of some plans which you might find of interest!”  Legolas glared at Aragorn as the man nudged his stallion ahead without elaborating on his statement, curse him.

          “What manner of plans, Estel?” he asked very softly, retribution lurking in the silk of his voice as he urged Storm forward to follow the King’s mount.  I am going to strangle him…yes, that is what I will do…I will count to ten and if he does not just say what he means, I am going to jump on him and strangle him…. The two walked side by side as an amused Aragorn regarded his friend’s increasingly aggravated expression. 

          Aragorn let Legolas simmer for a handful of steps before he relented, saying, “He plans to invite Eolyn and Laelith to spend some time in Edoras and perhaps even relocate there permanently.  It is the King’s opinion that Eolyn would make a fine housekeeper; exactly what Lothiriel needs, in fact.   And Laelith is of an age to make an exemplary lady-in-waiting.” 

          Legolas threw a surprised glance at Aragorn, his ire distracted by the announcement.  The faintest of smiles lifted the corners of his lips as he thought of the way Eolyn had enjoyed mothering not only her elven patient, but also every one of his friends who came to visit, including the King of the Mark.  Rank did not intimidate her; indeed, she seemed to believe it her sworn duty to lavish as much care and attention on them as possible.  And Elfwine adored her.  He pictured Eolyn managing the huge household and found his irritation and melancholy vanishing rapidly.  A broad smile lit his face, chasing the bleakness from his eyes.  Eolyn would have everyone, including the King himself, whipped into shape in a matter of weeks. 

          Following his friend’s thoughts and laughing softly at the elf’s smile, Aragorn said, “Precisely, my friend.  Can you not see it?” 

          Legolas chuckled, all thoughts of murder and mayhem forgotten.  “Indeed I can, mellon nin.” 

          Remembering a conversation with Eolyn upon their first meeting, he frowned thoughtfully.  “But over the next few months, Eolyn’s daughters-in-law will present her with her first grandchildren.  Perhaps Eomer might wait until she has had time with her own family before issuing the invitation.”

          Aragorn nodded.  “I will pass that information on to him.  Now cast aside this sorrow of yours.  I think you will see them sooner than you think. ” 

          Legolas sighed.  “It was difficult to leave, Estel.  We were only guests for a week and a few days, and yet it was difficult.  I do not understand.” 

          “I know,” Aragon replied thoughtfully, remembering the first time he and Legolas had met.  He had been quite young then, but his liking for the golden-haired prince had been immediate.  It had only grown as time passed, and he now regarded that first meeting as one of the most important days of his life. 

          “Is it not strange that there are people we meet that our hearts instantly recognize…who become dear to us in a matter of hours, and for no apparent reason?” he asked.  “I suppose we should count ourselves privileged when that happens, and thank Iluvatar for sending such gifts our way.  You were injured and far from home, and Eolyn took such care of you as a mother might.  Indeed, she endeared herself to us all, did she not?”  

          “Yes, she did,” Legolas agreed.  They urged both horses to a canter and rode on silently, lost in memories and surrounded by the companionable silence only good friends might share.

                                         ~~~~*~~~~

          The return trip to Edoras passed quickly, the party making good time to the crossing at the Entwade.  Gimli rode with Legolas on Storm part of the time and spent the remainder of the journey in the supply wagon whenever the elf rode the mare.  Elfwine rode his own horse, but Ranalf instructed Legolas to let the boy care for Storm when they stopped for the night.  Legolas saw Eomer or Ranalf helping him curry the bigger animal and smiled, satisfied that Eomer had indeed spoken to Elfwine about having Storm for his own. 

           Without the threat of the sea-longing constantly preying on his mind, Legolas found himself enjoying the trip immensely.  He used the time he spent on the mare to familiarize her with basic commands and as she grew more accustomed to a rider; he spent increasingly longer amounts of time on her back.  She learned his touch and voice quickly, responding well to simple signals.  Arod seemed content with the growing affection between Legolas and the mare, often giving the two a knowing “I-told-you-so” look and tossing his mane in a manner that never failed to reduce Legolas to helpless laughter.  And for an hour each day, Legolas rode his old friend, reveling in the strong connection that continued between them.

          Four days of steady riding found the group stopping for the final night at Legolas’ old campsite on the Snowbourn.  Legolas had moved to a quiet spot nearer the river and was brushing the dust and travel stains from Arod’s silver white coat.  He found the ritual of caring for his horses and seeing to their comfort one of the most rewarding parts of his day. 

          Arod nin, will we always have this bond between us? 

          Arod turned to eye the elf curiously and snuffed softly.  We came to each other in a time of great need.  We have been together through many dangers.  It will remain if we wish it.    

          Legolas stroked Arod’s neck, admiring its moon-soft glow in the firelight. Never doubt that I wish it, my friend.

          Legolas finished caring for Arod and brought the mare over beside him.  He spent a few minutes stroking her elegant face and straightening Arod’s forelock, whispering softly in Sindarin that the next day would see them in the city of the Horse Lords. 

          Walking back to his small fire, he lay down on his blankets and listened to the men laughing and singing in the larger camp further downstream.  He chuckled quietly to hear Gimli’s gruff voice raised in a rather militant sounding dwarvish song, probably extolling the virtues of a cave or rocks. 

          Once the song ended to the applause and laughter of the men, he lay looking at the stars for a time and began singing softly.  The song of the open plains had recently become much clearer to him…a quiet melody that spoke of vast distances, rolling hills, the soft susurrations of waving grasses and rushing streams.  He had been trying to capture its beauty for several days.

          How did I miss it before?  I suppose I never really heard the entirety of the Great Song…I thought I knew my part in it when I actually recognized only a tiny fraction of it.  Estel was more right than even he knew…for Iluvatar does gift us those special few to guide and direct us when our need is most dire.  Perhaps I will never fully understand… 

          He resigned himself to his finite level of understanding, hoping as the long years of his life unfolded he might grow in wisdom.  A wry grin twisted his lips at the thought of himself as a five thousand year old student and he hummed a few more measures before settling deeper into the blankets.  At least as the days passed he found himself more and more attuned to the power, the wholeness of Eru’s Song. 

          Some progress is better than none at all, I suppose.

          And surprisingly enough, intertwining throughout the melody ran the music of the sea.  Instead of pain, now he felt only a fascination that helped him reconcile with the call instead of fighting it.  The longing for Aman remained, but at a manageable level; and in the music of the world he found a measure of peace and solace.  Solace, and a promise for the future.  For now, it was enough.  A gentle breeze drifted across his face and his breathing became slow and deep, the shimmering stars and nearby trees offering sweet comfort as he slid into dreams.

                                        ~~~~*~~~~

          The next afternoon saw the party entering the gates of Edoras to the excited calls of welcome from its people.  In the large stables behind the Meduseld, Legolas turned Storm over to Ranalf and Elfwine and asked where to stable Arod and the mare. 

          “Use that large stall at the end of the aisle, my lord, and put them both together,” Ranalf suggested. 

          At the elf’s questioning look, he shrugged.  “It is not unusual to stable a young, skittish, highly strung animal with an older, more settled one.  They get along well and are used to each other.  Save her and yourself some worry and put her with Arod.”

          Legolas nodded, knowing Ranalf spoke truly.  He would spend his nights here if the mare did not react well to being confined.  He also remembered Elfwine telling him the two had been stabled together during the storm and she had done well then.  He led the mare and Arod into the large stall and turned them loose to explore the enclosure while he began scattering fresh hay about. 

          “Well?” he asked softly.  “Is this humble stall to my lord’s and my lady’s liking?”  He chuckled at the mare’s regal nod, petting and stroking her neck as she nosed his tunic looking for an apple or two.  After checking on the water supply, he quickly curried both animals, humming and laughing as they vied for his attentions. 

          “I will bring you both something special tonight,” he promised, putting the brushes away.  The mare shook her mane, while Arod nipped at a passing braid as Legolas left the stall.

          “Be sure those two get their ration of grain, Ranalf,” he admonished the stable master as he left.  “I would not want them to feel left out, poor neglected beasts that they are.”  Ranalf grinned at the Prince and promised to see to it himself.

          Legolas bounded across the yard and up the stairs to the great doors of the palace where he was quickly admitted by a smiling doorwarden.  Lothiriel noted his arrival and rose from the table where the others had gathered, hastening to meet him halfway.  She embraced him quickly in welcome and stepped back to look closely at his face. 

           He recognized her concern and quickly reassured her.  “I am fine, my lady.  Really.  And I greatly regret causing you any worry.” 

         Lothiriel cocked her head, examining the relaxed expression in the elf’s beautiful eyes.  “You cannot know how relieved I am to hear it, Legolas.  There were days when Eomer and I were certain you were destined to fade.” 

          Her voice broke slightly at the memory of his pain.  She took a deep breath.  “But I see something of great import has happened and you have found the peace I had prayed would come to you.  I am so glad for you, my friend.” 

          They turned to walk slowly towards the others, Legolas once more murmuring his apology to the Queen.  She shushed him, saying, “No matter, as long as you are recovered.  But Legolas…what is this I hear?  Orcs?  And you wounded, nigh unto death?  And what of this beautiful golden lady whose heart you have captured and tamed?” 

          Legolas blushed slightly at her gentle teasing.  “I can see I have much to tell you, hiril nin,” he answered, a faint smile warming his eyes.  

          “Indeed you do, Master Elf…and I expect a full accounting,” she replied firmly. 

          “You shall have it,” the elf assured her, bowing slightly.  They approached the table to the sound of many men and one dwarf ordering him to sit, eat, and drink up.  He complied, laughing at the exuberance of the group and spent the rest of the evening immersed in the close, warm regard of friends.  Ranalf, in particular, was pleased to see that the Prince went only once to the stable to check on his horses. 

                                         ~~~~*~~~~

          The golden mare’s training began in earnest the next day.  A short talk with Aragorn assured him a week or so longer in Edoras was acceptable, and Gimli was quite loud and emphatic in his reasons for staying in one place for a time. 

          “You might not suffer from gallivanting all over the countryside, Elf, but I need some time to recover before undertaking another trip.” 

          Legolas had restrained himself from making any comment on what portion of the dwarf wanted recovering and decided a week would be long enough to accomplish his goals for training the mare.  While accepting his weight and responding to simple commands, she was still relatively uneducated in carrying a rider.  Legolas wanted to teach her some of those skills, as well as build and strengthen the fragile bond of trust and friendship forming between them.  For that, he needed space…lots of space. 

          He spoke with Eomer who suggested he take the horses outside of Edoras.  Legolas thought this a fine idea, as he preferred the fresh greens and golds of the open plain with its waving grasses that reminded him of the rippling waves of the sea.  The small, darker green clusters of daystars topped with the delicate golden flowers that gave them their name also enchanted him, and the lingering warmth of the early autumn days would allow him to work the long hours needed to transform the mare into an acceptable mount.  In the open, she would be away from the strange sights and sounds of the city that frightened and distracted her.

           Following Eomer’s directions, Legolas led the mare and Arod out that first morning and found that the clean, fresh green smell of growing things carried by the ever-present breeze invigorated not only the horses, but himself as well.  Their first hours were spent playing as Arod and Legolas introduced the mare to their own version of chase.  She was soon a willing partner with Arod and both horses worked diligently to corner and tumble the laughing elf. 

          As for Legolas, he used the playtime to familiarize the mare with his moving figure and in no time was leaping on and off her back easily at a dead run.  Then he worked on mounting from the front, grabbing her mane and swinging over to her back in an impossible arc.  She quickly became accustomed to his rather unorthodox ways of mounting, accepting him without shying or breaking stride. 

          After their games, Legolas concentrated on training the mare to respond to his slightest signal, be it through voice or hands, legs or weight shifts, and thought.  When he needed an example Arod would supply it, and the mare learned to recognize the more complex commands.  By the end of the week, Legolas was more than pleased with her progress.  She still exhibited tendencies towards prancing, headstrong playfulness but in truth, he liked her that way.  Should she ever need instruction on proper fighting techniques in battle though, it would have to come from someone else, not him.

          In the training paddock near the stables, Ranalf and Eomer also had begun working with Elfwine and Storm.  Just as Legolas had noted, the big stallion cooperated willingly when Elfwine rode him and the training for both horse and boy proceeded smoothly.

          On the seventh day of their stay, Legolas approached Ranalf and said, “It would seem that Elfwine and I have two novice horses that might benefit from spending some time together.  Ask him if he would like to ride with me tomorrow.  I have already spoken to Eomer and Lothiriel.”  Ranalf had nodded approvingly at the Prince and relayed the message to his young charge.  

          The next day, Legolas met Elfwine and Storm at the gate, mounted on the mare and carrying a rather large, mysterious pack on his back.  He greeted the boy cheerfully and pointed to a distant stream that fed into the Snowbourn as their destination.  As they made their way across the plain, the boy constantly questioned the elf about different ways of handling the fiery stallion, his intelligent young eyes noting the ease with which the elf guided the equally energetic mare.  They stopped by the small stream, turning the horses loose to graze.  The mysterious backpack turned out to contain all manner of tempting food, compliments of the palace cooks, and they sat on the sun-warmed grass to eat their lunch. 

          That evening Legolas brushed Arod and the mare after helping the excited boy groom Storm.  Elfwine watched and listened closely as Legolas spoke of horses and their ways.

          “Just remember to ask your horse…do not demand of him,” Legolas reminded him.  “His power and speed, his courage and loyalty do not belong to you.  They belong to Storm.  You can ask of him, but you must also assure him of your care in return.  Always listen, Elfwine, and perhaps one day you will hear him.”

          Elfwine gazed up into the fair face with its young-old eyes, digesting the words gravely and with great care.  “Like you, Legolas?” he asked quietly.

          Legolas continued brushing the mare’s wheat gold coat for some time before he finally turned and looked into the boy’s blue eyes.  “It took a hard lesson to teach me to listen and many, many years to perfect the skill…which I am still working on,” he confided.  He stroked the mare’s neck fondly before feeding her a carrot and moving over to a patiently waiting Arod. 

          “Look what almost happened with Arod,” he continued, picking up a stiff brush to begin the big horse’s grooming. 

          Arod tossed his head, turning to look at the boy and elf as if to say, “Yes, just look at what he did!” 

          Legolas broke out laughing and Elfwine giggled as the horse nudged him insistently.  “Go on, young Prince, feed him his carrot.  He is quite impossible until he has had his treat,” the grinning elf instructed.  The silver horse snorted as he crunched the crisp vegetable and accepted the boy’s affectionate pats.

          When Legolas was able to resume brushing Arod’s coat, he asked, “You remember how I had planned to leave him in Rohan?”  Elfwine nodded and Legolas paused, his eyes troubled.  “Was I listening to him then?  No…and I almost caused us both needless suffering.  So, you see pen-neth, there is much to learn.  But I know you will do well with Storm…and he with you.”

          Elfwine smiled gratefully.  “You will help me?”  Legolas did not answer immediately, and something in the elf’s face brought the boy to the sudden realization that the day’s ride and this time together had all been in preparation for the elf’s departure.

          “You are leaving.”  The young voice was flat and faintly accusing.

          “Yes, probably tomorrow.”

          “Tomorrow?” the boy protested.  “But can you not wait for a few more days?”  He felt tears begin to threaten and bit his lip. 

          Legolas immediately noted the misty sheen in the blue eyes and stopped brushing.  He dropped to one knee to see the young face more clearly.  “You will have the expert instruction of Ranalf and your father, nin hen.  And there are others who will also take part in your education, including me when I return to visit.” 

          The elf clasped the young shoulder, groping for the right words to make the boy understand that his presence was not a prerequisite for success.  “In the end it will be up to you, Elfwine.  And I know you will do well.  After all, you love Storm…and he loves you.” 

          Elfwine shook his head sadly, his face awash with disappointment.  “But I thought you would be here.  I will miss you, Legolas.”

          He smiled and pulled the boy into a quick, heartfelt embrace.  “And I you, young one.”  Strong young arms encircled his neck and held on tightly. 

          “Now, help me finish brushing this one, and you and I will go and bed Storm down together,” Legolas said softly.  

          Elfwine’s arms dropped and he stepped back, sniffing and wiping the tears away.  The two picked up the brushes and within minutes had the dappled silver coat gleaming in the dim light.  Elfwine whispered goodnight to Arod and the mare and walked out to the stall across the aisle.  Legolas watched him, noting the drooping shoulders and slow tread of normally skipping feet.  He sighed, regretting his inexperience with small, disappointed boys.

          I know I had this problem with Estel at some point when he was very young, but I do not remember how I handled him.  Elrohir and Elladan were usually there to help…or more importantly, Lord Elrond.

         Arod rubbed his head against the elf’s arm in an effort to comfort him and Legolas scratched the big horse behind his ear.  Finally, with a last goodnight caress to both horses, he followed the boy into the stall to help him finish his chores.

          As the first stars of evening brightened the sky, Legolas walked Elfwine back up to the royal apartments.  At the sight of Elfwine’s despondent face Lothiriel glanced at Legolas.  One delicate eyebrow raised in question.  He shrugged, at a loss for words. 

          Lothiriel sent the boy to ready himself for supper and turned to Legolas.  “I told him I was probably leaving tomorrow,” he explained.  “The evening did not end well.” 

          Lothiriel nodded.  “I see.  Aragorn had mentioned the possibility of you all going after Gimli’s departure in the morning.” 

          She smiled slightly at Legolas, touching his arm.  “Do not worry, Legolas.  I will speak to him.  All will be well.”  Legolas watched her leave to follow her son, relieved and hopeful that she would be able to explain what he could not.

                                           ~~~~*~~~~

          At dawn the next morning, Gimli and an escort prepared to leave Edoras for the mountains and Aglarond.  After watching the dwarf bid gruff farewells to everyone, Legolas stood before him considering how he might persuade Gimli to change his plans and travel to Ithilien instead. 

           But Gimli, ever attuned to elven moods, read the intent in his fair friend’s eyes and shook his head.  “Nay, lad.  Do not even ask, for I would be sorely tempted to say yes.  I have been absent from the caves long enough and Mahal knows what that young Lorin has done to the colony since I left him in charge!  I will say goodbye for now, but plan a trip to see you, Arod, and that new mare in the spring.  Try and teach her some manners by then, hmmmm?”

          Legolas sniffed huffily.  That small sound, together with the indignant look in the elf’s eyes prompted a tiny dwarvish grin under the concealing beard, which grew slowly when the elf replied in his obnoxious “I-am-the-Prince-and-you-are-lower-than-dirt” voice, “Her manners are more than adequate right now, as well you know.  Still, if that is your final answer then I suppose it will have to suffice, Master Dwarf.  I will expect word from you about this trip later.” 

          Gimli cheerfully voiced his opinion of overbearing elves in guttural Khuzdul, which served the purpose of giving the insufferable creature reason to chuckle as he escorted his friend to the heavy wagon waiting nearby.  The dwarf climbed aboard and settled on the seat, groaning already at the lack of comfort. 

          Legolas lifted one expressive eyebrow and commented, “Really, Dwarf, your complaints are incomprehensible!  Why do you not travel on horseback, as well as in the wagon?  It would break the monotony and give you a chance to move about.  Eomer would gladly provide someone for you to ride behind!” 

          Gimli scowled and snapped, “If I have told you once, Elf, I have told you a thousand times…I am a dwarf, not a leech, and that is precisely how I feel riding behind someone who is not secure with me clinging to his back!” 

          “ Ahhhh, I see…I think.”  Mild amusement filled his antagonist’s gray eyes. 

          Gimli sputtered, “You know, for a supposedly intelligent Princeling you are remarkably dense!  I ride with no one but you, Master Elf, and in an emergency PERHAPS with Aragorn or Eomer…though I still remain uncertain about them!” 

          Legolas flashed Gimli an apologetic grin, “Yes, of course, I remember.”  His face sobered as he added, “Take care of yourself, Gimli.” 

          Gimli grumbled good-naturedly.  “I usually do.”  Then he paused, looking closely at Legolas. 

          “Are you quite certain you will not fall ill again, Elf?” he asked, his keen dark eyes examining the elf’s pensive expression.  “You do not look well, my friend.” 

          Legolas shook his head and said quietly, “Too many farewells, Gimli.  I loathe the word!” 

          He shook his head and managed a flippant grin.  “As for the other, the call of the sea remains but I am learning to deal with it, it seems.” 

          Gimli grunted.  “In a dream?  I still do not understand that…but I suppose since it is you, I should not be surprised.  You would think I would come to expect such flighty reasoning!”  

          Legolas grinned.  “I can easily imagine the world’s ending if you ever manage to understand me completely.  Worry not, elvellon.  When we meet in Ithilien perhaps I can explain it to you AND Aragorn.” 

          Gimli snorted softly.  “Explanation does not guarantee comprehension where you are concerned, Elf.” 

          “Then I will speak very slowly, Dwarf.” Legolas retorted.  They shared the expected mutual glare. 

          “Safe journey, old friend.” Legolas whispered as Gimli nodded his readiness to the driver and outriders.  The cumbersome wagon lurched forward, followed by the armed escort Eomer always provided when the dwarf left for home.

                                          ~~~~*~~~~

          Legolas watched the wagon out of sight, then turned to Aragorn who waited on the steps leading to the Meduseld.  Aragorn studied his friend’s face before asking, “Shall we go today, Legolas?”        

          Legolas responded, “Today is as good a day as any, Estel.  Let me get my things and we may leave whenever you like.”  He took the steps quickly and disappeared through the huge doors.

          Aragorn turned to Aravir.  “Get Jarrod and tell him we depart within the hour.  If you do not mind, let Ranalf know to prepare our horses…the mare for Legolas, I think…oh, and ask him to pack several measures of sweet grain for the trip if he can spare it,” the King instructed, his thoughtful eyes still on the door where Legolas had disappeared.

          Aravir bowed.  “As you wish, hir nin.”  He headed for the stables at a run.

          An hour later, a small group had gathered before the palace to wish the riders a safe journey.  Eomer stood beside Arod, stroking the sculptured forehead and speaking softly to Ranalf.  Lothiriel held the mare, feeding her bits of apple and laughing as she delicately lipped the sweet morsels from her hand.  Aravir waited beside his big bay stallion while Jarrod held his own horse and Aragorn’s.  Elfwine sat on the bottom step drawing aimlessly in the dirt with a small stick. 

          The big double doors swung open and Aragorn and Legolas emerged into the sunlight, descending quickly to the bottom where the others waited.  Eomer and Aragorn clasped arms as warriors often do and Eomer promised to visit Minas Tirith within the year. 

          Lothiriel looked up, “I will hold you to that promise AND that trip, husband!” she called as she left the mare with Ranalf and crossed over to the men.  

          Aragorn laughed, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles gallantly.  “See that you do, my lady.  Arwen will brook no excuses or delays from either of you!”  

          He crouched before Elfwine and said quietly, “And I will look forward to seeing you ride Storm into my city, Elfwine.  Eldarion will be waiting eagerly to see you also.” 

          The boy looked up at that, his sad eyes sparking with interest at the thought of seeing Aragorn’s son again.  Eldarion was a few years older but the last time they had seen each other had been…interesting. 

          He gave the King a small smile and said, “Tell him I will be glad to see him, too, my lord!” 

          Aragorn nodded and stood.  Legolas came forward to take Aragorn’s place in front of Elfwine.  The two looked at each other solemnly for a moment. 

          “And will you also come and see me, neth ernil?” Legolas asked quietly, noting the shadowed blue eyes and down-turned mouth.  Elfwine gazed at the golden elf, wishing he would stay and knowing he could not.  His mother had reminded him that Legolas, too, governed his own colony…that he had been away for months…that he would certainly return to Edoras in time, and they would visit Ithilien as well.

          Ever practical, the boy’s eyes began to sparkle mischievously as he asked, “Can I sleep in your talan?”

          Legolas looked at the boy, considering his request carefully.  “ Well, I suppose that might be arranged…you do not still wander in your sleep, do you?” he asked. 

          The boy straightened indignantly.  “No, I only did that when I was very young!” 

          “Ah, of course,” the Prince of Lasgalen examined the hopeful face of the Prince of Rohan closely.  “Then I suppose sleeping in a talan would be possible, provided your Naneth approves and your Adar comes with you.”  Legolas shot Eomer a laughing look at the King’s whispered “I do not think so” – he knew well how Eomer hated climbing to the heights of the trees where the talan was built!

          Elfwine launched himself at Legolas and locked his arms tightly about the elf’s neck.  Legolas sighed in relief and looked over the boy’s shoulder at his smiling parents.  He smiled back as Aragorn and Aravir exchanged their own relieved glances. 

          “Be careful, Legolas!” Elfwine murmured.  “We will come soon…I will not let Father forget!” 

          Legolas pulled back to look at him.  The smile on the young face pleased him greatly, and he grinned back.  “I know you will not, Elfwine.  Now help your mother and father whenever you see the need, and work every day with Storm.  And remember to ask…”  

          “I will, Legolas.”  

          Legolas stood and wished everyone else goodbye, clasping arms with Eomer, kissing Lothiriel on the forehead and promising to deliver their letters and greetings to Faramir and Eowyn as soon as he could.  He clapped Ranalf on the shoulder and leaped on the mare’s back as the others mounted.  At Aragorn’s signal to leave, Legolas called Arod to his side as they rode down the winding street and out the gates of the city onto the open plain.

TRANSLATIONS:

namarie – farewell

mellon nin – my friend

Arod nin – my Arod

hiril nin – my lady

pen-neth – young one

nin hen – my child

evellon – elf-friend

neth ernil – young prince

hir nin – my lord

naneth – mother

adar – father

Mahal – the dwarvish name for Aule

Title:  THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author:  lwarren

Summary:  Legolas and his friends head for home…sort of.

Disclaimer:  The characters and places of Middle-earth belong to Professor JRR Tolkien.

Reviews:  Please!  I treasure each and every one!

A/N: There were a couple of places in this chapter that took on lives of their own…tales that grew in the telling, as it were.   I tried to delete parts to shorten things up, I really did…but the Ranger kept saying in one ear, “Post it!” and the Elf kept whispering in the other, “You know you want to!”  -  so, I did!  Please forgive me for this self-indulgence. 

*Characters’ thoughts will appear in italics.

Chapter 11: The Long Road Home

          As Legolas rode beside his companions toward the Great West Road, he breathed deeply of the fresh morning air and repressed a sudden urge to shout.  I have been too long in a city of men.  By the Valar, I am positively giddy with relief when I finally leave. 

          A brief early autumn shower had fallen in the night, washing the world clean.  The horses tossed their manes, the crisp beauty of the morning making even the highly trained war-horses of Gondor playful.  Legolas smiled slightly at their antics.  Given half the chance – and the power of speech – I think the horses would shout, too!  He made a half-hearted effort to calm the mare, but then she skittered sideways to avoid the shadow of a passing cloud, bumping Aravir’s mount in the process. 

          Noticing Aravir’s long-suffering expression, he sighed.  “This one may have to run for a time, Estel," he said.  "She is full of herself this morning.”  And so am I.

          Aragorn laughed in agreement, “I think I speak for the rest of us in saying we are all having the same problem, and I do not necessarily mean the horses.  We will let them run then and get rid of some of that energy.” 

          His sharp eyes surveyed the path before them.  He looked at his companions challengingly.  “We have a fair distance before we reach the Great Road.  What say you, Jarrod?  Aravir?  A race?  And the losers must set up camp and cook tonight!” 

          The man and elf nodded and Aragorn looked at Legolas.  “Is that agreeable, Legolas?” 

          Legolas smiled wolfishly at his friend.  He had wanted to see Aragorn’s new gray run for some time.  Elladan had given his foster brother the horse almost a year ago, boasting at the time that this was one of the best young stallions Imladris had bred in decades and Estel was forever singing the praises of the big brute.  “More than agreeable, Estel.  Oh…and by the way, I have a longing for fresh roasted quail tonight, mellon nin.” 

         “I trust you will be able to locate some and bring them down, my friend.  I shall enjoy them immensely,” Aragorn replied pompously.

          Legolas snorted, smothering a laugh as the four brought their mounts into a relatively controlled canter side by side.  Motioning to a rocky outcropping about a league away, Aragorn asked, “Is that a sufficient distance?” 

          A chorus of ayes came from each side of him and the finish line was set.  “On my signal!”  Aragorn called, his hand raised. 

          “Now!”  The King’s hand fell and the four loosed their horses simultaneously. 

          Legolas leaned over the mare’s neck, clinging like a tenacious golden burr and gave her her head.  She reached her full stride quickly and the ground became a blur as they flew across the plain towards the distant rocks.  Legolas had never ridden her at a flat-out gallop before and his heart thrilled at the sheer beauty and speed of it all.  He urged her on and although the stallions were larger, stronger, and more experienced, she kept pace with them handily. 

          Halfway to the finish, her nose remained even with Aragorn’s knee as Jarrod’s black fell a half-length behind.  Aravir and his big bay raced neck and neck with Aragorn’s gray on the other side.  Legolas leaned even closer and spoke to the mare once more.  He felt her gather her strength for a last great surge of speed.  She inched up to the gray stallion’s neck, then came even with his nose.  For a space of heartbeats the two ran step for step until, with one final burst of power, she pushed her head in front as they thundered past the rocks. 

          Legolas threw up both arms, shouting their victory to the skies as he brought the mare around in a sweeping circle and let her slow of her own accord.   

          You did it, my lady!  You defeated those proud overbearing great beasts!  Well done, mir nin!  Oh, well done indeed! 

          The mare arched her neck proudly as Legolas turned her back towards the others.  They had reined in their stallions and watched with admiration as the elf rode back to join them.  Arod had followed the race in their wake and waited now beside Aravir. 

          Aragorn met Legolas part of the way, exclaiming, “She is wonderful, Legolas!  What speed!  Once she gave that last big push forward, we were lost.” 

          Aravir and Jarrod agreed, smiling at the exultant look on Legolas’ face.  “Well done, my lord,” Aravir congratulated his friend.  “Quail, did you say?  Will we be able to find any?” 

          Jarrod grinned.  “They are quite prolific here on the plain.  Our only problem will be flushing them out of the tall grass.”  

          “You flush, Jarrod,” Aravir said helpfully.  “I will shoot.” 

          The two rode ahead slowly, arguing over the best way to bring in enough birds to feed everyone.  Aragorn grinned at Legolas as the elf continued patting first the mare’s neck and then Arod’s as he came up beside them.

          Did you see her, Arod?  Was she not magnificent, mellon nin?  Suddenly Legolas felt his heart clench in dismay.  His elation faded quickly as memories of other flying gallops on a strong silver back flooded his mind.  Ai, Arod!  Would that you could have been with us!    I do not like this, my friend.  I do not like this feeling at all!

          The mare stood very still to allow Arod to move closer to her rider.  The big horse snorted softly and nudged the elf gently as elven fingers combed his mane and stroked his neck.  She flew with the wind.  And you are wrong – I was there.  My heart flew with you both.

          Legolas straightened, struggling to conceal his distress.  He looked at Aragorn who was watching him closely, a sympathetic look on his face.  The elf gave one final pat on the neck to both horses and joined the patiently waiting man.  Giving Aragorn a twisted grin and wordless shake of his head, he brought the mare alongside and they followed Aravir and Jarrod.

          A short time later, they reached the Great West Road and continued at a leisurely pace throughout the remainder of that first day, stopping to rest the horses from time to time.  Aravir and Jarrod left them during the afternoon and returned a few hours later with several braces of fat quail and three rabbits. 

          At sunset Jarrod led them to a small stand of trees well away from the notice of any late travelers.  The men quickly made a rough camp, building a fire and tethering the horses nearby.  Aravir and Jarrod prepared the meal, which the King of Gondor served with suitable ceremony to the victor.  Legolas ate his fill of the quail, as well as the fresh bread, cheese and fruit sent compliments of Lothiriel’s kitchen.  The normally quiet elf found the unusual experience of “lording it over” the others surprisingly enjoyable, and took every opportunity to exploit the situation.

          “Aravir, some more cheese, if you will.  And this time if you would slice it very thin…”

          “I believe I would like an apple for dessert.  Peel that for me, Aragorn…and be sure and have Jarrod remove the core.”

          By the end of the meal, Aragorn was loudly considering different ways to tie and gag the Prince, assured by the others that they would gladly help.  Legolas grinned shamelessly and reminded them that surely they did not wish to be cast in that lowest of categories – the one reserved for poor losers.  It was fortunate the meal ended when it did. 

          There was some talk afterwards concerning the ground Aragorn wanted to cover the next day. Watches for the night were set and quiet fell over the little camp as everyone settled down to rest.  Legolas had drawn the second watch and lay in his blankets looking at the star-studded sky. 

          He had been toying with an idea in the back of his mind since before the return to Edoras, turning it over and under and upside down as it developed and took shape.   As the peaceful darkness enveloped him, he decided now was the time to examine it more closely. 

          Since his experience in the Undying Lands he had become more and more certain that one last journey was essential if he was to fully understand his part in the Great Song while he remained on these shores.  However, he knew he would not be able to just leave.  At the very least, he must speak to Estel about his dream.  He had been waiting for the right time to tell him and it seemed the “right time” would have to come in the next few days.  Even with the explanation, Legolas knew that Aragorn would not react well to news of his new destination.  And neither would Aravir, for that matter. 

          He sighed heavily.  He really would not blame them if they tackled him after his first words, tied him hand and foot and took him to Minas Tirith to stay until he had regained some semblance of sanity.  Had he found himself in their place, he knew HE would not hesitate to do the same thing.  Still, this was necessary.  He felt it deep within his heart and could not allow even his best friend to dissuade him. 

          The question plaguing him was WHEN – when would they be able to talk?   And would talking to Aragorn guarantee understanding?  By the time they were mounted and on the Road again the next morning, he still had not decided when to broach the subject with his friend.

                                           ~~~~*~~~~

          They had determined early on not to travel with any of the numerous caravans that frequented the Great Road as Aragorn wished to remain anonymous and the sight of elves often caused its own unique problems.  Alone, they were able to move at a steady pace, again stopping only to rest and refresh themselves and the horses.  Legolas found that a good hard gallop in their first hour of travel put the mare in a more pliable mood for the rest of the day and it became a ritual for them.  Once evening fell, Jarrod would lead them off-road to camp in the safe places he had located.

          By the middle of the third day, they reached the section of the Road close to the foot of the White Mountains that marked a portion of the border between Gondor and Rohan.  They left behind the Eastfold of Rohan for the open territory of Anorien.  Legolas and Aravir, bored with the endless sameness of the land, raced to scout out the road ahead.  They had not ridden two leagues when the heady scent and song of a distant forest reached them.

          “How far do you think, Aravir?” Legolas asked as the two sat still, their senses stretched to the utmost.

          Aravir shook his head.  “Too many hills to actually see, my lord, and the song is very soft.” 

          Legolas nodded…the song WAS soft – a gentle thread of music wafting on the wind just within the range of their hearing. 

          He closed his eyes.  “Five leagues perhaps…no more than seven,” he stated as the wind brought another fresh breath of green leaves and the faint whisper of tree song to them.  Aravir nodded.          

          “Thank the Valar,” Aravir said gratefully.  “Do you think perhaps the men can be hurried along, my lord?” 

          Legolas laughed, totally in accord with his friend’s eagerness.  “We will tell them where we are going and they can follow us at their leisure, my friend.”  He wheeled the mare around and they hurried back to tell the others what they had discovered.

          After hearing Legolas’ report, Aragorn looked at Jarrod.  “Firien, is it not?” 

          His captain nodded and said,  “Yes, sire.  We are approaching Firien Wood.  We will also be able to see the Halifirien, perhaps by tomorrow.” 

          Aragorn smiled in anticipation and the pace of the horses increased noticeably after that.  As King of Gondor, Aragorn had a vested interest in the great beacons and wished to see again the northern-most beacon hill of Gondor.  The elves –well, their goal lay in the comfort and familiarity of the trees.

                                           ~~~~*~~~~

          After an hour or so, the little group entered the hardwood forest, passing from the glaring brightness of mid-day into a sheltered, shadowed place.  The woods were old and well established, with branches interlacing above from both sides of the Road to form a living canopy that allowed filtered sunlight to dapple the forest floor. 

          The hint of frost in the air the past weeks had already painted many of the leaves a fiery red and gold.  While marveling at the rich colors, Legolas began to notice an undercurrent running through the trees.  He alerted Aravir and they both began listening intently to the forest’s song. 

          It was an exceedingly strange song…as if the trees hummed softly in their sleep.  Or spoke some strange story in a language that he and Aravir did not know.  Past the clip clopping of their horses’ hooves, they could hear a low pleasant sound reminiscent of a breeze sighing its way through the branches, ruffling many leaves as it passed.  Looking up, Legolas was fascinated to note the absence of any wind.

          “I have heard that this wood has all manner of interesting stories connected to it,” Aragorn told them.  He watched the elves for a moment.  “And I must confess no matter how often I travel through it, it never fails to capture my imagination.  Can you hear it?” 

          Legolas nodded.  “Yes, it is the trees.  They are whispering.”  

          “That is part of the legend assigned to this forest, my lord,” Jarrod explained.  “And that is why it is called the ‘Whispering Wood’.”

         “Whispering Wood,” Legolas savored the name of the forest.  “I too have traveled through this wood more than once, but always at a speed that prohibited any close study.”  He and Aravir exchanged a look.  They planned to remedy that soon. 

          Aragorn finally relented to the excitement gleaming in their eyes, laughing, “We will take some rest in one of the way stations built along the way.  You may interrogate the trees to your heart’s content while Jarrod and I eat and rest.  Is that acceptable?” 

          Both elves agreed immediately as the King looked at his captain.  Jarrod thought for a minute before responding.  “There is one station in particular called Oak Grove that is built near the Glinhir River, my lord.  It is owned by two brothers and is well-known for its hospitality…not to mention the excellent food.”  He smiled. 

          Aragorn nodded.  “Then we will take our noon meal there and rest.  Lead the way, Jarrod, if you please.” 

          He looked back at the two elves who had stopped, apparently to commune with one particularly large elm growing by the road.  Shaking his head, Aragorn grinned at Jarrod.  “First, though, I suppose we should gather up our elves before we lose them entirely!”

                                         ~~~~*~~~~

          The Road meandered through the forest for a time before crossing a swiftly flowing stream.  “Even after summer’s heat the Glinhir flows swiftly,” Jarrod commented as they forded at a shallow point.  “Cold, too, and I’ll wager much deeper in places.  It empties into the Entwash further on.  I believe it is spring fed, my lord, and has its source somewhere on this side of the mountains.” 

          Legolas crossed slowly, relishing the cold droplets splashed upon his face and the exuberant fluid music of the water.  He would not have thought the slow mystery of the forest would find harmony with this energetic little river, but it did and the resulting melody was exhilarating!

          A short distance past the stream, Jarrod turned onto a well-worn path leading away from the main Road.  They rode perhaps a league before they entered the way station’s large, well-tended yard.  Beyond the buildings, behind a line of old oak trees they could hear again the rushing waters of the Glinhir.

          A tall, dark-haired boy several years older than Elfwine walked out of a large structure built further from the road, shading his eyes to see the new arrivals.  He hung the bridle he was carrying on a hook by the door and ran to where Jarrod and the others had stopped.  “Welcome to Oak Grove, sirs.  How can I help ye?” he asked politely.

          Jarrod smiled at him and answered, “We’d just like a cool, shady place to eat and rest for a time, young man.  We won’t be staying the night.”

          “Take yer water there for the horses, lessen’ ya want to use the trough by the barn,” he pointed to the building he had just come from.  “And the trees yonder by the stream are nice and cool to rest under,” he suggested.  Jarrod thanked him, flipping a silver coin to the lad who caught it deftly and thanked him with a big grin before trotting off to the other large building in front of the barn.

          They rode over to the trees lining the stream and chose a grassy area where they could eat and rest for a while.  Legolas and Aravir cooled their horses, releasing them to join Arod grazing on the lush grass growing by the stream.  Then they helped Aragorn and Jarrod remove the tack from their stallions, walking the big animals before tethering them close to the others. 

          Once those chores had been seen to, they sat in the shade enjoying the cool afternoon breeze and eating the food Aravir had pulled from several of the packs he and Jarrod carried.  The breeze died down and the men leaned back against the trees for a quick nap.

          Legolas and Aravir climbed two of the ancient oaks to listen more closely to the forest, finding comfortable perches on huge limbs.  Legolas closed his eyes, lost in the soft, strangely compelling voices of the old trees. 

          Sometime later he became aware of the sensation of being watched.  His eyes focused on Aravir in the tree next to his.  Aravir pointed to the ground at the small figure of a little girl standing about ten feet away from the dozing men, staring UP at Legolas.  She was a tiny thing, with long curling dark hair and solemn dark eyes that were examining him quite thoroughly. 

          The two elves exchanged smiles and dropped silently to the ground.  The child started a little but did not move, still staring intently at Legolas.  Legolas sank to the ground and motioned Aravir to sit also.  Then they waited.  She finally moved forward very slowly until she was standing close, almost touching Legolas’ shoulder.

          “Hello, little mouse,” he spoke quietly, kindly.  “Are you lost?”

          A finger found its way into her mouth and she shook her head no.

          “Where are you parents?”

          The finger left her mouth long enough to point to the building.

          “I see,” the elf murmured and waited, aware that Aragorn and Jarrod had awakened and were watching, bemused grins on their faces.

          The little girl pointed to her ear.  Legolas understood immediately her question and turned his head to the side so she could see his own ear clearly.  Deep brown eyes widened slightly and she slowly inched forward until she stood leaning on his shoulder, her fascinated gaze fixed on his ear.

          “What?” she whispered, touching the leaf shaped ear with a very, very gentle finger.

          Legolas turned slightly and smiled.  “Elf,” he whispered back. 

          Her eyes widened even further, smiling as a delighted “oh” of recognition breathed past her lips.  Then the child’s fingers brushed the warrior’s braid above his ear and moved to touch his smooth cheek tentatively.

          “Pretty,” she whispered and turning abruptly, she skipped back to the building and disappeared inside.

          Legolas followed her progress, a chuckle threatening to slip past his lips, when he heard a snicker from behind and someone tugged on his braid.

          “Ooooo, pretty Legolas!” a familiar voice caroled in his ear and he jumped to his feet, glaring down at a laughing Estel.  Scooping up the waterskin at his feet, he smiled at his friend, the light of retribution darkening his eyes to a deep slate blue. 

          “Allow me, beleg brannon,” he said helpfully, taking a step towards the King who instantly began to scramble backwards, one hand raised to ward the elf off.

          “Now, Legolas…” the man pleaded, his voice choked with amusement, “it is not as if you have never heard that before!”  The others were laughing now and Legolas had just opened the skin, preparing to douse his insolent friend when they heard the door to the station open again and the little girl stepped out, leading a tall, dark-haired man by the hand towards them.

          Legolas shot a “later-for-you” glare at Aragorn and they all stood to watch the man and child approach.  The man stopped short, shocked eyes taking in the reality of the two elves and the two men taking their rest under his trees…though one of the elves had appeared to be in the midst of an attack on one of the men.

          “By the Powers, I don’t believe it!” his voice shook slightly, his eyes widening with recognition as he looked at the visitors.  He stooped to pick up the little girl who whispered in his ear and then leaned back, grinning at him.   He looked at his child, his shock softening to a smile as two small hands framed his face and a little voice said, “See, da?  Elf!”

          “Yes, sweeting, I see the elf – er, elves!  But look, Anna, there are two!”  The child stared for a moment at Aravir before clapping her hands with delight, her laughter gleeful and infectious.

          The man set Anna on the ground with a quick whisper that sent her scurrying towards the house.  He then bowed to his visitors.  “Welcome, my lords.  I am Brandel.  My brother Maelthor and I own this place.  Ye have already met my daughter, Anna, and my eldest, Aldon.”

          Aragorn stepped forward.  “Well met, Brandel.  We appreciate your hospitality.”  His three companions bowed in turn, murmuring their own words of greeting.  Aragorn continued, “But please, we are not lords…”

          Brandel snorted.  His own eyes, as intensely blue as his daughter’s were dark, were full of amusement.  He studied Aragorn’s face. 

          “I was sixteen when my father took me to the White City for the marriage of our new King to his lady.  We wasn’t able to be at the top level to see the ceremony, but we had prime places to see all the long lines of lords and ladies arrivin' during the week – and the last day o’ the King himself and his Lady after the ceremony when they came down into the city to see all the folk what waited for the sight o' the bride and groom.” 

          Legolas and Aragorn exchanged rueful glances.  Brandel saw this and his smile grew.  He spoke again, his voice deep and respectful, almost reverent.  “I ne’er forgot, ya know.  And the elves!  Ne’er in my life had I seen anythin’ so beautiful and grand as the Lady Arwen and her father …and you, my lord,” he nodded at Legolas, who bowed his head in acknowledgment.  “…’cept maybe the day I took Mirielle to wife or when I first saw my babes,” the man concluded thoughtfully.

          He cleared his throat and spoke again in a matter of fact manner, “Now I kinda figure ya won’t take any special treatment from us…” Aragorn nodded at this.  “…But if ye will allow it, my wife and I would be honored to fill your water skins and give ye some food for the road when ye leave.”

          Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, but Brandel interrupted.  “My Lord King, all this ‘round here that you see,” his hand waved to include the station and its surroundings, “would never have come to be but for the peace we’ve had these past years.  The way I figure it, after the lord Frodo, it’s ye we have to thank the most and I’d regret it forever if ye didn’t allow us to do it right.”

          Aragorn looked at the big man for a long moment.  “Then we gladly accept your thanks and your gifts, Brandel.  Gladly.” 

          Brandel bowed to his King.  “Thank ye, my lord.”  He raised his head and cleared his throat before asking,  “Are ye certain I cannot get anythin’ for ye?  Some ale, perhaps?  Or fresh fruit?” 

          “Only on the condition that you and your family join us, my friend,” Aragorn replied with a warm smile. 

          “That can be arranged, my lord.  Ne’er think ye would get away from here without meetin’ my Miri!  I’ll just be getting’ them, then!”

          Brandel turned and walked back to the station house, his strides lengthening until he was almost running.  They could hear him call, “Miri!  Get that food together, my girl!  Ye’ll ne’er guess who it was our Anna saw!”  The door slammed shut with a crash behind him.  The four looked at each other before bursting into laughter. 

          “What an agreeable surprise this is!” Legolas said, looking at Aragorn’s pleased expression.  “You do not often get the chance to visit with your subjects alone, do you, my friend?” 

          “Not nearly often enough,” Aragorn replied, as he settled on the ground again against the tree.  The others sat back down beside him.  “But admit the truth now, Legolas.  The reason you think this is all so pleasant is because Anna thinks you are pretty!” 

          Legolas dove for the water skin, but Elessar, the High King of Gondor was up and running, laughing like a loon as he disappeared into the trees. 

          “You may run now, Estel!” Legolas yelled at the trees.  “But you always pay for your careless words to me, my friend.  And payment is always expensive!” 

          About that time, the door to the station opened again and a slender, dark haired young woman stepped out carrying a large covered tray.  Behind her came her son, carrying a large pitcher and several large mugs.  Anna tripped along behind her brother, her tiny hands grasping another of the large mugs carefully.  Brandel came last with another loaded tray.

          “Valar, Legolas!” Aravir said, tugging on the Prince’s tunic.  “Sit down!  Jarrod, find the King!”  Jarrod jumped up and ran towards where Aragorn had last been seen.

          Legolas sat down reluctantly, muttering under his breath in Sindarin.  Aravir looked at him, his eyebrows raised.  “Nin khaun!” he whispered warningly.  

         The prince subsided, though still stewing quietly as they watched the little family procession approach.  Jarrod returned with his King in tow.  They sat down beside the elves, though Aragorn made sure Jarrod and Aravir were between him and the smoldering Prince. 

          “Here we are, my lords!” Brandel announced, his eyes brimming with laughter at the elf’s scowl and the King’s studiously innocent expression.  He rather thought that the attack he had interrupted before might continue and apparently it had. 

          The trays found a place on the ground nearby and Brandel introduced Mirielle to the King and his party.  She dipped a shy curtsey and set about graciously distributing freshly baked bread, cheese, a fruit tart, and ale to her guests.  Anna brought her big mug straight to Legolas and climbed into his lap.  The irritated expression on his fair face faded as the little one handed the mug to him, and vanished entirely at her smile.  Aragorn nudged Jarrod in the ribs, nodded at Legolas’ quick mood change and winked at his grinning captain.

          “Anna!” her mother gasped. 

          “No, my lady, leave her if you do not mind…she is certainly no trouble,” Legolas said and Mirielle, seeing the sincerity in the elf’s blue gray eyes, returned to serving her guests. 

          They spent a pleasant afternoon talking and eating with the little family. Brandel spoke of the success of the station; of his older brother and his family; and later told them the tale of Folcar, the Rohirrim King who had once pursued the great Boar of Everholt through the wood.  Anna fell asleep curled in the lap of her elf and after some encouragement from Brandel to stay, it was decided they would camp by the stream and take the morning meal with the family before leaving. 

          Legolas gently handed the sleeping child to her mother, saying, “Did you know, my lady, that in the elven tongue, her name means ‘gift’?” 

          Mirielle smiled at him and said softly, “No, my lord, but it seems appropriate somehow.  Aldon is eleven, ya know and we thought we might not be blessed with any more little ones after a time.  But she was surely a gift to us and a surprise at that!”  The woman paused, looking down into the face of her sleeping daughter.  “She’ll remember this day always, my lord.  Same as her da’ has remembered seeing ye and the King long ago.” 

          Legolas smiled at her and said gently, “As I will remember all of you, my lady.”  He thanked her again for the food and went to help Aravir prepare their campsite.  Late that night Legolas returned to the branch of the great oak and sang of whispering trees and little girls with sweet smiles…and the water he was going to throw on Aragorn the first chance he got.

          The next morning Legolas woke just before dawn and slipped through the trees to the branch directly above Aragorn’s blanket covered form.  Once there he promptly emptied a full water skin on the sleeping figure below and fled to the upper branches of another huge tree downstream.  There he perched, singing a soft welcome to Anor and laughing at the roars of “Legolas!” that erupted from time to time from the camp. 

          The sun had been up for an hour when Aravir appeared on his branch.  Legolas looked at him, one eyebrow raised and daring his friend to say one word about anything. 

          Aravir grinned.  “Come, elfling.  Mistress Miri has prepared a wonderful meal and Jarrod has reasoned the King into a somewhat acceptable mood.  Anna is looking for you, as is Arod and the mare.  It is time you returned.” 

          Legolas gave a hrrrrumph worthy of Gimli. “Elfling?”  He stood on the branch and stretched mightily.  “Elfling, Aravir?” 

          Aravir laughed at his Prince.  “What is that Mannish saying, my lord?  Something about boots and the way they fit, I believe…” 

          Legolas interrupted him.  “No, do not say it.  Besides, he deserved it.  He has known me long enough to know better than to call me 'pretty'.  He knows very well how I hate it!  He thought I would not retaliate with Brandel and his family around.  Well, he can think again.  Justice was rightly served…by me.  Come on.” 

          The two elves returned to the campsite and Legolas went to reassure his horses.  Then he and Aragorn spent the meal conspicuously ignoring each other, to the great amusement of all (Brandel had told his wife and son of his suspicions the evening before). 

          But Anna, who had much experience with an argumentative brother, sensed the tension between her two new friends.  Her mother would not let her and A’don fight like this…it wasn’t 'lowed.   And her mother often helped take the mad away after the fight.  Anna knew just what to do, too.  She climbed into Legolas’ lap once more and took his face in her little hands to make him look at her. 

          “Mad?" she asked.  “At him?” She pointed to Aragorn who sat with his back to the elf while he spoke with Brandel. 

          Legolas thought for a moment.  “No, not anymore.” 

          The little girl crawled out of his lap and took his hand.  She tugged hard until he stood up and led him over to Aragorn’s side.  When Aragorn turned to look at her, she put her arm around his neck. 

          “Mad at Leg’es?”   Aragorn heaved a long-suffering sigh and looked up at the elf.  Blue eyes met gray and they grinned rather sheepishly at each other. 

          Aragorn looked back at Anna.  “No, sweetheart, I am not mad at ‘Leg’es’.” 

          Anna tugged Legolas down beside Aragorn.  She looked sternly at them both.  “Good.” 

          She left then to find her mother, leaving behind one baffled elf, a bemused King and a snickering father. 

          “What just happened?” Legolas asked Aragorn. 

          His friend shrugged as Brandel explained, “My lords, ye have just received instruction from a wee girl who’ll one day rule her own family with an iron hand!”  Legolas laughed with others as he watched Anna charm another tart from her mother.

          After breakfast, Legolas took Anna up before him on Arod and rode a short way down the road, singing a Silvan song to her about the mischievous squirrels of a great forest.  He sang it to her three times and showed her where to chirp during the chorus each time that the birds of the forest chased the squirrels.  He returned the giggling child to her father, smiling and saying, “This little mouse needs a pet squirrel, Brandel, to lead her on many adventures!” 

           Brandel tickled his daughter, laughing at her squeals of laughter and replied, “My lord, as ye well know by now, this one is an adventure all by herself!”

          As they prepared to leave, Aragorn thanked Brandel and Mirielle for their kindness.

          “We have never made it a point to stop on the Road through Firien, but I promise you we will now,” he told Brandel.

          “Aye, sire, I hope ye do.  My brother Maelthor and his wife and youngsters are in Minas Tirith as we speak, buyin’ supplies.  Do ye think they’ll be believin’ this story?  No, ‘specially that brother of mine.  Do come back and prove him wrong!” the man explained. 

          Aragorn clapped Brandel on the shoulder, ruffled Aldon’s hair, and kissed a blushing Mirielle’s hand in farewell.   Then he swept Anna up in his arms and blew a great kiss on her cheek, saying, “Goodbye, Anna!  Thank you for making Leg’es and me mind our manners!”  She giggled, hiding her face in his neck and nodded.  Aragorn passed her up for one last kiss from Legolas and mounted his horse.

Once again, Legolas felt the sting of leaving, riding away with the memory of Anna’s arms hugging his neck and a tiny voice whispering, “Come back soon” in his ear.

                                          ~~~~*~~~~

          They continued on their way, leaving the forest behind and once again galloping along the Road through Anorien.  They decided to spend one more night near the Druadan Forest and ride the remaining miles to Minas Tirith the following day. 

          That last night, Legolas waited until Aragorn arose to stand his watch before approaching him for the talk he knew they must have.  He left his blankets and walked over to where his friend was sitting, gazing at the land around him and thoughtfully smoking his pipe.

          “Estel?” he whispered.  Aragorn turned quickly and looked at him. 

          “What is it, Legolas?  What is wrong?” he asked, his hand slipping down to the hilt of his sword. 

          Legolas raised his hand and shook his head.  “Nothing, nothing, my friend.  I just needed to talk to you about something.” 

          Aragorn leaned back again and motioned the elf to sit beside him.  “All right,” he said, inviting Legolas to begin. 

          “It is about the “dream” I had while I was hurt, Estel.  I told you that eventually I would like to tell you about it,” Legolas answered, his voice low and strained. 

          Aragorn straightened at the elf’s words, his attention focused on Legolas’ face in concern.  “Are you certain?” he asked.  “Because if you are not, I would rather you wait.  Do not feel you must talk about it.” 

          Legolas shook his head.  “I wanted you to know.  My plight with the sea-longing and my grief concerning my mortal friends had somehow been brought to Nienna’s attention.  She helped me understand some things, Estel.  She helped me face my fears about what is to come,” he said, the tears he thought already shed threatening again. 

          Aragorn gripped his shoulder and said, “Go on.  I am listening.” 

          “I think the tears you saw me shed while I was unconscious were the same ones I shed as we spoke.  It was so hard, Estel,” he whispered, his voice breaking.  He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.  Aragorn’s grip tightened a little.  “We talked for a long time about you, and Gimli, and the others.  Then I slept while Este sang a song of rest and restoration to me,” he continued.  “Later the next day, Nienna took me to the sea.” 

          Aragorn’s breath caught.  Legolas looked at him, his gray eyes swimming with tears.  “Her mansion lies on a high cliff facing the Encircling Sea.  I saw it, Estel.  The sea – and I heard the song.  Not just the water's song…but the Great Song…all of it.  And that is where I came to understand that I have a part in that song, but I had not been listening.  I thought the music of Ennor was marred, but I was wrong.  When I listen and add my own song to it, it all becomes clear.  We all have our part in the Song, Estel, and we do not have to be in Aman to contribute to it.” 

          Aragorn smiled at Legolas through his own tears.  “That is what you have been singing…that song that changes every night.” 

          Legolas nodded and wiped his eyes.  “Yes, and there is still much I must learn.  Still parts I have not heard yet.  But I will as long as I remain here; I will hear and learn each one.” 

          Estel felt a great sense of relief.  “This helps counter the sea-longing?” 

          Legolas nodded.  “Yes, though the call is still strong, I believe I will learn to live with it.  And I know the sound of Aman’s song now, and it helps…I cannot really explain how the two blend together.  It is a mystery still.” 

          Legolas looked so frustrated and puzzled that Aragorn had to laugh.  “You will eventually solve it.  I know your stubbornness, Thranduilion.” 

          Legolas sighed.  “It is still difficult sometimes, but now it is bearable.”  He looked at Aragorn and covered the hand on his shoulder with his own.  “I wanted you to know.” 

          “Hannon lle, my dear friend.”  Aragorn squeezed his shoulder.  “And I am happy you have found some relief and…even joy?”  He looked at Legolas.  The elf smiled, not at all surprised his friend had perceived that change in him. 

          “Yes, joy.  I never thought to feel it again after I heard the gulls, Estel,” he explained. 

          Aragorn nodded in understanding.  “I saw that lack in you and my heart broke every time.”  He studied the quiet face of his friend for a short time before asking, “Does this forest have its own song, my friend?” 

          Legolas cocked his head, listening.  Then he began to hum a sad, haunting refrain.  The two friends remained there for the rest of the night - one listening…one singing…both rejoicing in and through the music. 

                                          ~~~~*~~~~

          The next day, they traveled to the junction where the road turned towards Ithilien.   Aragorn sent Jarrod on ahead and prepared to attempt to convince Legolas to come into the city and stay for a day or two.   He looked back to see Aravir staring at his lord silently.  This went on for a long moment before both elves dismounted and Aravir lifted a pack from his horse. 

          Aragorn watched the exchange, eyes narrowed and trying to discern exactly what was happening.  Aravir was tight-lipped; Legolas’ face was impassive.  The Prince took the pack and spoke quietly to Aravir in Sindarin.  Aragorn could not hear the words but from the tone, his elven friend was attempting to explain something to his commander.  He sat his horse silently, waiting for the explanation he knew would eventually come.

          Legolas finished giving Aravir his directions and watched the other elf leap upon his stallion again.  He walked over to Arod.

          I must leave now.  Go with Aravir and rest once you reach Ithilien, Arod nin.  And do not worry…I will be fine.

          Arod shook his mane and stamped one hoof impatiently.  The sea has made you ill in the past…and now you seek it out?  We will come for you if you do not return by the time you have promised.  

          Legolas stroked the broad forehead in an effort to comfort the horse.

          “I know you will,” Legolas whispered.  “I would not expect any less from either of you.  Just remember – things are better now.”  He looked up at Aravir.  The Silvan warrior watched him steadily, his deep green gaze disapproving and fearful. 

          “One month, no more,” the Prince promised. 

          Aravir gave a curt nod and calling for Arod, wheeled his stallion around.  He raised his hand in salute to the King and spoke to his horse softly.  The great stallion cantered down the road, Arod beside them.  Legolas watched them leave, his face very still.  Now to face Aragorn.  Springing onto the mare’s back, he turned her towards the King.

          “I am pleased you are coming into the city with us, Legolas,” Aragorn said pleasantly.  “Arwen will be happy to see you hale and healthy.” 

          Legolas gazed at him silently for a long moment.  “I am not going in that direction, Estel.  Perhaps I will be able to stop in and see Arwen and you on my return.” 

          “Your return?” the King questioned.  “Return from where?” 

          “Lebennin,” Legolas answered. 

          Aragorn felt a stab of fear as he replied in a soft, disbelieving voice. “Lebennin?  Please tell me you are not going to the sea, Legolas.” 

          “I will not tell you then.” 

          “By the Valar, have you completely taken leave of your senses?” the King cried.  “You are scarcely a month removed from almost losing your life to orc poison and the sea’s call…and you are going there?”  The soft disbelief now turned to a hard, flat command.  “No.  Absolutely…NO!”

          Legolas looked at his friend sadly – so his revelations of the previous evening had not eased Estel’s fear for him.  His pleasant façade abandoned, the King was well on the way to rage and Legolas knew exactly what fueled his friend’s anger.  He watched Aragorn fight for his composure for a brief moment and lose before he continued, his voice rising along with his fear.  “No.  By Elbereth, Legolas, if I must tie you up and keep you locked in a room until this madness passes, I will.  No, you are NOT going.” 

          “Estel…”  

          But the King did not want to listen to reason or see Legolas’ side of this.  All he could see was his friend unconscious for three days from the sea’s call, Arod standing guard over him.  “No!  Legolas, please…” Aragorn’s voice shook.  Then he hesitated, suddenly changing his argument.  “All right, if you must go, then I will go with you.” 

          “Estel, listen…” 

          “You are not going alone, Legolas.  It is too dangerous.  What if you should suffer another attack?  I will go also…”  

          Legolas brought the mare alongside Aragorn’s horse and placed a strong hand on his friend’s tense shoulder.   “Stop it.  You know you cannot leave again after being gone so long.  Besides, I must do this alone.  I must go there, gwador nin.  Were you not listening last night?  I tried to tell you there are places I must still go to complete what was begun in Aman.” 

         Aragorn froze.  The dream.  Of course.  How could he counter the dream given Legolas by the Valar themselves?  He could not and if Legolas said he needed to do this to complete a part of the healing begun in Aman, then he had to.

        He drew a deep, shaky breath, trying to reconcile himself to the fact that Legolas was indeed going - alone.  Angry gray eyes speared his friend.  “ What did you tell Aravir?  One month?”

          Legolas nodded, tears stinging his eyes at the mixed look of anger, terror and love in the human’s eyes.  “Yes, mellon nin,” he replied.  “If I do not return within that time frame, he and Arod will come for me.”

          Aragorn reached over and grabbed Legolas’ shoulder, squeezing it in affection and warning.  “They will not be the only ones to come for you, Thranduilion.”

          “I know.  Please, Estel, do not fear for me.  It is my belief that the worst attacks are in the past.”  He tightened his grip on Aragorn’s shoulder in return.  “Besides, I know how one feels.  If I should sense it coming, I will find shelter immediately.  I will be fine.”

          Aragorn looked at him, his face stiff with defeat.  “I must accept your word for it then…and I apologize for my outburst.  You did warn me last night, in a rather round about way.  I suppose I do not understand as well as I thought I did.  Knowing how you have suffered in the past…to think of you actually facing the sea…” His voice trailed off into silence, his fear and bewilderment obvious.

          Legolas started to speak, but Aragorn spoke abruptly,  “No, forgive me for my doubts.  Just go.  Take care.  And remember your promise…one month.”

          Legolas’ hand dropped to his side and he looked at Aragorn, his gray-blue eyes pleading for understanding.  “Please try not to worry, my friend.  I will see you in one month…or sooner, if possible.”

          Aragorn nodded slowly.  “See that you do.  You do not want to know what we will do to you if we have to come after you, Legolas.”

         Legolas nodded, a slow smile lifting the corners of his mouth.  Aragorn sounded so much like Adar sometimes.  “I will see you then.  Stay well, Estel.”  

          His friend snorted, but managed a grim smile at the elf and waved him on.  He watched silently as Legolas turned the mare around and they galloped down the South Road that led to Lebennin and the sea.

TRANSLATIONS:

mellon nin – my friend

mir nin – my treasure (jewel)

beleg brannon – great King

nin khaun – my prince (Nandorin)

gwador nin – my brother (through friendship, not related by blood)

hannon lle – thank you

adar – father

Arod nin – my Arod

Thranduilion – son of Thranduil

Anor – the sun

Ennor – Middle-earth (Sindarin)

Aman – the Undying Lands

Title: THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary:  Legolas, along with some unexpected company, follows the South Road towards the sea.  

Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.   I just enjoy playing there from time to time and receive nothing for these stories but the joy I gain from writing them.

Review:  Reviews are welcome and so encouraging!  Please do!

A/N:  Once again I must apologize for the long time between updates, but my husband passed away unexpectedly on February 5 and I have only recently been able to return to this story.  Charles was my biggest cheerleader (as well as a self-proclaimed dwarf) and I know he would not want me to give up writing my stories…so, I will try my best to resolve Legolas’ problems sometime between now and the next Age.  I have recently read other authors thanking Nilmandra for providing this wonderful site and I want to throw my huge THANK YOU in also.  I have always found this site and its stories/authors to be entertaining and inspiring.  Now I must also add comforting to the list!

Chapter 12: In Search of the Sea

          Aravir’s bay stallion, Thalion, confined his exuberance to a trot as they took the road that led towards Osgiliath and the forests of Ithilien.  The big horse wanted to run and on a normal day delighted in testing Aravir’s patience with his playful fits and starts.  This day, however, had ceased to be normal.  The turmoil of indecision that clouded his elf’s usually calm mind was troubling.   Thalion tossed his head uneasily, but maintained his sedate pace.  Aravir leaned forward and patted the strong neck. 

          Hannon lle, mellon nin. 

          He appreciated Thalion’s forbearance; he could not remember the last time he had faced a dilemma such as this.  He had received a direct order from Legolas to return to Ithilien, yet he hesitated to execute that order. 

          Unheard of!  I have never even considered disobeying a command before! 

          He frowned.  From the moment Legolas had voiced his intent to go to the sea, his mind had been flooded with concern, and he knew that the dappled white horse pacing beside him fared even worse.  Arod’s growing distress struck Aravir in waves and with every step taken away from his master, became a visible agitation.  Aravir knew exactly how the big gray gelding felt.  It was the same apprehension that hindered his ability to comply with the Prince’s last instructions.   

          “Take Arod and return to Ithilien.  Oh, and by the way, I will not be going with you – I am going to visit the very thing that has almost destroyed me these past months.  What?  Yes, indeed Aravir, the sea…”   Aravir snorted derisively at the sheer foolishness of the reasoning and managed to proceed half a league further before finally giving in and stopping both horses.

          The troubled elf slipped from Thalion’s back and stood beside his horse, staring blindly into the distance.  Arod walked up to the pair, nudging the elf in the chest and receiving an absentminded caress in return.  As for Aravir, he was lost to his thoughts and no longer stood on the Pelennor; his reverie had taken him home to Lasgalen twelve years before.

          Thranduil stood before the blazing fire in his library, gazing at the elf calmly awaiting his instructions.  That he trusted this captain implicitly was comforting…to a point.

          “You know I trust you with my life, Aravir,” the King said, his silver-blue eyes clear and direct.  “Now I am trusting you with my heart – the life of my son.” 

          Aravir nodded.  “Keep him safe,” Thranduil continued, as he examined the impassive face thoughtfully.  “His choice of a new home is not what troubles me, Aravir.  My son has dealt with Shadow and its effects for untold years, as have you and those who will accompany you.” 

         The King’s crystalline gaze intensified.  “It is the sea that frightens me…and your own inexperience with it.  I just pray that if or when the time comes, you will find the understanding to deal with its effect on him.  Watch him, Aravir.  Help him if you can…if he will let you.” 

         Thranduil paused again, before adding in a soft, even voice.  “And if you find you cannot…if you see that you do not know how to deal with the sea-longing, enlist the aid of Elessar or that dwarf.”  

          Aravir’s green eyes widened slightly and he could not prevent a slight grimace.  The King caught Aravir’s tiny change in expression and laughed grimly.  “Even so.  But there is help to be found among his friends, no matter who they may be…and you have not had much opportunity to know my son as an adult.  He is stubborn and full of pride.” 

         Aravir’s shot a speaking look at his King, who shook his head.  “I do not know where he gets these tendencies!”  The two warriors shared a smile.  The King clapped a strong, encouraging hand on Aravir’s shoulder.  “Just take care of him.” 

          Aravir swallowed hard.  He had promised the King.  Promised him to keep Legolas safe.  No matter what.  Promises made to his King were not to be taken lightly.  The King has done too much…he means too much to me.  The dark haired elf bowed his head, closing his eyes as other images of another earlier time flooded his mind. 

          They had come in the darkest hour of a moonless night.  The small southern settlement had had little warning – Aravir would understand many years later that the years of peace had lulled the adults into a deadly complacency.  Several decades short of his majority, Aravir crouched helplessly in the concealing branches of a huge old beech tree with his older cousin and the other three youngsters the adults had managed to get to safety and listened to the slaughter of his world.   

          When the shout of a familiar, beloved voice echoed from below, he almost lost himself then…almost vaulted from his hiding place.  Only the desperate grip of his cousin, Ariann, had held him in place.   

          “No, Aravir!  You cannot!” she had hissed, the silent tears coursing down her cheeks a testament to her fear and horrified grief.   

          Small arms had stolen around his neck at that point and the small body of his sister, Tasarien, pressed as close as possible.  He wrapped one arm around the shivering elfling and the moment passed.  Hot, bitter tears escaped his tightly closed eyes and slipped down his cheeks to pool in the corner of his mouth.  His breath was quick, labored, and he ruthlessly suppressed the whimpers threatening to escape his constricted throat.  He bowed his head, burying his face in the soft dark hair of the tiny elleth held tightly against his chest.  They waited what seemed like hours until finally the screams and howls and clashing sounds of battle faded away, leaving behind only the sad mourning voices of the trees and the sighing of the wind.   

          Together, he and Ariann gathered the little group of shocked, shaking children, comforting them as much and as quietly as possible.  Ariann slipped away for a short time, moving through the trees like a silent wraith, while Aravir continued his calm, whispering monologue with the younger elves.  To this day he could not remember a word he had said to them.  The frightened, grieving little group had huddled there against the huge bole, concealed by the old tree’s leaves, Tasarien in his lap, Dorlas clinging to his right side and Artamir to his left, waiting for Ariann…five…ten…fifteen minutes…

          Abruptly she was beside them again and beckoning them closer, murmured, “They are gone…headed in a northeasterly direction.  We will stay here in the trees for a time to make sure and then take a more northerly path towards the King’s palace.  They must be warned and perhaps we will find a patrol on the way.” 

          They found the patrol two days later.  A guard took the children to the palace, where they told their horrendous story to the King and his Queen.  The King had dispatched warriors to the south and made a place for the small band of orphans right there in his own home.   

          Aravir could still remember the Queen’s soft voice and kind hands those first nightmarish weeks.  He still recalled Thranduil’s visits to them every evening to tuck them in bed and listen to stories about their day.  Later, the King made it a priority to see that each of them received the training they needed to pursue their life’s chosen work.  Ariann had become a healer; Tasarien a trainer in the King’s stables, Dorlas a warrior and Artamir had visited the Havens once and stayed on, apprenticed to Cirdan.  Aravir’s plans to follow his father’s example as a forester had faded quickly, canceled out by the screams of his dying family.  By the time the Queen presented her lord with his son, Legolas, Aravir had been captaining the southern patrols for several hundred years. 

          His postings made it impossible to know the Prince well, but Aravir had followed his progress as a warrior with much interest and no little amount of pride.  Almost a year before the War began, Thranduil had called him to serve as one of the three primary commanders over the Mirkwood forces.  Aravir had seen Legolas daily for that short time, afforded glimpses of the strong, capable elf his King’s son had become.   

          Then it started…the trip to Imladris…the letter from Legolas detailing his assignment to aid in the Ringbearer’s Quest…the long months with no word…and finally, the fight for survival during the last effort of Sauron to destroy the Woodland Realm…he had experienced every minute of those months at the side of his King.  He saw Thranduil’s intense joy at Legolas’ return and knew what it cost him to let his son leave again.  For that reason, among others, he considered it a special privilege to help Legolas establish his colony in Ithilien. 

          Aravir shook his head and sighed.  He looked at his two equine companions, both watching him carefully. 

          “I am well, my friends, if a little confused,” he whispered, draping one arm across Thalion’s neck and stroking Arod’s face with the other hand.  An indulgent grin crept across his face as the two horses sidled closer, vying for his attention.  He rifled the pockets of his traveling cloak and pulled one last apple out.  Holding it up, he turned it this way and that, admiring the deep red color. 

          “Hmmmmmm.  I was going to eat this myself,” he murmured. 

          Both horses tossed their heads vigorously.  “Oh? I am not?  Well, then, I suppose you may have it!” 

          Aravir quickly pulled out a small belt knife and halved the apple.  Offering one half to Arod and the other to Thalion, he grinned as the horses blissfully crunched the fruit. 

          You are both shameless!  I have seen colts of a few months more controlled!  Here, enjoy the apple, you two, and let me think.  Arod stood still, distracted and nervously pawing the ground, while Thalion rested his head on Aravir’s shoulder. 

          Aravir leaned into the comforting warmth and closed his eyes as other visions surfaced…the Prince working tirelessly side by side with him and the other elves to heal the forest…the Prince laughing and teasing the dwarf (that had taken some getting used to!)…Legolas standing proudly at the side of Elessar after the birth of his son…Legolas offering Aravir his friendship…  But it was the final memory, assaulting him like a strong blow to the stomach, that decided him; that of the body of Legolas lying on the ground, helpless in the grip of the sea’s call and guarded only by the faithful horse that even now fretted beside him.  He lifted his eyes to gaze at the cloudless blue sky above.

          What did Gimli once tell me?  That if I would think of him as a friend, as indeed I do, then I must act as a friend.  And no matter what he says, I believe this trip to the sea is ill advised and fraught with danger.  I cannot let him do this alone!

          His mouth tightened as he turned to Arod.  “Come, Arod.  We are going back.”  The silver gray horse tossed his head in obvious relief.  “We will pick up his trail at Minas Tirith and follow.  He need never know we are there…unless there is trouble with him.  Is that agreeable, my friend?”

          It is.  Arod snorted softly, shifting restlessly.  He will be angry.

          Aravir sighed.  “Probably.  But it is a risk we must take.  Come, we should hurry lest he get too far ahead.”  He leaped on Thalion’s back and they galloped back towards the White City.

          Elf and horses covered the distance quickly, reaching the intersection of roads before the gates of Minas Tirith in good time.  Aravir had just made the turn south towards Pelargir when a shout from behind brought him up short.  He looked around in disbelief as Aragorn left a group of guards he had been speaking with near the gate and rode to join them.

          “I thought you would be well on the way to greeting your Queen, hir nin,” he exclaimed, his surprise clearly evident to Aragorn.

          “And you should be well on your way to Ithilien, Aravir,” the King replied softly.  “Did you lose something?”

          They both smiled at the same time, shrewd gray eyes locking with embarrassed green in total understanding.  “It appears we have both wrestled with the same issues,” Aragorn noted. 

          He studied the handsome, resolute face of Legolas’ Captain.  “Will you let him know you are there?” he asked.

          Aravir shook his head no.  “I thought to stay well behind and make my presence known only at great need, my lord.”

          “That sounds like a good plan.  I would also choose clandestine surveillance over the wrath of Thranduil’s son any day!” Aragorn said, laughing at Aravir’s slightly guilty scowl. 

          He looked towards his city, frowning.  “I must go into the city, Aravir.  I need to see the state of things and determine if I can even consider leaving again so soon.  And I must speak to my wife and my Steward.”

          The elf nodded in understanding.  “Then go, Aran Elessar.  He takes the South Road to Pelargir.  Once there, I do not know his intended direction, though I doubt he will consider Pelargir close enough to the sea.  He will desire to get even closer…perhaps the Ethir Anduin, or maybe Linhir.  I cannot be certain, but I will try to stay within reach.  If you have not caught up with me by the time he leaves Pelargir, I will leave a message giving you our direction at the inn called Pelican’s Roost.  Have you heard of it?”

          Aragorn answered, “Actually, I have.  Gimli went south to a quarry looking for stone when they were repairing certain parts of the city.  He spoke of that inn fondly…said it had wonderful ale!  Do not worry, I will find your message as well as the inn.  Then I will join you as soon as possible!” 

          He paused and lifted shadowed eyes to the elf.  “And if I cannot join you, I will at least send Faramir.”

          Aravir, knowing the cost of those words to Aragorn, inclined his head respectfully.  “I will look for your arrival then, my lord, or Lord Faramir’s.” 

          Aragorn reached over and stroked Arod’s forehead.  “Why did you decide to come back, Aravir?  He gave you an order, did he not?”  He watched the elf flush slightly. 

          “Yes, he did.  And I believe he told you not to follow either, or am I mistaken?” 

          Aragorn laughed.  “You are not, my friend.  He was most adamant about going alone.”

          Aravir grimaced slightly.  “Do you remember the discussion you and I had about Legolas at the camp on the Snowborne, before we left to hunt the wild horses?”  Aragorn nodded.  “Do you remember what Lord Gimli told me before we had that talk?” 

          Aragorn’s eyes brightened with remembrance.  “Yes.  He said that Prince or not, he was a friend first and we must put his well-being above his orders sometimes because he is a flighty elf, given to incomprehensible thoughts and imaginings.” 

          Aravir looked insulted.  “I do not think he voiced it exactly that way, my lord,” he said stiffly. 

          Aragorn chuckled.  “No, but he meant it that way and you know it.” 

          A slight smile lightened the Silvan elf’s evergreen eyes and lifted his lips.  “Yes, you are correct.  He did mean it that way.  Lord Gimli is very wise, if not always tactful.  And he was right.  The threat this trip poses for Legolas outweighs any need he might have to be alone.  Of course, for all intents and purposes, he will be alone.  Almost.” 

          Aragorn reached across and clasped the elf’s shoulder.  “Go with care then, Aravir.  I am glad both you and Arod will be looking after him.”  Aravir nodded and watched the King of Gondor nudge his stallion towards the gates of his city.  He saw the King safely inside before turning Thalion and Arod south to gain the road that led to Pelargir.

~~~~*~~~~

          Legolas let the mare set her own pace for a time, thoroughly enjoying the cool wind in his face as they galloped across the rolling lowlands of Lossarnach that paralleled the Anduin; a pretty area that had seen its population increase swiftly after the end of the War.  Many had returned here to rebuild their old lives or start new ones.   The well-kept farms and the small villages, inns and way stations that had sprung up along the South Road attested to the peaceful affluence of the area. 

          Legolas smiled as he passed an older man directing several young men about the business of harvesting a field of ripened grain.  It was good to see the land prospering once more.  The memory of the devastation visited upon it and the local people by the Corsairs, as well as other minions of the Dark Lord, remained clear in his mind.

          His keen gray gaze surveyed the wide expanse of land patterned with fields and punctuated with dwellings.  Soon these plains and bottomlands along the Great River would give way to a lightly forested, more sparsely populated area.  That will be fine with me.  More trees…less people.  An ideal combination!  Legolas continued to eagerly search for any evidence of trees as the mare’s long, sweeping stride ate up the miles. 

          They passed several small groups of travelers on the road making their way to Pelargir also.  Invariably, the others waved and called friendly greetings to the elf that he felt obliged to return.  By the time he and the mare had traveled three hours or so, he received four invitations to join other groups and one indecent proposal.  He declined all graciously and continued on his solitary way, a perplexed, embarrassed grin on his fair face.  Legolas never tried to call attention to himself, but short of wearing a hooded cloak, attention was exactly what he received…in abundance.  

          “I do not understand what the attraction is, mir nin,” he grumbled softly to the horse, patting her golden neck.  Her delicate ears swiveled back at the sound of his voice and she shook her mane.  He laughed. 

          “I truly think it is you they are admiring, my lady,” he said.  “You are a bright jewel on this sunny day and they covet your company.” 

          The mare snorted and danced sideways a bit in reply.  “Well, at sundown we will go off-road and seek some privacy for the night.  I do not wish to camp with anyone or stay at an inn, do you?” he asked, smiling at the vigorous shake of her head.  “No, I did not think so.” 

          Shading his eyes, he searched the horizon and spotted the first grove of trees several leagues away from the main thoroughfare.  He glanced around for others on the road, but he and the mare had outdistanced everyone.  Satisfied they were alone, he directed the mare to leave and travel across the broad open land toward the distant trees. 

          There he found a small, charming grove of oak, birch and willow growing beside a shallow stream that would eventually pour into the River Erui near its juncture with the Anduin about six leagues further south.  They would cross the Erui on the morrow and continue to Pelargir from there. 

          The elf quickly cared for the mare, using long, rhythmic strokes of a soft brush from his pack to remove the evidence of the road from her gleaming coat before setting her loose to graze on the tall, sweet grass growing close by.  Then he spent some time on his own, walking the banks of the stream and immersing himself in its murmuring song.  He quickly picked up its melody and joined his clear tenor to that of the water and the many birds gathering in the trees for the evening. 

          Legolas had meandered upstream a short distance further, singing and examining the profusion of late summer flowers blooming on the bank when the delicate, graceful song of a willow drew him to sit beneath its sweeping branches.  He leaned against the sturdy trunk, still singing softly and watching the flowing stream through the curtain of pale green leaves, his eyes sleepy and slightly unfocused. 

          An insistent horsey nose snuffling his neck brought him back to the present and he smiled into the deep brown eyes of the mare. 

          Suilad, mir nin.  I almost fell asleep in this quiet place.

          A delicate snort greeted this observation and the mare shook her pale mane.  Legolas grinned at the almost amused expression in the mare’s eyes. 

          Such long suffering, my lady!  Am I so difficult to live with, then?

          She shook her regal head again and nudged his shoulder, her mind voice gentle and affectionate.  I understand you quiet well.  This place is beautiful.  Shall we stay here?  

         No, my lady.  The willow is a graceful companion by day, but I prefer the sturdy strength of an oak by night.  We should return to our things before we lose them in the darkness.  

          He sat humming quietly for a few moments longer in the willow’s bower, his strong hand gently fondling the soft ears of the horse, before pulling himself to his feet and allowing the mare to lead him back to his belongings.   

          This night he built no fire, settling instead for a cold supper.  Rummaging through the pack Aravir had given him, he pulled out a half loaf of bread and a generous slice of smoked rabbit. 

          After feeding an apple to the mare, he wrapped his supper in a large kerchief along with a handful of large berries he had discovered ripening near the stream.  He slipped the kerchief in his tunic and walked over to the grazing horse. 

          “Losto, mir nin.  I will be close by…right over there in that tree,” he whispered, letting her lip a small sugar lump from his hand as he smoothed her mane.  The mare followed him to his chosen tree and watched him rapidly scale the large, stately oak that grew some feet from the water’s edge.  Now confident of his location, she returned to her grazing.

          Legolas settled himself on a broad limb and ate his supper in record time, washing down the bread and rabbit with sips of cool water from the stream.  Sated and feeling somewhat pummeled by events of the day, he pulled his cloak close about him, listening to the deep, sleepy voice of the tree.  Another quick glance reassured him that the mare was well and he slipped into elven dreams listening to the soothing sounds of wind and water and treesong.

          Early the next morning as Anor was just beginning to paint the horizon pink and gold, Legolas woke and slipped from the tree’s sheltering branches to the ground below.  Stretching stiffened muscles, he walked to the stream and crouched, splashing water on his face in the hopes it would wake him up.  He found the mare drinking from the stream and greeted her cheerfully.  After a quick meal of more bread and berries, he packed his things away, vaulted on her back and turned to cross the two leagues of grassland between them and the main road. 

          The mare’s mincing and fidgeting finally convinced the elf to release her for their morning gallop.  He leaned close to her neck, clutching a handful of mane as she thundered across the wide grassland.  They had raced thus for over a league when Legolas spotted the first wain with its outriders on the Road from Pelargir in the distance.  He slowed the mare and by the time they reached the Road and the wagon, the mare was trotting sedately.  Legolas nodded to the riders and the driver, recognizing them as merchants taking their wares to sell to vendors in the city. 

          The driver saluted him in return and as they drove on, Legolas’ sharp ears heard one of the riders exclaim, “An elf!  That’s good luck, that is, I heared tell.  Did ya see that mare o’ his?  A right beauty she was!” 

          The driver muttered, “Shut up, Darloth!  He might not take kindly to ya lookin’ too closely at that fine horse…and who told ya elves be good luck?” 

          The hapless Darloth murmured something in reply, eliciting hearty laughter from his companions.  Legolas smiled slightly as he rode on.  Where do men get these strange notions?  Good luck indeed!  He nudged the mare in the ribs and she quickened her pace obediently.

~~~~~*~~~~~

          Aravir approached his first night on the road in a turmoil of anxiety.  They had ridden all afternoon, yet Legolas remained ahead of them somewhere.  How far ahead he did not know.  Now with the advent of night, he was certain Legolas would seek shelter somewhere away from the main road.

          I should have expected he would not make use of the inns along the way.  

          He finally stopped at one of those inns, seeking information from some of the other travelers.   He spoke with a group who actually remembered seeing the pair… “all shining golden they was…” right before sunset.  Based on their recollections and Arod’s strong sense of Legolas’ presence …he is close…taking his rest somewhere near… Aravir allowed himself to feel a measure of relief. 

          If the Prince was resting, he had probably found some trees close by.  Aravir asked the innkeeper, who informed him that small, scattered stands of oak and willow grew with increasing regularity from this point on.  Thanking the man, he returned to the horses.

          “We will wait here tonight,” he whispered to Arod, finger combing the silvery forelock and then stroking Thalion’s warm neck.  “In the morning, we will join a small group going to Pelargir and blend in until we have some sense of where he is and how far ahead.” 

          Aravir led both horses to the stable where the stable master gave him a roomy stall and two large buckets of fresh water.  There he brushed the dust and grime of travel from both horses before feeding them the last of the grain Brandel had given him in Firien two days ago. 

          Once the horses were dozing comfortably, the elf crept outside and scaled the stable walls to the roof, where he spent a restless night alternately singing to Elbereth and asking for her watchful care over Legolas.   Finally, the darkness paled to early morning grays and pinks as the sun rose and the world awakened.  By the time he had fed, groomed, and watered both horses, Anor had just cleared the horizon. 

          They resumed their journey, ambling along the road in a rather careless, nonchalant manner and joining a merry collection of shopkeepers (who were fascinated with the prospect of traveling with a real elf, for goodness sake!).  The merchants, who were returning to Linhir after a buying expedition in Minas Tirith, were delighted to share stories of their time in the city with their fair companion.  Aravir listened with half an ear, always watching the road ahead and the plains to the side.  He was beginning to think they had missed Legolas entirely when his keen elven eyes spotted a rider and horse approaching the Road, cantering at an angle across the wide expanse of grass.   

          The fair-haired Prince and his mare glistened like newly minted gold in the early morning light.  As Aravir watched, Legolas leaned forward and whispered to his mount.  She immediately leaped forward, settling quickly into a ground-eating gallop.  Aravir smiled slightly, remembering well the young horse’s penchant for explosive runs every morning.  It had been prudent to oblige her, too, lest her capering antics drive everyone around, including her rider, to distraction.  As he watched the pair’s progress, he realized they would regain the Road well ahead of him.

          He leaned forward to pat Thalion’s neck, and called Arod closer.  Well, Arod, my friend, there they are.  We will stay lost in the midst of this group until they are some distance ahead.  Then we will see about tracking them for the rest of the journey.

~~~~~*~~~~~

          For the next two days, Legolas and the mare traveled steadily south, using the Road by day and sleeping in the nearby woods at night.  With every passing mile, Legolas noticed the increasingly salty tang in the air, whereas previously he had caught the faint whiff of brine only if a favorable southerly wind blew.  The closer they drew to Pelargir, the stronger the tug of the sea on his heart and senses became.

          He sang a completely different song these days, blending his voice with the siren song of distant waters and the rolling, open music of Lebennin.  He found it delightfully bittersweet, a song lauding the diversity of the land and people around him while mixed liberally with the mystery of vast waters and the yearnings of his heart. 

          As the days passed, Legolas examined the strong hold the sea’s call still had on him.  With his newfound ability to unite the music of both worlds through his own, he fervently hoped it would be sufficient to hold any future attacks of the sea-longing at bay.  He realized he had not been cured at all, merely equipped to better deal with the problem, which would probably last until he finally sailed.  It was a sobering thought.

          He entered the town of Pelargir late one warm afternoon and made his way immediately to the docks.   As he stood there amongst the ships, listening to the noise of men loading and off loading cargo mixed with the shrill clarion call of the gulls, he knew it was not enough.   His elven senses could not perceive the pounding of ocean waves…the Great Sea still lay many leagues to the south.  And while the smell of salt and sound of gull spoke of the sea, it was NOT the sea.

          He gave a frustrated shrug and gathering his cloak around him, turned to leave.  The port of Linhir actually resides by a bay that is part of Belegaer.  At Linhir, I would be much closer to the sea and it is only three or four days from here. 

          Making his way through the crowds, which parted quickly to let the silent elf pass, he returned to the tethered mare and mounted.  As he guided her through the busy streets of the town back to the Road, he searched his mind for the best path to travel.  Should he actually go into Linhir, or turn aside before reaching the town? 

          Legolas remembered the two rivers that flowed into the bay at Linhir.  The Gilraen and Serni…it might prove interesting to leave the road early and make his way to one of those rivers.  He could follow the river to the sea, thus avoiding the troublesome traffic of the Road.  Promising himself to ask for information or perhaps a map at an inn later in the day, Legolas turned the mare west and rode out into the countryside once again. 

          Several leagues later, they crossed the bridge over the Sirith River and the broad sweep of the hills and plains of Lebennin became evident.  When the first stars of evening glittered in the darkening sky, Legolas rode into the cleanly swept yard of an inn.  An eager lad held the mare, his blue eyes impossibly wide with awe at the sight of the elf, while Legolas made his way inside to speak with the innkeeper.

          That worthy individual, Caldor by name, was presently involved with haggling the price of a room with one of his most recalcitrant, but faithful, customers.  Ending the transaction to his satisfaction, he sent the man on to his room and turned to find himself under the amused scrutiny of, by the Powers that be, an elf!  His shocked eyes quickly noted the impossibly fair face and gilt hair, the star-bright eyes and elegant, though serviceable clothing, not to mention the great bow and quiver strapped to his back. 

          The man cleared his throat nervously.  “My lord?  How can I be of service to ye?”

          The elf smiled faintly, bowing slightly with one hand over his heart.  “Mae govannen, good sir.  I am traveling to Linhir and would like to ask your advice and direction, if I may.”

          Caldor bowed in return, charmed by the courteous manners of this strange being and replied, “Of course.  Please, my lord, come this way.  We can speak in here without interruption.  What did you say your name was?”  He led Legolas into a small back room office and offered him a seat.

          Legolas smiled at the obvious ploy for information.  “I am called Legolas Greenleaf.”

          Caldor, who had gone to a side table and had just started pouring wine into two goblets, almost dropped the bottle.  He turned back, looking at the elf, the color draining from his face.  “L…L…Legolas, did ye say?  Not the Legolas o’ the Nine Walkers…not the King’s friend…the one who fought side by side with him and the dwarf, Gimli, against the cursed Corsairs?  Not that Legolas!” 

          Legolas suppressed a smile.  “Alas, my good Caldor, I must confess that yes, I am THAT Legolas.  Does that trouble or inconvenience you in some way?”

          Caldor carefully brought the goblets over to the chairs and offered one to Legolas, his face still pale, yet now thoughtful.  He sat down in a chair across from the elf, cradling his own cup in his slightly unsteady hands.  Legolas sipped the wine slowly – it was really quite good – and watched the man curiously. 

          “Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord, it is no inconvenience…just a shock,” Caldor explained.  “Ye see, there are many families in these parts what still thank the Valar regularly for the King and you and Lord Gimli.  Back durin’ the war, there was many taken by those cursed pirates and pressed into servin’ on those evil ships.  Fathers and brothers, husbands and sons, would just up and disappear…ne’er to return.” 

          He paused, his face stark with sadness.  “When the King and that army o’ the Dead o’ his released those men on the ships, my father was one o’ them.  In fact, my lord, ‘twer ye who cut my father loose that day…from his bonds as one o’ the oarsmen on the ship.  He ne’er fergot ye…used to tell us how kind ye were…how ye bound up a wound to his side and fetched the King to help him.”

          Legolas straightened.  “Eradan was your father?” he asked, amazed at this revelation, a connection to a past he thought men would have long forgotten.  “I remember him…a fine, brave man.  He had been wounded protecting a friend from a beating.”

          Caldor smiled broadly.  “Aye, Eradan is my father, Lord Legolas.  He said ye stopped the bleeding until the King himself could come and tend to him.  Imagine, meeting ye after all these years!” 

          The two drank their wine, and Caldor told Legolas of his family and his father, who still owned his own ship and lived in the south, transporting goods from that region to Pelargir.

          Finally, Caldor asked, “Now, tell me, what can I help ye with?”

          “I am traveling to Linhir and would like to know of any route to the Gilraen River that would not involve the main Road.  I have heard a lake on that river called the Luinaelin possess water of clarity and color not often seen.  I would like to see the Blue Lake, and then perhaps follow the Gilraen south to where it empties into the sea.”

          Caldor had started nodding at the mention of the Gilraen and got up to fetch a large sheet of parchment and a quill pen from his desk.  Quickly sketching the area, he showed Legolas the best path from his inn to the Gilraen. 

          “Ye’ll have to cross the Serni River at some point,” he said, pointing to the first of two rivers he had drawn.  “I’ve been hearin’ that there’s been some heavy rain up in the mountains north and that the rivers have been risin’ slowly these past few days.  Best be careful, my lord, crossin’ any river for the next week or so.  They flood easily and sometimes when ye’re least expectin’ it.” 

          He folded the map neatly and handed it to Legolas.  “Once ye cross the Serni, anyone can help direct ye to the lake if ya need the help.  Once ye get there, you might seek out Arador and his family.  They be a family of healers and herbalists what live on the lake and harvest herbs and all manner of medicines from the forests and marshes close by.  Real helpful, kind people they are…and I’m bettin’ they would much like to meet the elven friend of Elessar.” 

          “Hannon lle, mellon nin,” Legolas said gratefully, tucking the map into his tunic pocket.  They rose and walked slowly to the front door of the inn, talking quietly. 

          Caldor walked the elf outside and over to the mare.  He and the stable boy watched admiringly as Legolas leaped onto her back. 

          “Namarie, Caldor.  Extend my greetings to your father when next you see him.  And thank you again, my friend,” he called, as he turned the mare and they cantered from the yard back to the Road. 

          Caldor waved, calling, “Goodbye, my lord!  Safe journey!” 

          Clapping the awestricken lad on the shoulder, Caldor smiled and said, “Come, close yer mouth now, Bren.  Walk with me and I’ll tell ye about our visitor!”

~~~~~*~~~~~~          

          Legolas followed the South Road to Linhir for two days, Aravir and Arod shadowing them at a discreet distance.  He always left the main road once evening came and camped under the protective covering of any of the sparsely scattered trees he could find, supplementing his dwindling food with the abundant fruits or plentiful game he found living and growing in the tall grasses or wooded areas.  From time to time he paused, especially at dusk, sensing on some deep level inside that someone was close, but when he stretched out his senses he could find no threat to himself or the mare. 

          Then abruptly, the land changed once again.  As they neared the River Serni, Legolas left the Road altogether and rode cross-country.  They came across more heavily wooded areas, along with swampy marshes and bogs.  Legolas skirted the more dangerous swamps, staying close to the trees. 

          On their fourth day out of Pelargir, they reached the swelling waters of the Serni.  Usually the most amiable of rivers, the mountain storms had turned it into a tumbling, precocious child of impressive proportions.  Legolas frowned…no safe passage here…and turned the mare upriver as he searched for a safe place to cross.  After hours of frustration, he finally located a likely spot and dismounted.  Leading the reluctant mare into the cold, swirling waters, he walked first, then slipped an arm over her neck and swam beside her, whispering and singing constantly until they reached the other side.   A quick, brisk rubdown and a change of clothes saw the pair once more on their way west in search of the River Gilraen.

~~~~~*~~~~~

          Erelas, son of Arador, was not happy.  The rising river was proving a hindrance in his efforts to harvest the marsh mallow plants that grew in the swampy ground close to the river’s edge.  He had promised his father that the mallow that grew in profusion on his side of the lake would be relatively easy to reach.

          “Hah!  So much for promises!” he muttered, his experienced gray eyes scanning the bank.  “Father will not be pleased if our supply is anything less than what we expected.  That large order from the White City must be filled.” 

          They had found a goodly supply of the common mallow along the road in the spring, and another fair sized stand in the forest near his father’s home.  The leaves had been carefully harvested at that time, with the flowers and roots of the larger plants slated for gathering in late summer and fall. 

          But it was the marsh mallow that was the more highly prized of the two plants.  Most healers of worth would need a goodly supply for those colder fall and winter months when inflammations of the lung became more prevalent.  Truly this was one of their busiest times of the year, and of all things, run-off from torrential rains in the White Mountains was causing both the Serni and Gilraen to flood.

          Erelas, a tall, dark haired man in his early thirties, eyed the nearest stand of the precious mallow plant crowding the edge of the bank.  The ground looked stable enough.  He cursed softly under his breath.  Why did the blasted plant insist on flourishing in such precarious places?  And this particular stand of mallow was uncommonly thick, the leaves a healthy deep green, its flowers large with a deep cream-gold color. 

          He walked over to the edge and stared down at the tossing, twisting, raging waters of the Gilraen twenty feet below.  He sighed.  Any other part of the river and he would be looking at a gently sloping bank with a drop of only six or seven feet. 

          Here the river’s winding course had cut a particularly deep canyon that scarred the land for several leagues before gradually resuming its gentler course to the sea.  He shook his head and began a painstaking examination, testing every inch of the ground.  As he prodded and stamped, Erelas scowled heavily.  The mallow was necessary, though the thought of treading this dangerously soft ground to get it became increasingly distasteful. 

          He crouched at one spot, his deep gray eyes spotting the first telltale signs of trouble.  There was some erosion already starting on the very edge of the bank, but on further examination, it seemed that perhaps he and Raenor would be able to reach most of the plants if they started now and hurried.

          With one last inspection of the ground, Erelas called to his oldest son.  “Raenor!  Come, the ground looks to hold us!  We must hurry and harvest what we need.” 

          A tall, dark, lanky youth of perhaps fifteen years loped through the nearby trees and joined him.  “I have unhitched and tethered the donkey, Father.  The supplies for the bundling are ready.”

          Erelas looked into startlingly beautiful gray eyes and smiled at his son.  “Well done, lad.  We will gather what we need of the flowers and roots and then return to camp to dry and bundle them.  Let us hope this will be enough.  Any more moisture and this whole section of the bank might cave in.” 

          The two drew the long knives used for cutting from their belts and began to make their way to the plants.  “Carefully, Raen,” his father warned.  “Watch the ground…feel it…if you sense any change at all – run!” 

          The boy nodded in understanding.  They reached the first plants and began efficiently cutting flower tops from the stems, storing them in the bags slung over their shoulders.  Every movement precise and economical, Erelas carefully marked the whole mallows he would harvest later even as he wielded his knife.  The idea was to thin the colony, not deplete it to the point it could not renew itself, and he was always very circumspect in his choices. 

          Erelas and Raenor made good time deftly removing the precious flowers and work was progressing nicely near the edge of the bank where the plants grew thickest when Erelas lifted his head suddenly, listening.  A very low grumbling sound seemed to be coming up through the ground…right through the soles of his feet. 

          “Raen!” he screamed, running to the boy and grabbing his arm.   “Get back….get ba-----!” 

          About the time his words registered, the entire section of ground gave way and began the long descent towards the tumultuous water below.  Raenor and his father had both turned to run and instead found themselves swept up in the inexorable slide of mud and rocks. 

          Erelas grasped his son’s arm with one hand and threw himself forward to grab a scrawny shrub growing into the face of the cliff with the other.  The force of stopping wrenched Erelas’ shoulder from its socket, throwing his body hard against the unforgiving side of the cliff and driving an exposed root through his heavy tunic into his side.  He muffled a cry of pain and clamped frantic fingers around the shrub while equally desperate fingers dug into his son’s arm to hold him from the river below.  Erelas squeezed his eyes shut against the burning in his side, concentrating on holding tightly to the shrub. 

          Raenor shouted at his father, “Da!  Let go!  I’m too heavy to pull up!”  The man shook his head, his face white and set. 

          “Da!” Raen pleaded, his feet scrabbling to find some purchase in the slick mud, and failing.  “Let me go!  I can swim – I know I’ll be all right.” 

          “No!” Erelas forced out through gritted teeth.  He called on his inner reserves of strength and slowly began pulling Raen up level with the shrub. 

          “Grab hold, son!”  At Raen’s hesitation, he screamed, “Do it now!” 

          Spurred into action by his father’s fear as well as his own, the youth stretched and reached until he was able to latch on to the shrub.  Father and son hung there, gasping for breath and looking up at the ledge several feet above their heads.  It might just as well have been several thousand feet.  Erelas leaned his face against his straining arm and shut his eyes, wondering wearily through the haze of pain clouding his mind how long the little shrub would be able to support their combined weight.  He moaned softly.  Even if it did, how in the name of all the Valar were they going to scale the slippery, muddy sides of the cliff to safety?

~~~~~*~~~~~

          Legolas closed his eyes and lifted his face to Anor, enjoying the warmth on his skin.  The days had been uncommonly mild for this time of year; at home they would have already experienced the first frost.

          They had ridden steadily for almost two days after fording the Serni.  If the innkeeper’s map was accurate, they were not more than ten leagues from Luinaelin.  Skirting the marshes near the river, Legolas guided the mare carefully, noting the turbulent, swollen waters and uncertain footing.

          Carefully, mir nin.  Stay away from the ledge.  This river is much angrier than the Serni.  The mare tossed her head, picking up her hooves daintily as she walked along.

          Suddenly, he pulled the mare up short, bidding her stand still while he listened closely, his ears and eyes straining to locate the source of his distraction.  At first, he was not sure what had claimed his attention; all he could hear was the overwhelming roar of the flooded river.  Stretching his elven senses to their utmost, the uneasy feeling within growing by the minute, he dismounted and walked to the river’s edge.  Legolas stood for a moment, scanning the far bank carefully before turning his gaze downstream.  Nothing…just a great deal of roiling, murky water. 

           Looking upstream, he noticed two indistinct figures walking along the bank’s edge.  They appeared to be picking flowers.  Surely not!  He cocked his head, looking more closely.  His storm gray eyes narrowed, he saw that the two men (yes, they were men – one tall and strongly built, one the lean, lithe figure of a youth) were actually cutting the blooms from some tall plants growing close to the drop-off.

          He froze.  Elven ears heard the groan of the land as it began to give way.  The man had stiffened also, and screamed at the boy to run.  Legolas gasped as an entire section of the ledge crumbled and fell, the two figures disappearing with it.  By that time, the elf was already sprinting towards the mare, yelling at her.

          He threw himself on her back just as she burst into full gallop.  Legolas frantically scanned for the two men, but could not see anything.  Ai!  Elbereth, no!  Do not let me be too late!   They covered the ground quickly and in minutes had reached the place where the landslide had occurred.  Legolas drew the mare up at a safe distance and hit the ground at a dead run, praying he would be in time.

TRANSLATIONS:

hannon lle – thank you

mellon nin – my friend

elleth – young female elf

aran – King

mir nin – my jewel (treasure)

suilad – hello

losto – sleep

mae govannen – well met

namarie – goodbye (farewell)

Title: THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary: Legolas crosses paths with unexpected friends.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  No profit is made in the writing of this story. 

Reviews: Please!  I treasure and enjoy every comment.

A/N:  Well, I feel a lot like Legolas in this story right now…he has a destination in mind, but is taking a rather round-about way to get there!  Please bear with me!

*Character thoughts will appear in italics.

Chapter 13: Finding Common Ground

          Erelas had one thought in his mind as he hung from the shrub beside his son.  If I feel the roots begin to give way, I will let go…for better my son live, who is young and untried, than I who have known thirty-six years.  Raen at least deserves a chance to experience life.  He shut his eyes, squeezing back tears as he silently pleaded with Iluvatar to spare his boy.

          So it was he missed the appearance above them of a face fair beyond that of mortal men.  That fair face grimaced at the sight before him and flung himself flat on the ground, stretching his arm down to the two suspended below him.

          Erelas did not notice the brush of strong fingers against his clenched hand or hear anything until Raen spoke urgently, “Father!  Look!  Up on the cliff!” 

          Erelas raised his pain-filled eyes and looked straight into the star-bright blue-gray gaze of an elf.  He almost let go of the shrub from sheer surprise.

          “Take my hand!” the golden-haired elf cried, inching forward to grasp Erelas’ hand.  The man shook his head and drew back slightly, to the amazement of the elf. 

          “Take my son up first!” Erelas cried, his voice hoarse.  At this request, the elf’s eyes widened in sudden understanding and with a curt nod, he offered his hand to the young man hanging beside his father.

          “Here, child!  Quickly!  Take my hand!” he called in a firm, commanding voice. 

          As if to underscore the urgency of Erelas’ plea, the shrub chose that moment to loosen its hold slightly on the soil.  With a sudden jolt, the two slipped further down the cliff’s face. 

          In a panic, Erelas turned to his son.  “Go!  Now!  While there is time, Raen!” he ordered. 

          Raenor, seeing the determined stubbornness in his father’s eyes, looked back up at the elf above him.  Legolas started, reading something in the young one’s eyes he could hardly believe and reached quickly to grab the boy by the wrist.  He was too late.  Raen closed his eyes and let go of the branch.

          “Raen!” Erelas screamed, even as he felt a grip of iron close over his wrist, drawing him inexorably up the face of the cliff.  “No!” he cried.  “Raen!”

           Erelas began to struggle then – twisting and kicking in a vain attempt to follow his son.  “Raen!”  His efforts threw him against the hard, unforgiving surface of the cliff and the subsequent blinding flash of pain in his already battered side rendered him nauseous and light-headed. 

          “Raen!” he choked out, as a shroud of blackness descended upon him and his struggles ceased.

                                                    ~~~~~*~~~~~

          From a distance of several leagues, Aravir had watched the Prince observe the two harvesting the plants on the river’s bank and thought nothing of it until the whole edge had collapsed.  Without a thought, he sent Thalion leaping forward, calling to the great stallion and Arod as they flew across the open bottomland between the forest and the river. 

          Knowing Legolas as he did, Aravir knew it was imperative that he reach the Prince and help him in the rescue attempt of the men.  He knew that it would take more than one elf to bring both to safety, provided they could be reached and had not been swept away.  There was not a doubt in his mind that Legolas would go into the water himself if necessary.

          He saw Legolas leap from the mare, racing along the bank until he found what he sought and dropped to the ground, lying on his stomach and inching forward to reach over the drop-off.   Aravir’s keen eyes immediately spotted the two hapless victims hanging on to a small, tree-like shrub for dear life.

          A groan wrenched loose from deep inside the elf as he saw the roots began to give way, dropping the two suddenly lower with an abrupt jerk. 

          Noro lim, Thalion!  His agonized thought spurred the big stallion to even greater lengths.  They had only covered half the distance when the slighter figure inexplicably let go and dropped into the turbulent waters below.

          “Arod!  Go to Legolas!” Aravir cried and the big gray thundered on. The elf pulled the bay aside and they came to a jarring, abrupt halt that threw the stallion back on his haunches.  Aravir leaped to the ground, his green eyes locked on the bobbing figure tossed about like a child’s toy by the current of the river.

          Thalion!  Follow me!  But stay back – away from the edge!  The big horse moved to obey.

          “Watch out behind you, young one!” he yelled, as the large trunk of a downed tree turned battering ram came sweeping towards the boy.  To Aravir’s intense relief, the boy managed somehow to maneuver himself to the side of the tree.  He grabbed hold of a branch for a moment, but released it when the rushing water rolled the tree and threatened to drag him under as well. 

          Aravir redoubled his efforts to reach the boy, running along the edge at full speed as he frantically scanned for any possible way down for a nimble, sure-footed elf.  The boy had been carried perhaps a league and dodged certain disaster twice in the form of debris when Aravir shouted in relief and ran to the side of the cliff.  A steep, though not impossible, path wound its precarious way down to the water and Aravir followed it with his own precipitous, sliding descent. 

          He was still about eight feet above the river’s surface when the boy swept by, struggling now to swim out of the current and reach the quieter water near the shoreline.  He was making some progress, too, but Aravir could see he was tiring quickly and the side of his face was streaked with rivulets of blood streaming from a gash on his head.

          “Keep swimming!” Aravir roared and the boy’s face turned blindly to the sound of the voice, his arms flailing obediently at the water. 

          The racing elf checked the water, prayed that there was nothing submerged his elven eyesight could not see, and launched himself into a flat dive a few yards behind the boy.  He entered the water stroking strongly and within the space of a few minutes managed to snag the young one’s collar. 

          Looping his arm around the boy’s neck, he began a powerful sidestroke towards the bank, working with the current to keep himself and the lad afloat.  Raenor’s hold on consciousness ebbed slowly as they struggled to reach shore.  Aravir was not entirely surprised when the boy went limp.  He continued to scan the waters for oncoming debris, turning his back to take the impact of the tumbling branches and other floating objects himself.

          Finally, he broke free of the current and angled towards the shore.  His feet touched bottom and he stood, lifting the young man in his arms and staggering through the shallows to solid ground.

          He laid the boy face down, straddling the still, silent figure, alternately pumping and lifting the shoulders to force any water from his lungs.  When the boy began to cough and struggle weakly, Aravir turned him over, pulling a sodden cloth from his pocket.  He squeezed the excess water out and used it to wipe the blood from the boy’s face.  He brushed the dark hair back and found the hairline gash easily.

          “That will need stitching,” he murmured, pressing the kerchief firmly against the wound until the bleeding slowed.  The boy moaned and dark lashes fluttered as he struggled back towards consciousness.

          “Carefully now, pen-neth nin,” the elf warned as the boy’s eyes opened and Aravir found himself looking into dazed, crystal gray eyes.

          The boy blinked slowly, taking in the sight of the elf caring for him.  Suddenly he bolted upright.

          “Father!” he cried. 

          Aravir restrained him gently, saying in a soothing voice, “It is all right; my lord had hold of your father and was bringing him up when last I saw him.”

          The boy really looked at him then, memory dawning in his eyes.  “The golden one?” he whispered.

          Aravir nodded.  “He was a…a…an elf,” the boy stammered.

          Aravir smiled.  “Yes,” he said, “And he still is.”  The boy’s silvery eyes focused on Aravir.

          “Ahhhhh…so are you,” the boy’s weak chuckle became a groan and he closed his eyes, grimacing in pain.  “My head…would you just cut it off, please?”

          “I think we will try for a different cure, pen-neth,” Aravir laughed softly, liking the young one’s pluck immediately.  “Do you think you can stand for a moment?”

           The boy nodded gingerly and Aravir helped him to his feet.  He placed one arm around the wobbly, weak youngster to steady him, his sharp eyes scanning the bank and quickly finding a way up.  Sending a questing thought up to Thalion, he was immensely relieved when the horse responded immediately.

          Wait there, mellon nin.  We were washed far enough downstream that the canyon has given way to a more friendly riverbank.

           His green eyes returned to the shivering boy leaning heavily against him, studying the excessively pale, set features and the pain he tried so very hard to hide. 

          Aravir scooped the faintly protesting young man up in his arms.  “We must get back to the others.  What is your name, nin hen?” 

          “Raenor,” the boy whispered.  “What’s yours?” 

          “Mae govannen, Raenor.  I am Aravir.” 

          “I can walk, Aravir,” the boy protested weakly.  

          Aravir shook his head and started towards the path.  “No arguments, child.  If you should fall, you might do yourself more damage than the concussion you already have.  I cannot allow that.  Besides, once we reach the top, my horse is close by.” 

          “All right,” the boy acquiesced tiredly and leaned his head against the elf’s strong shoulder.  The path up to Thalion was steep and uneven, and in spite of Aravir’s extreme care, the jolting finally pushed the injured boy into unconsciousness.  Aravir heaved a deep sigh.

          That might be for the best until we can reach his father and Legolas. 

          He eased the unconscious boy onto Thalion’s back and climbed up behind him, cradling him carefully and instructing the horse to take him to Legolas.

                                      ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Erelas clawed his way back to consciousness to find himself lying on the ground some distance from the riverbank.  He clenched his teeth, stifling a moan as the stabbing, burning pain in his side threatened to send him back into the darkness.  A cold lethargy covered him head to toe like a blanket and his dazed gray eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, his breathing quick and ragged.

          “Raen,” he whispered, despairing tears trailing slowly from the corners of his eyes down into the dark hair at his temples.

          Legolas, frantically cutting away the man’s blood soaked tunic, noted his distress, the whispered name striking him like a blow.  If not for all this blood, he would have left the man already to search for the boy. 

          The sharp, thin blade of his boot knife split the cloth and Legolas carefully pulled it away, hissing in dismay as he revealed a deep puncture wound in the man’s side.  The sharp branch had entered below the bottom rib, punching through at an angle and exiting in the back, leaving the skin torn and turning blue around the slow welling of blood from both wounds.

          Legolas yanked off his cloak and heavier outer tunic, grasping the hem of his soft gray under shirt and ripping a large portion of the bottom off.  He tore it in half and folded both pieces into heavy squares.  He slipped one under the man to cover the exit wound, hoping the pressure of the man’s weight would be enough to slow the flow of blood.  The other cloth he placed over the entrance wound, applying a steady pressure with his right hand, while his left sought the man’s pulse in his neck. 

          Thready and much too fast.  His skin is already cold and clammy.

          Recognizing the onset of shock, Legolas swiftly spread his cloak over the man, returning his hand to keep pressure on the wound.  All the time, he kept up a steady murmur of reassurance, half spoken and half -sung, as he reached up periodically to check the man’s pulse. 

          “I will find him,” Legolas whispered.  “I promise as soon as you show some improvement, I will go for him.”  Erelas gave an almost imperceptible nod, the dark gray eyes now fixed on the elf’s face.

          Long minutes passed before Legolas noted any measurable change.  Finally, he detected an easing of the man’s breathing and a slight warming of the chilled skin.

          Whistling a series of melodic notes, Legolas called the mare over.  She had stood uneasily to one side, watching her elf tend the injured one, the smell of blood strong and frightening.  Legolas spoke softly, coaxing her nearer.  He did not dare ease the pressure on the man’s side…yet. 

          Fortunately, the pack he had secured across her shoulders earlier that morning was still there if she would come near enough for him to reach it.  The mare finally edged close to Legolas, bending to snuffle at his neck, her nostrils flaring wide with alarm at the scent of blood.  He set about soothing her nervousness. 

          Sedho, mir nin.  I am fine.  This man is hurt and I am trying to stop the bleeding. 

          She gradually quieted and stood still enough for Legolas to reach up and slip the pack off her back, opening it with one hand and retrieving his healing kit, the water skin, a clean tunic and blanket.  He then pushed the pack under the man’s feet, elevating them. 

          Lifting the pad from the wound, he was pleased to see the blood flow had slowed to a trickle.   He flushed the ugly wound quickly with fresh water and packed both sides with an herbal paste of oak, willow and yarrow to combat the pain and further slow the bleeding.   Covering all then with a temporary dressing, he secured it tightly with long strips of cloth torn from the bottom of the blanket. 

          Sinking back on his heels, the elf watched the man for a moment for any further signs of distress.  Now to find a safer, more comfortable place for the man to rest…

          Legolas tucked the blanket and healing pouch under his arm and stood.  He walked along slowly, his knowledgeable eyes examining the ground near the trees behind them and quickly locating a spot of ground covered with soft moss.  He spread the blanket and returned to lift the man carefully and move him to the more comfortable pallet, where he covered him warmly.   Settling beside him and watching the pale face, Legolas debated whether he should leave to look for the boy as he had promised.               

          A loud crashing sound in the forest to his right brought his head up, his gray eyes narrowing as they watched the woods.  Something was coming – something large and in a hurry. 

          The elf tensed, drawing an arrow from his quiver and picking up the bow he had laid to the side during the move.  He had nocked the arrow, prepared to shoot first and question the intruder later, when a thread of a familiar presence brushed his mind.  The mare also threw up her head, whinnying loudly in recognition of the scent borne to her on the breeze.  Legolas focused his thoughts and suddenly jerked in surprise.

          Arod?  He laid his weapon down, hardly believing what his senses were telling him.  The steel gray gelding burst from the underbrush of the forest several hundred feet away and cantered towards him.  Legolas leaped to his feet, meeting the horse with a glad cry and throwing his arms around the dappled gray neck. 

          Arod!  How came you here?

         We followed you.  We saw them fall.  The other one like you sent me to find you.  Arod rubbed his face against the elf’s chest in welcome. 

         Aravir?  Where is he?  Legolas continued stroking Arod’s neck, his eyes searching the bank downriver.  If Aravir had seen the accident, then perhaps…

          Arod nudged the elf back towards the man.  He went for the other one in the river.

         Thank the Valar you are here! Legolas gave Arod one more grateful, welcoming pat and sent him to wait with the mare.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he knelt again beside his patient and quickly checked the bandage, pleased that the blood, though still soaking through, did not do so in any great amount.  The man opened his eyes again at Legolas’ gentle touch.

          “Go after my son.  I will be fine.  Please, milord,” he begged hoarsely.

          Legolas laid his hand on the man’s forehead.  “Peace, my friend.  Someone has already done so,” he informed him gently. 

          At the man’s hopeful, questioning look, he continued, “A friend who was following unbeknownst to me has gone in search of Raenor.” 

          Legolas smiled as the man relaxed.  “Aravir will find him.  Arod says they saw him fall and Aravir went after him immediately.  We are most fortunate they chose to disobey my orders,” Legolas concluded thoughtfully, not certain if he was angry or not.  Probably not.  He could tolerate even insubordination if the boy was safe.  He frowned.  Still, his captain had some explaining to do. 

          Arod nudged him again from behind.  Legolas turned to look into the horse’s dark eyes.

          He loves you.

         Who?

         The other.  You are his friend.  And your sire is his King.  By protecting you, he protects his King. 

         Arod snorted softly, rubbing his face against Legolas’ shoulder.  He loves his King, too.  Do not be angry that love brought us here to you.

         Ai, Arod nin.  Legolas cupped the great horse’s jaw, laying his cheek against Arod’s face.  He closed his eyes against the emotion that welled up within.  How could I be angry?  I have missed you, mellon nin.  And though Aravir tends to hover, I find I have missed that, too.  And him. 

          The big horse bumped the elf gently and nipped at a braid.  Legolas laughed softly, reaching up to scratch the horse’s forehead.  When he finally returned his attention to the man, he found him watching the exchange with bemused, pain-dulled eyes.  Legolas picked up another soft cloth and wiped dirt and tears from the man’s face.  Gently lifting the man’s head, he gave him a cool drink of water liberally laced with willow bark.

          “You were bespeaking him, weren’t you?” he whispered, making a face as he tasted the bitter drink.  Legolas arched one dark brow in surprise.  Most men did not know about the elvish way with their horses. 

          The man continued, looking admiringly at Arod. “Is that Arod, my lord?” 

          “Yes, to both questions, my friend…and Aravir is the captain of the guard at the elven colony at Ithilien.” 

          The dark gray eyes studied the elf before him, noting the golden hair and noble bearing and remembering stories of the elven friend of the King – a golden-haired warrior Prince from a northern forest realm.  He sighed.  “Would you be Prince Legolas, then?,” he inquired, fighting to keep his eyes open. 

          “Yes, I am,” Legolas answered.  “And you are…?” 

          “Erelas, my lord,” the man replied.  “My family and I live up river, on the lake.” 

          “Erelas, son of Arador?” Legolas asked.  Erelas nodded tiredly. 

          “Mae govannen, Erelas,” Legolas said.  “I was told to seek you out by a man who owns an inn near Pelargir.” 

          He saw Erelas smile faintly and murmur, “Caldor.” 

          “Exactly so,” Legolas smiled at the memory of the friendly innkeeper.  “He strongly suggested I contact you once I reached the lake…although I can think of easier ways to meet someone.” 

          Erelas shook his head.  “Indeed, my lord.  I, too, can think of better ways to greet the Lord of Ithilien.” 

          “Ah well, mellon nin, some things cannot be helped.  I am still pleased to make your acquaintance.  Sleep now,” the elf urged.  “I will awaken you when Aravir and your son arrive.” 

          Erelas closed his eyes with a sigh and slid into sleep as Legolas tucked the cloak closer around his shoulders.  The Prince sat quietly for a moment, gathering his thoughts.  He carefully reviewed his treatment of Erelas’ injury and decided he had done everything he knew to do.  For the next half-hour he monitored the man’s pulse, which grew gradually stronger and the wound itself, which had ceased to bleed. 

          He had just leaned back, thinking that he had been fortunate indeed to be so occupied that he had forgotten the sea’s call, when Arod alerted him. 

          The other one comes.

          Indeed, Legolas could hear the slow tread of a horse moving through the woods downriver.  When Aravir’s bay stallion finally appeared with the elf holding the limp figure of a boy securely in his arms, Legolas felt almost light-headed with relief.  He rose quickly and awaited the arrival of his captain.

          Thalion stopped a few feet from Legolas and the two elves exchanged a long, searching look.  Aravir’s face was impassive, his jaw set, his eyes meeting his Prince’s without hesitation.

          Legolas gazed at this proud warrior he had heard about most of his life, but had really only come to know in the last decade.

          Have I not cultivated this friendship these past years?  This is the first action he has taken that actually gives an indication of friendship.  Do I cast it back in his face with a reprimand?  Legolas blinked.  Absolutely not!

         “Mae govannen, Ernil Legolas,” Aravir said, bowing as much as his passenger would allow.

          Legolas snorted.  “Let us dispense with the title, mellon nin.”  He watched Aravir’s extraordinary green eyes widen slightly.  Ha!  Surprised you, did I?  I will not let you slip back into that role of servant you play so well, my friend.

         “You did not disobey a direct order for the sake of ‘Ernil Legolas’,” Legolas chided gently.  Aravir flushed, his eyes dropping. 

          “Did you, Aravir?” Legolas asked persistently.

          Aravir looked up and smiled ruefully.  “No, Hir Legolas,” he answered.

          Legolas paused, then smiled the open, warm smile that tended to capture the allegiance of any receiving it.  “Good!” he said in highly satisfied voice.

          Legolas’ slate blue gaze turned to the boy cradled in Aravir’s arms and he sobered quickly as he moved forward.  “How is Raenor?” he asked as Aravir helped maneuver the boy into his arms.

          “Concussed, cold and wet, and terrified for his father,” Aravir ticked off the boy’s difficulties.  “He has been in and out of consciousness all during the ride here.  What needs doing, my lord?”

          Legolas shifted the boy into a more comfortable position, considering their options.  He looked at the sun, which had passed noon several hours ago.

          “A camp,” Legolas said.  “With water and a fire.  Those are our primary goals for the next few hours.”  Aravir nodded and scanned the area.

          “I will scout out a more suitable location further from the river, and more sheltered, while you tend the young one’s wounds,” he volunteered. 

          “Excellent,” Legolas replied.  “Have you any extra blankets or cloaks in that pack of yours, my friend?”

          Aravir smiled, and loosening the pack, slipped to the ground with it in his arms.  “Here, my lord.  Let me help you with the boy.” 

          He walked over to the man lying on the ground, quickly noting the pallor and bloodstained bandage.  Shaking out one of the heavy blankets from his pack, he spread it on the ground next to Erelas, making sure stones and sticks were removed and the ground relatively smooth.

          “How is his father?” he asked quietly.  “What happened to cause that wound?”

          Legolas laid the boy down on the makeshift pallet, explaining the nature of Erelas' wound as the two elves quickly stripped his son's wet clothing off.  Checking for any open injuries or possible broken bones, Legolas found the boy relatively unmarked, save for some scratches and heavy bruising, which he treated with the salve again after drying the damp skin.

          “We are both a great deal bigger than this stripling,” Legolas murmured as they dressed him in a pair of Legolas’ leggings and an extra tunic.  “But at least he will be warm and dry.”

          He shook the boy’s shoulder gently, careful not to jostle him overmuch.  “Raenor.  Raen – wake up now.”  The boy groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. 

          “The light hurts, my lord,” he rasped.

          “Ah, I see…of course it does,” Legolas said. “Aravir, help me move him back more into the shade of the trees.”

          They carefully shifted the pallet with its patient into position.  “Better?” asked Legolas.

          “I feel sick,” the boy moaned.  The two elves exchanged alarmed glances.

          “You must tell me immediately if that is going to happen,” Legolas instructed.  Raen gave the slightest of nods, as Legolas lay a cool damp cloth across his forehead and sponged his face and neck.

          Raen sighed.  “Better…thank you,” he murmured.

          Legolas looked up at Aravir as he continued to sponge the boy’s face.  “I will tend to his head wound…a few stitches will close it nicely.”  Aravir nodded and stood.

          “He looks a little better now.  Not quite so…green,” the elf observed.  Raenor sniffed defensively, keeping his eyes closed and his head still.

          “I will search out that campsite now,” Aravir stated, grinning.

          Legolas returned the smile.  “Hannon lle, Aravir.”

          The warrior huffed in exasperation and stalked off.  He mounted Thalion and sat for a moment, staring at his Prince.  Shaking his head, he remarked somewhat plaintively, “This will take some getting used to, my…” Legolas looked at him steadily, daring him to take the next step.  Aravir capitulated, “…Legolas.”

          Legolas laughed at the older elf’s discomfort.  “You will find it not as difficult as you think…and I am grateful for your friendship.”

          Aravir bowed his head slightly and nudged Thalion back towards the forest behind them.  “I will return as soon as possible.”

                                    ~~~~~*~~~~~ 

         Not more than two leagues distant on the front stoop of a sprawling house on a hill above Luinaelin, a dark-haired youth sat watching the sun make its slow descent towards night.  The various waterfowl that made their homes on or near the lake were returning for their night’s rest and the surface of the lake remained still, a glassy mirror reflecting a deep lace fringe of green from the surrounding forest and the brilliance of the blue sky above.

          Calen tapped one foot impatiently for a moment and fingered the sling around his neck that immobilized an almost healed fractured wrist.  He frowned.  His father and brother should have returned by now.  He could hear the voices of his mother and sisters inside as they prepared the evening meal…a sudden squawk from the barn told him his little brother was tormenting the chickens again.

          If Ada catches him, he’ll be doin’ pig chores for a month! 

         Calen smirked.  A stubborn one, his baby brother…full of an overabundance of energy with a generous dollop of mischief for added spice.  Calen’s uneasy moss-gray eyes returned to the forest.  Any minute now, the donkey and cart would appear, his father whistling his greeting to the house and his brother, Raenor, waving at him to come help unload the cart.  Any minute now…

TRANSLATIONS:

noro lim –  run fast

pen-neth –  young one

pen-neth nin –  my young one

nin hen –  my child

mae govannen –  well met

sedho –  peace; be still

mir nin –  my treasure (jewel)

Arod nin –  my Arod

Ernil Legolas –  Prince Legolas

mellon nin –  my friend

hir nin –  my lord

hannon lle –  thank you

Title: THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary: Legolas, reunited now with Arod and Aravir, must deal with the injuries to the man and his son.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  No profit is made in the writing of this story.

Reviews: Please do!  I treasure and enjoy every comment and suggestion.

A/N: Many thanks to Eruanneth_Luin for beta-ing this chapter.  She just may have saved the horses!

*Character thoughts will appear in italics.

  Chapter 14: The Nature of Hope

          When Aravir returned, he brought news of a suitable campsite Erelas had already chosen, along with a small donkey hitched to a cart.

          “Apparently, Erelas had already chosen a place to rest and work after they had gathered the plants.  I found the donkey and cart about half a league from here,” he explained, gently stroking the soft muzzle of the mist gray beast.  “There is a glade with a small spring-fed stream where the donkey had been tethered.  It seems an ideal spot, with plenty of forage for the horses, fresh water, and the forest to provide whatever else we may need in the way of food or fuel.” 

          He and Legolas carefully lifted Raenor and Erelas into the cart, and Aravir led the little group on the short journey through the trees to the site.  Legolas could see evidence that his ever-efficient captain had been at work – places prepared for the men’s pallets, a fair-sized fire lay awaiting one to set it alight, and a pile of dead wood gathered and stacked.  Legolas managed to suppress the urge to tease Aravir about his vigilance.  His new friend remained yet dutiful, and solemn.  Still, his dogged vigilance had saved two lives today.  There would be ample time later for him to help Aravir discover his sense of humor.

         They spent the better part of an hour settling the injured, checking bandages and rousing father and son enough to see each other and drink from the fresh, cool water brought from the stream.  Erelas was particularly fretful, wishing to look after his boy but not possessing the strength, much to his disgust.  Legolas watched Raen soothe his father, troubled to note the unnatural flush staining the older man’s cheeks. 

          Once Erelas had quieted, he laid a gentle hand on the man’s forehead and felt the expected heat of a rising fever.  Not yet of great concern, but there nonetheless, and enough to remind Legolas of his inexperience in matters medical.  He had spent years watching Master Elrond and the twins, and later Aragorn, practice the healing arts.  He had learned rudimentary first aid as part of his training as a warrior, but a full-blown fever, probably caused by an infection, was beyond his skill, especially given the patient was a fragile man.

          He voiced his concerns to Aravir, murmuring, “I can clean the wound again and dose him with the willow bark, but we need to find the cause of the fever,” He looked at Aravir.  “Especially as I have little experience with human sickness.” 

          Legolas dipped a cloth in cool water and sponged the man’s hot face.  “Erelas said they live fairly close – on the lake.  A man drew me a map of Luinaelin and suggested I contact a family living there.  Erelas has already told me he is the son of the one Caldor mentioned.  We will need their help – soon.  Besides, they will be worried once it gets dark.  The bank was unstable here; chances are it will be elsewhere.  We would not wish any others to be injured searching along the river at night for these two.”

          Aravir listened to the growing concern in his lord’s voice.  “When Raen awakens next, I will ask him the way home,” he told Legolas.  “I would have him show me, but I fear another ride on a horse might only worsen his concussion and make him very ill.  We are fortunate he has not cast up his accounts yet; that does not mean he will not in the future if we push him further.”

          Legolas nodded his agreement.  “I will need to awaken him again in a half hour to check his eyes and make sure he is still coherent.  We will ask him then.”  He looked up at the tall elf sitting beside him.  “You will go?”

          “Aye,” Aravir answered.  “You are right about Erelas.  His condition is likely to worsen without treatment.”  He studied Legolas, noticing for the first time fine lines of tension around his eyes and mouth.  “How are you faring?”

          Legolas grimaced.  “The sea calls me, Aravir.  For some reason, it is very strong today…and I have not had the time to counter it.”

          Aravir placed an encouraging hand on the younger elf’s shoulder, murmuring, “You should have said something sooner.  Go, hir nin; greet these lovely trees and add your song to theirs and the sea.  I will stand watch until it is time to awaken Raenor.”

          Legolas closed his eyes, sighing gratefully.  “Thank you, my friend.” 

          Rising quickly, he walked over to a large oak whose deep, slow voice had been drawing him since entering the forest.  Laying his hand on the rough bark, he bowed his head for a moment, greeting the ancient tree.  Then he leaped to the lowest branch and disappeared into the dense canopy.

          Aravir watched Legolas go, wondering at the implications of the return of the sea’s call.  He was well aware something momentous had happened to the Prince during his illness.  There were times now as Legolas sang that he heard awe and understanding that had not been there ever before, and he had been listening to the Prince sing for years.  Aravir suspected that somehow the Valar, or perhaps Iluvatar Himself, had intervened and shown Legolas a way to counter the sea’s effect on him.  Yet it seemed the call had not fully disappeared…he could only hope Legolas now had the strength to endure it. 

          I am glad I decided to come.  This certainly proves he will need us behind him when he actually reaches the sea, if only to offer comfort later.  I hope Elessar is able to leave and join us.  He has shown himself a veritable rock of support for Legolas. 

          He checked on the sleeping men once more before going to see the horses.  Thalion, he noted with a smile, seemed particularly ecstatic about his reunion with the mare.  She, however, was not easily impressed and in the past had always treated the big stallion with a cool disdain that left Aravir weak with amusement. 

          Well aware of his horse’s interest, Aravir thought it probably time to console the big stallion.  To his surprise, however, things seemed quite calm, almost domestic, when he reached the stream.  He stood slightly behind a young elm tree and watched the two grazing side by side, a small grin tugging at his lips. 

          Their offspring will be magnificent.  Arod nudged Aravir’s shoulder from behind, prompting the elf to scratch his forehead. 

          Arod, my friend, you are right – IF she will ever let him near!  The silver white horse snorted softly at the elf’s mental chuckles.

          When the time is right, she will…

          Aravir stroked the dappled silver coat fondly, watching the mare ignore Thalion and laughing softly before turning his attention to the little gray donkey, which he found possessed a sweet, placid disposition.  Humming a gentle melody, he gave the little one a few of the ripe berries that grew wild near the stream, scratching the shaggy ears reassuringly.

          Leaving the animals content for the moment, he walked the perimeter of the small camp, checking the forest around him while filling a water skin and picking more of the red berries that grew in thick clusters by the stream.

          When he returned to the men, he folded his long legs and sank to the ground by Raenor, thoughtfully chewing on several of the sweet fruits he had picked.  Snatches of melody floated from the trees overhead and Aravir cocked his head, listening.  He could hear the song of the forest, but the melody Legolas was weaving spoke also of vast waters beyond these woods.  He closed his eyes, immersing himself in the quiet and the music.

          “What does he sing of?” a soft voice interrupted his reverie.  He looked down to see Raenor’s silver gray eyes searching the trees above for the source of the beautiful song.  “I’ve been laying here for awhile listening, but I can’t understand it all – something about trees and the sea and the glory of Iluvatar…”

          Aravir’s eyes widened.  “You understand Sindarin, pen-neth?” he asked in amazement.

          Raenor smiled.  “Enough to know you are calling me ‘young one’, my lord!”

          Aravir laughed in delight.  “Who taught you?”

          “My grandmother,” the boy answered, sorrow flickering across his face.  “She died a few years back.”

          Aravir placed a sympathetic hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “I am sorry, Raenor.”

          Raen shrugged, his eyes sad.  “I miss her…but Daerada says she was pleased to take Iluvatar’s gift; she had been ill for some months, you see.”

          He turned his head very carefully, wincing slightly, and looked at his father.

          “How is he now?” he whispered.

          “The deep puncture wound in his side is causing a fever,” Aravir explained.  Raenor turned worried eyes back to examine the fair face of the one sitting beside him.

          Aravir continued to gaze at him levelly.  “He is going to need more expert care than Legolas or I can provide, Reanor.  Legolas believes we should not wait, but alert your family now.  Would they be able to help, or should we go for a healer in Linhir?”

          “My naneth is a healer.  Daerada, as well.  They would know what to do,” Raenor informed the elf.  “The house is really not far – maybe a league or two through the forest.  Once you reach the lake, the house is there on a hill overlooking the water.  Grandda lives a little further away.”

          Aravir nodded, apparently satisfied with this information.  “I will find them.  As soon as Legolas returns, I will go.”

                                     ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Calen sat watching the sun slip behind the hills.  His sense of unease had increased as the afternoon had worn on.  It did not abate when he heard the rattle of a wagon and turned to see the unexpected sight of his grandfather driving into the big yard near the barn.

          His little brother raced from the barn, his excited shouts echoing clear to the house.  Calen shook his head at what his father always laughingly called an “excessive waste of energy” and called to his mother, “Nana, Daerada is here!”  He jumped to his feet and trotted across the yard to greet his grandfather.

          “Calen, lad!” His grandfather turned to smile at his other grandson, Brethilas clinging to his hand and bouncing by his side.  “Where are your father and Raen?”

          “Not back yet, Daerada,” Calen replied, his gray-green eyes worried.

          “Not back?  I wonder what could be keepin’ ‘em?” he placed a steadying hand on Brethilas’ bright silvery-blonde head.  “Steady on, lad.  Yer makin’ yer old grandda seasick!”  The five-year-old giggled, but obediently stilled his bouncing.

          Arador turned his bright blue eyes on Calen, eyeing him shrewdly.  “Worried, are ye, lad?”

          “Aye,” Calen answered.

          “Arador!” The light voice of his daughter by marriage brought the old man’s eyes up to see his son’s wife, Laurelin, and her two daughters running down the slightly inclined path from the house, glad welcoming smiles on their faces.

          He hugged the two girls and then their mother, who drew back to say, “We did not expect ye ‘til tomorrow.  Is something wrong?”

          “Not sure, Laurie.  Came to see that son of mine and I hear he and Raen haven’t gotten back yet.”

          Laurelin sighed and wiped her hands on her apron.  “I know.  Calen’s been frettin’ too, all afternoon.”  She turned concerned eyes towards the woods…and froze.

          “Rider, da,” she whispered, gathering her girls to her side with a look and grabbing Brethilas by the hand to keep him close.  Riders came to the lake from time to time, especially given the fact that Arador and Laurelin were both healers.  However, they had always found it prudent to be very careful until they knew who their visitors were.

          Arador turned quickly and studied the magnificent bay stallion that had emerged from the woods and begun a measured trot towards the house.  The rider was tall, strongly built, with long flowing black hair, dressed in a forest green tunic with darker leggings and boots, a bow and quiver strapped to his back.

          As he drew closer, Arador’s eyes narrowed…that face…those incredible eyes…he sucked in a quick breath.  “By all that is wonderful…Laurelin, children…look!  An elf!” he breathed, a slow smile wreathing his aged face and setting it alight.

          “What?”  Laurelin looked askance at Arador and then at the approaching rider…then back at him again.  “No, surely not, Arador!” she gasped.  He nodded, his gaze fixed on the elven rider.  The younger children gathered behind their mother and grandfather, peering out and whispering excitedly.

          Calen just stared.  An elf!  He had heard wonderful stories of the Fair Folk all his life…had clambered into his father’s lap with Raen to hear tales of the long past ages when the Firstborn still came regularly to Edhellond and Dol Amroth.  The boy drew a deep breath.  Elves did not just appear from the forest anymore…something was wrong.  He could feel it.

          He stepped in front of his family and stood – a young man bent on protecting those he loved, no matter what.  Aravir stopped Thalion several dozen yards from the boy and knew he had reached the right place.  But for the mossy green-gray eyes, the face watching him was identical to Raenor’s. 

          Twins!  Well, Thalion, I can see that Raenor and I will have to have a talk about what I call “relevant information”!  The boy might have warned me!   Thalion tossed his mane, prancing in place as his rider and the boy exchanged long looks – the elf’s bemused, the boy’s determined and faintly challenging.

          Aravir found his admiration growing as he looked at the stance of the youngster in front of him.  This one will grow into a force to be reckoned with one day!  He looked at the group huddled behind him – an old man, a pretty, golden-haired woman with two similarly favored daughters, and a small, silver-haired boy with dancing eyes.

          “You have the look of your brother Raenor,” Aravir addressed the boy before him and saw his good hand clench to a fist at his side.

          “Sedho, be at peace, pen-neth,” he said gently, watching the boy’s eyes widen with understanding.  “Raenor does well enough, as does your father.”  He saw the entire group take a deep, relieved breath.

          “Let us begin again,” Aravir said, placing his hand over his heart and bowing to the group.  “Mae govannen,” he said politely,  “I am Aravir, captain of the guard at Ithilien and bound in service to Legolas Thranduilion.”        

          The humans bowed back, even the little one.  “Mae govannen, Captain Aravir,” the boy said.  “Where are my father and brother?”

          Right to the point.  As it should be, since it his family he feels is threatened.  Aravir smiled reassuringly.  “As I said, they are as well as can be expected, but I have come to seek you out and ask for your aid.”

          Arador and Laurel exchanged alarmed looks.  They had not missed Aravir’s choice of words.  Arador stepped forward to stand beside Calen.  “There’s been an accident,” he stated.  Laurel’s hand smothered a cry of distress, her jade green eyes wide with fear.

          Aravir nodded solemnly.  “An entire section of the river bank collapsed where they were harvesting the marsh flowers.  They went with it.”  He quickly lifted a hand to stay their frantic questions.  “Wait!  As I said, they both live!  Raenor has a concussion, but Erelas is the more seriously injured.  My lord and I have treated them to the best of our abilities, but we are not healers.  Lord Legolas sent me to you.  With your help, we will bring them home.”

          Arador was already moving towards the wagon.  “Calen, get Brethilas and put him in back.  Laurelin, send the girls for blankets and the healing pouches; then find any food that can be packed quickly and carried easily.” 

          At her questioning look, he explained.  “As late as it is, I don’t think traveling at night with two injured, one of them concussed, would be safe.  We’d best prepare to stay ‘til mornin’.”  She nodded and rushed to do his bidding. 

          Aravir dismounted, murmuring a word for Thalion to stand, and walked over to the old man.  Arador looked up at him, his bright blue eyes shadowed and fearful.  “How bad is he?” he asked quietly.

          Aravir placed a comforting hand on the old one’s shoulder.  “When he fell, a sharp root or branch punctured his side.  He lost a great deal of blood, but that and the subsequent shock was dealt with by my lord.  It is the fever that has begun which concerns us now, and THAT we are not trained to deal with.”

          Arador closed his eyes briefly, silently thanking Iluvatar before looking back up at the tall warrior.  “Thank you.  My mind is eased somewhat by your words.  Laurelin and I are both healers – you were right not to wait,” he concluded. 

          Aravir nodded, studying the man beside him.  His thick hair was almost white, falling to still-broad shoulders.  The face was strong and weathered; the striking blue eyes noticing and wise.  Aravir liked him immediately. 

          The door to the house opened and the woman and her daughters came rushing out, all carrying bundles or sacks.  These were stowed quickly in the wagon, and the girls crawled in beside the little boy and Calen, while Arador and Laurelin seated themselves on the front seat.  Aravir leaped on Thalion and urged the great horse to a trot, leading the wagon out of the yard and towards the forest.

                                        ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Legolas fed the fire slowly; he wanted to make sure the two injured stayed warm.  Not that the evening was cold, mind you.  It was not.  He breathed deeply of the leaf-scented air, allowing the living greenness of the forest to smooth out the rough edges within caused by the sea-longing. 

          Though smaller in size than Ithilien, the woods were thick and lush, the trees old and proud, and his elven ears could hear the rushing song of water from the various streams that flowed through the woods to join with the Gilraen.  The canopy overhead whispered in the wind, the ground below his feet formed a carpet layered with fallen leaves, luxuriant beds of mosses and ferns; and wherever the sun broke through, tall grasses, wildflowers, and berries grew. 

          He had tended Raenor’s head wound after Aravir had left – it had only required five small, even stitches to close it.  When he had finished, both son and father had been tucked-up warmly.  They slept again, though Erelas dozed restlessly, his hands plucking aimlessly at the blanket covering him, his face creased with pain.  Legolas spent time sponging him down, singing softly, and was pleasantly surprised when the man quieted and slipped into a deeper, more restful slumber.

          He spent a very short few minutes taking stock of their supplies; two-day-old bread, berries, and a few wafers of lembas were not exactly the ideal fare for the injured or sick.  He hoped when Aravir returned he would bring a rabbit or two for a strengthening broth.

          Arod wandered over, the mare on his heels.  Legolas looked at them closely for a moment.  He rose and walked over to the two, stroking one golden face and straightening one dark silver forelock.

          What a woebegone pair you two are! 

          The mare shoved her nose into his chest, and Legolas, sensing her distress, flung an arm around her neck. 

          What is it?  What troubles you, mir nin?

          You are troubled.  The longing within you that caused you such pain before has returned.  The mare rested her elegant head on his shoulder, allowing the strong, comforting presence of the elf to ease some of her fear.  

          Arod shook his head, the dark silver mane tossing restlessly.  You should not have come here.  The air is full of the sea’s scent…it speaks of endless waters.

          Legolas stroked both horses again, attempting to soothe them.  I had to come.  And unlike before, when I sing I am comforted now.

          Not completely.  Arod pawed the ground; he did not like being patted on the head and told everything was all right, especially if it was not.

          Legolas smiled sadly.  Arod never allowed him to gloss over the truth of a matter.  No, mellon nin, not completely.  But as much as is possible until I leave these shores, I find comfort in singing.  Moreover, I have much to learn…the sea still must teach another part of the song of this world to me.

          The mare moved uneasily as she listened.  You will not leave these shores soon?

          No, mir nin.  Many, many years will pass before I sail.  The King Elessar must complete his reign before I leave.  That is why I must do all I can to find an answer to the pain the sea-longing brings…for I cannot leave yet. 

          The mare calmed, somewhat reassured by his explanation, although Legolas still felt the undercurrent of concern in Arod.  He stood with them for a time, singing quietly and stroking strong, warm necks. 

          At a sudden faint noise from the woods, all three looked towards the path Aravir had taken over an hour earlier.  Soon, the rattling clank of a wagon reached their ears and a short time later, Thalion stepped into the little clearing.  Aravir raised a hand in greeting, which Legolas returned.  The wagon came into view and Legolas’ eyes widened in surprise.  He looked up at Aravir, who had ridden over to him and dismounted.

          “You brought the WHOLE family?” he whispered.

          Aravir grinned at his stunned expression.  “Look at them.  Can you imagine asking any to stay behind?  Not possible, my lord, especially after they heard Erelas and Raenor were injured.” 

          The wagon rumbled to a stop behind Thalion.   An old man and young woman on the front seat jumped to the ground, their eyes already fixed on the two still figures lying in front of the fire.  The children in the back spilled out, two young girls of perhaps ten and twelve grabbing up two bags as they came and hurrying to their mother.  A very young boy ran to the old man, slipping his hand into the old one’s and eyeing the still figures fearfully. 

          It was, however, the older boy that caught and held Legolas’ attention.  A mirror-image of the boy sleeping by the fire but for the sling supporting his arm and his gray-green eyes, the youth had left the wagon before everyone else and headed straight for the sleeping figures of his brother and father.

          Aravir sent Thalion to join Arod and the mare at the stream and went to help Arador secure the wagon.  Legolas walked over and crouched down beside Erelas, watching the young man quickly check his brother before moving to his father.  He laid a hand on the man’s face, cupping his cheek, and a look of alarm crossed his face.

          He looked at his mother across the glade where she was pulling a healing satchel from one of the bags.  “Naneth!” he called.  Her head came up at the tone in his voice.  “Come quickly!”  She began giving instructions to the girls and they nodded in unison, listening carefully.

          The boy looked up then, into the slate blue eyes of a golden-haired, fair-faced elf that sat watching him sympathetically.  About that time, the captain returned and settled beside this new elf, speaking to him in a melodic language Calen realized was Sindarin.  He recognized a few words – elleth and ellon, naneth and daeradar, but the fluid speech seemed to flow past him like some swiftly running stream and he was powerless to catch the rest. 

          His mother knelt beside him, opening the satchel and pulling bandages and herbs from it.  She eyed the two elves for a short moment, a small smile playing about her lips, before turning her entire attention to her husband. 

          “Oh Erelas!” she whispered, one hand stroking the dark hair back from his forehead.  She glanced at Calen.  “Feverish, but not overly so.  Not yet, anyway.” 

          She looked back to find her husband’s gray eyes looking at her blearily.  “Erelas!” she scolded. “What in Arda’s name have ye been up to?” 

          He managed to look pained and sheepish all at once, to the amusement of his son and the two elves who had stopped talking to watch this exchange. 

          “Well, Laurie, there wasn’t no help for it – the whole bank just caved in,” he explained weakly.  “Mightn’t I have some water, please?”  She huffed softly at his evasion and motioned Calen to fetch the water skin.  Lifting her husband’s head gently, she put the skin to his mouth and he thankfully gulped the cool liquid. 

          “Slowly now, meleth,” she admonished him.  When he had had his fill, she gently laid him back down on the pallet, smoothing the blanket back over his chest.  “I want ye to rest for a time.  I’ll be lookin’ at that wound in a moment.  Let me see about Raen now.”  Erelas nodded, following her with his eyes as she rose and moved around him to their son’s side.

          Aware that she was now under the careful scrutiny of the two elves, Laurel lifted the bandage on her son’s head and nodded approvingly at the stitches.  “And who was it put these stitches in?” she asked, looking at Aravir. 

          He lifted both hands in denial, indicating the fair-haired elf at his side. 

          “Ye have a neat hand with a needle, my lord,” the woman said softly, smiling into the concerned eyes of the captain’s friend.  He heaved a sigh of relief, flashing a smile only slightly less bright than the sun. 

          “Does he look all right, other than the cut on his head?” Aravir asked.  Laurel had roused Raenor and was studying his eyes, pleased with the way he focused on her quickly.

          “He looks to be fine, my lord.  Still somewhat in pain from his head, but that will pass in a few days with some rest,” she answered.

          “Nana!” Raenor said, struggling to sit up.

          “Now, ye just lay back there, my lad, and don’t be moving too quickly,” she warned her son.  “Calen, keep this brother of yours FLAT!”  Calen nodded, smiling at his brother’s sudden wincing frown, as his mother sat back and stared at Legolas.

            “Now, my lord,” she said briskly.  “Tell me about their injuries and what ye’ve done for them so far.”  Legolas quickly began to relate the facts as Arador sat down silently beside her, listening intently, one hand grasping Erelas’ hand and the other patting Raenor gently on the arm.  When Legolas finished his explanation, both healers smiled at him. 

          Arador spoke first.  “Ye have saved their lives, both ye and the captain, my lord.  We don’t know how to thank ye…”

          Legolas smiled in relief.  “Just knowing that I have not caused them any further harm is reward in itself, my friend.  And I was not alone in the rescue…if Aravir had not come when he did, I shudder to think of the outcome.” 

          Laurel finished replacing the bandage on Raen’s forehead.  “Well, then ‘tis best forgotten!  We are most fortunate ye were nearby when it happened.” 

          She gazed at Aravir and Legolas, her clear green eyes sparkling with relief and humor.  “It occurs to me that neither one of ye have been introduced to this family, what with the excitement and all.  We should remedy that first.”  Calling the younger children to her, she bade them sit at the feet of their father and proceeded to do just that.

                                           ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Night had covered the forest, seeping into every nook and cranny in the wood by the time Aravir took the plates from their late supper to the stream to rinse.  Sharp elven hearing could discern the soft voice of Laurelin as she settled the younger children for the night. 

          What an engaging group they were, too!  Little Brethilas was an unceasing bundle of energy, and once his initial shyness of the elves had evaporated, an unceasing source of questions.  He did not ask foolish, childish questions either.  The boy had been well taught the tales of the Eldar and proceeded to quiz the two resident elves with tireless relish.  Only sleep had silenced his voice.  Aravir smiled…what a bright, shiny child he was, casting his aura of light and love on whomever he happened to be interrogating at the time and making the process relatively painless. 

          The two girls, ten-year-old Lissiriel and twelve-year-old Elena were smaller versions of their mother, and eager to help however they could with their father and brother.  Soft-spoken and graceful, they possessed the same white-gold hair as their mother and the same mossy-gray eyes as Calen.  Lissiriel was shyer than her older sister was, and Aravir had caught her watching the horses with such longing in her eyes that he vowed to address it some time before they left.  Elena loved to sing and her sweet soprano often harmonized with her mother’s warm contralto as the two worked together. 

          He quickly stacked the plates and made his way back into camp, handing them to Arador to be stored in the wagon later. 

          “Where is Lord Legolas?” he asked the old man.  Arador looked up, thinking for a moment before gesturing towards the trees. 

          “He disappeared into those trees near the stream about ten minutes ago,” he said softly. 

          “Ahhhh…” the elf breathed, his eyes shadowed.  “Hannon lle, Arador.”  The tall elf went to his pallet, pulled a brush from his pack and walked over to the horses.

          Arador watched him go, his blue eyes troubled.  He hoped nothing was wrong, but something in the careful, sometimes brittle expression he had caught on the Prince’s face told a different story.  Shrugging away his disquiet, he returned to sit beside Laurelin and contemplate the treatment of Erelas’ injury. 

          They had examined it earlier and decided not to stitch the jagged tear in back.  The wound had already begun to fester, indicating the presence of some foreign substance still embedded in the flesh around it.  Laurelin had suggested poultices of crushed oak leaves and elderberry flowers, saying their astringency might very well draw the offending matter from the wound.  It was worth a try. 

          Arador frowned.  If the poultices failed, in a day or two they would have to probe the gash and try to find the source of the infection.  He did not look forward to that; it was obvious Erelas had bled heavily when he took the wound.  Causing more blood loss would only weaken him further.  He sighed and studied Laurelin as she bathed her husband’s face.  She looked tired…and frightened.  His lips firmed.  He would not lose this son.  Laurie needed her husband and the children needed their father.  They would use the poultices every two or three hours and treat the fever with willow bark and feverfew or yarrow. 

          “Laurie.  Come lass,” he whispered.  “You need to rest.  I will keep watch for the night.”  He interrupted her protest quickly.  “I can sleep anytime, while you must be rested for your children.  I will be fine – I can sit here and enjoy this beautiful evening in between dosing our two patients.”  She finally gave in and curled up close to Erelas, fingers entwined with her husband’s so she would know his slightest movement, and drifted off to sleep.

          The glade settled for the night, silent save for the sounds of the forest creatures, the fluid sound of water rushing over bedrock, and the softer shushing sound of Aravir’s brush as he curried the horses.  Arador moved to sit between his son and grandson, monitoring their pulses from time to time and the level of his son’s fever.  As the night wore on, he lost himself in thought, considering different combinations of herbs that might serve to draw the poison from his son’s body.

          It was early in the morning, that silent hour when everyone had slipped into the deeper sleep of true rest when Arador shook himself from his reverie and stood, stretching carefully and trying not to groan.

          Well, that was intelligent, old man, to sit so long that these old knees don’t want to bend, much less walk. 

          He made his way towards the fire, moving gingerly until his muscles loosened and his legs obeyed without their initial screaming complaint.  Ladling a cup of hot water from the larger pot that had been set at the edge of the coals, he sprinkled some herbs into the cup, stirring the mixture and sniffing the fragrant aroma appreciatively.  He cupped the mug in his hands, gratefully absorbing the heat into the painful joints of his fingers and allowing the tea to steep and settle.  Sipping slowly, he grimaced at the slightly bitter taste.

          A good, generous spoonful of honey – that’s what this brew needs!  Ah well, tis not taste I seek, but a means to stay awake.

          It was then that his eyes found the still, silent figure of the elven captain standing at the far edge of the camp, gazing up at the dark trees lining the glade.

          Arador set the cup down and walked over to stand beside the elf.  Aravir did not speak and Arador saw he was listening to something.  He closed his eyes, concentrating on the night sounds and suddenly heard the sound of someone singing.  He listened to the faint music, a soft, amazingly sweet melody given voice in a clear tenor.  Arador realized suddenly that it had to be Legolas singing.

          “Where is he?” he asked softly, looking up at Aravir’s concerned face.  The elf looked down.

          “Somewhere over there…across the stream…in the trees,” he replied, returning his gaze to the forest.  Arador remained beside him for some minutes, listening to the extraordinary song as it waxed and waned, sometimes bright and cheerful, but more often than not melancholy and haunting.

          Placing a hand on the strong shoulder, he gave it a tentative squeeze and returned to his family.  He found Laurelin sitting up, her knees drawn up and her chin resting on them, watching him.  He retrieved his cup and sat beside her, staring at the fire.

          “What is it?” she whispered, placing a hand on his back, sensing he needed some sort of consolation, yet not knowing why. 

          Arador turned and looked into her soft green eyes.  “Tis Prince Legolas,” he told her.  “Can ye hear him?”

          She shook her head yes.  “The music woke me up.  I thought I was dreaming.”

          He smiled.  “No, daughter.”  The old man and this daughter of his heart listened for long minutes to the song.

          She turned to him again, her eyes awash with tears.  “It is so beautiful…and sad,” she murmured.

          Arador nodded.  “I am not sure, Laurie…but I think the Prince has heard the call of the sea.”

          “Oh no, Arador,” she said, looking towards the trees near the stream that concealed the invisible singer.  “Why is he here?  Why would he linger?”

          “I do not know,” he answered softly.

                                      ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Once morning came, everyone ate of the richly flavored, nutty porridge Laurelin had prepared to go with the thick slices of toasted bread, cheese, and fresh red berries.

          “Mmmmmm,” Brethilas mumbled around a mouthful.  “Raspberries!”  Everyone laughed at the youngster’s blissful face and berry-stained mouth and hands.  Laurelin clucked her tongue at the sight and scooped her youngest up for a quick wash in the stream.

          “He does enjoy his food,” she laughed as she carried the squirming, giggling lad away.

          “She means he wears it,” Raenor whispered to the two smiling elves seated beside him.  Legolas grinned at Erelas, who reclined against his father, slowly sipping a cup of broth.  Erelas and Arador met his eyes and laughed.

          The meal concluded, Aravir carried Erelas to the wagon and made him comfortable in the back while Calen and Legolas walked beside Raenor, one on each side in case he should falter.

          The boy eyed his keepers, clearly disgruntled.  “I am fine.  I no longer see two of everything…” He looked at his brother.  “Thank the Valar!” 

          Calen grinned at him and shook his head.  “Ill-thought words, brother mine.  Just wait.” 

          Raenor snorted.  “Naneth will protect me.” 

          “She will not,” a clear voice retorted from behind.  Laurelin stepped up to walk with the group to the wagon.  “When ye are better, ion nin, you will defend yerself.  Do not be involving me in yer squabbles!” 

          She sailed past them and deposited a bag in the cart.  “Load yer brother up in the wagon, Calen; then come and help with the rest of the things.” 

          Raenor and Calen rolled their eyes, their identical expressions surprising a bark of laughter from Legolas. 

          Laurelin turned and examined the Prince closely.   “Ye may help, too, milord,” she ordered. 

          “Yes, my lady,” he said obediently. 

          The trip to the house by the lake was light-hearted and happy.  That night Erelas’ fever spiked, nearly sending him into convulsions but for his family and the elves and the cold waters of the Luinaelin.

          “We must probe that wound tomorrow,” Arador told his frantic daughter-in-law once the immediate danger had passed.  “He will not survive another bout of fever like this.”

          Laurelin paled.  “He will not survive the blood loss…he is too weak!” 

          Arador nodded tiredly.  “I know, child.  But we cannot leave him like this.”  He turned to Legolas and Aravir.  “If there is anything you can think of, my lords, that we have not tried…no, no what am I sayin’?  Of course ye would have already told us.” 

          Legolas placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.  “You know we would, Arador.  Come, you and Laurelin have had little food and no rest.  Aravir has made a stew.  He is an excellent cook and would appreciate your opinion of it.  Lissiriel and Elena made the bread.  It is very good.” 

          Talking gently, he led the two into the kitchen and seated them at the table.  He sent a look to Aravir and left the room to sit with Erelas.  Aravir placed bowls of the steaming stew before them and the girls brought the bread.  Lissiriel stood by her mother’s chair, a loving hand on her shoulder while Elena stood within the circle of her grandfather’s arm watching him eat. 

          “This IS very good, Aravir,” Laurelin said softly, shaking her head no to another offering of food.  “Where are the boys?  It’s dark out now.”

          Elena answered, “Calen took Brethilas outside earlier so he wouldn’t be so scared.  They went to check on the stock.  Raen is waitin’ for ‘em outside on the porch.” 

          Her mother smiled slightly at her daughter’s report.  She sat for a moment, her eyes dazed and fixed on something only she could see.  Shoving the plate away, she rose to her feet and began walking back to the sickroom.  Halfway to the door, she turned and looked at Aravir.  “Hannon lle, mellon nin,” she whispered. 

          Aravir dipped his head respectfully.  “You are most welcome, hiril nin.”

         Suddenly, Brethilas burst through the door.  “Aravir!  Grandda!  Riders comin’!  A lot of riders!”

          Following the excited boy outside, Aravir’s keen eyes could just make out a company of six riders emerging from the dark woods.  He watched them approach silently, then turned to Arador.  “Get the Prince, mellon nin.” 

          “Who is it?”  Arador asked nervously.  “Are they elves?  They look like they are armed!” 

          “They probably are, my friend,” Aravir said, smiling.  “Get Legolas, Arador.  Do not fear, my friend.  This is a miracle unlooked for, although I am not sure why I doubted he would come.” 

          “Who would come?” 

          “The King, Arador.  It is Elessar.”

TRANSLATIONS:

hir nin – my lord

pen-neth – young one

nana – mom (Naneth – mother)

daerada – granddad (daeradar – grandfather)

sedho – be still; be at peace

mae govannen – well met

Thranduilion – son of Thranduil

mir nin – my treasure (my jewel)

mellon nin – my friend

meleth – love

hannon lle – thank you

ion nin – my son

hiril nin – my lady

THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary:  A life is saved and interesting facts come to light about the family living by the lake.

Disclaimer:  The characters and setting of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  I gain nothing from writing this but the exercise of my imagination and the joy of playing in the Professor’s world for a while.

Reviews:  Please do!  I appreciate every one!

A/N:  No excuses for the delay (unless you count being held captive by a squad of ‘killer squirrels’ for the past two weeks)!  I am sorry!

Chapter 15: See With New Eyes

          Aragorn straightened slightly and motioned Arador and Laurelin closer to the bed with a nod.  As they moved forward, Laurelin grabbed Arador’s hand, squeezing it tightly.  He looked at her pale, worried face, her unsmiling mouth tight, her eyes tear glazed to a deeper green, and bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to suppress the urge to yell at the King…just tell us what you have found and get it over with!

          “I want you to feel this,” Aragorn said, well aware of the emotional undertones in the room.  Remain calm…explain to them what has happened…talk quietly and let your tone reassure them…healers they may be but they are his family first. 

          Since entering the room, he had spent several minutes examining Erelas’ side, pressing carefully or lightly passing his hands over a wide area around the larger wound, searching for the cause of the dangerous fever.  He had found it quickly.  

          “Apparently, the force of the blow has driven a splinter of wood in sideways from the initial entry of the branch,” he murmured.  “It has abscessed and begun spreading its poison throughout his system.” 

          Arador and Laurelin both felt the slightly warmer area an inch to the right of the larger wound in Erelas’ side.  “It would have taken us another day or two to find this, my lord,” Laurelin remarked softly.  “Will ye lance it now?”

          “Yes, and the sooner the better,” the King replied.  He took a very sharp, narrow blade from his healing kit and began sterilizing it over one of the candle flames. 

          “What medicines has he had in the last few hours, Arador?” he asked. 

          Arador nodded.  “Willow root, feverfew, some comfrey.  We dosed him pretty heavily before ye came.  He shouldn’t feel a thing.” 

          Aragorn smiled reassuringly.  “The incision itself is relatively small…what will take the most time is actually finding the splinter and getting it out.  We will hope it presents itself immediately.” 

          He gazed at the two worried people.  “Stand strong now.  Laurelin, hold the light steady.  Arador, be ready to help me with the bleeding.  And keep that probe handy.” 

          He watched the two stiffen in anticipation of the ordeal to come.  Healers or not, it is a very different prospect when the one you are cutting on is dear to you.  Finally satisfied with their level of composure, he began making a small, deep incision over the abscess.  It seemed only seconds had passed when, with a sudden release of pressure, the infection began draining. 

          “The splinter actually shifted after its entry,” Aragorn explained, his voice soothing, his manner unhurried.  He quickly blotted the blood and matter from the wound while continuing the incision.  “I have seen this happen in battle before, especially with spear and arrow wounds where the wooden shaft has broken off in the wound.  Sometimes the wood will work its way to the surface for a relatively easy removal.  Other times, it will lodge deep under the skin and cause the kind of complication you see here.”  Arador handed him some clean, wet cloths.

          “Thank you,” Aragorn responded, dropping the knife in a basin as he continued to clean the wound. 

          “There.  That should do it…and look.  Thank the Valar, the head of the shard is visible now.  I wish I knew what kind of wood this is.  It seems especially poisonous,” Aragorn said, his face thoughtful, his eyes intent on preparing the splinter for extraction.  “Arador, hold this instrument back just so…yes…just like that.” 

          The skilled hand deftly grasped the head of the wooden shard with a pair of tweezers and steadily drew it forth.  “Valar!” Aragorn breathed, as the shard became a veritable spike exceeding two inches in length. 

          He quickly blotted away more welling blood with the other hand and dropped the offending object and tweezers into the basin holding the knife.    Flushing the wound thoroughly with an infusion made from athelas and silver birch leaves, he continued to speak quietly, diluting the fear in the room with a detailed explanation of how the mixture was made, faintly surprised when they seemed unfamiliar with the use of birch leaves in the solution.

          “We don’t have much experience in usin’ the great birches, my lord,” Arador told him.  “And as we supply only the healin’ herbs and plants found in this area, birch…and even the athelas plant are almost unknown to us.”

          “Ah, of course.  I remember now,” Aragorn mused.  “The trees grow north of here, closer to the Ered Nimrais.”  He studied Laurelin’s face thoughtfully.  “Yet your youngest is named for their silver leaves, is he not?” 

          “Aye, my lord, he is,” she replied, exchanging a rather strange look with Arador.  “I’ve not seen the forests of silver birch for many years, but we thought him aptly named, given his colorin’ and all.” 

          Aragorn nodded in understanding, privately promising himself to ask Arador about that look later.  “Aptly named, indeed, is young Brethilas.  I will give you a supply of the leaves before I go.  They are very effective in treating abscesses, burns and infections.  Perhaps I can see you kept supplied with not only the leaves, but the bark as well.  It works well as a mild reliever for pain or fever.  I will speak to one of the healers at home.” 

          “Oh, we’d certainly appreciate it, my lord!” she exclaimed.  “We are most interested in new treatments and remedies.”  She watched Aragorn continue to flush the wound, examining the area carefully each time. 

          “Do you think all of it came out?” she asked.  

          “It would not do to leave any slivers behind, if we can possibly prevent it,” he murmured, “although I believe we have been fortunate and that is the only piece.”   Laurelin sighed and exchanged a relieved look with Arador.

          Silence reigned for a time as the King finally closed the incision with a few loose stitches – “in case we should need to drain it again”  – and slathered the wound liberally with a healing salve of athelas and comfrey.  He examined the larger tear, pronounced his satisfaction with the way it was healing, and applied a clean bandage before easing Erelas over to his uninjured side, propping him up with a pillow and covering him warmly. 

          “That should be sufficient for now,” he proclaimed.  “I will change the bandage in a few hours and check for any renewed swelling or drainage.  I also want to rouse him enough to take more willow bark, perhaps mixed with some valerian.  Both will keep the fever under control and the valerian will discourage any convulsions, should his temperature spike again.”

          Aragorn rinsed his hands in another basin and dried them.  He took several more athelas leaves from his healer’s bag and looked up at Arador, smiling at the tense father. 

          “Breathe, my friend,” he instructed gently.  “Your son shall not leave this world tonight.”

          Arador returned the smile shakily, a tear escaping his tight control to slip down the weathered cheek.  Laurelin made a small sound of distress and put her lamp down.  She went to the old man’s side, linking their arms and hugging him as she whispered, “Father mine, please, do not.  He will be fine…” 

          Arador swallowed and choked out, “I cannot help it, Laurie.  So close…death has stalked him, it seems, since yesterday and were it not for Lord Legolas and Aravir - and now, the King…” 

          He turned bleak eyes to his daughter-in-law.  “I would have probed that wound later this day as I had planned and probably never found that splinter, not with the way it had drifted.  He would have bled heavily again and weakened until…” 

          “Shhh,” Laurelin stopped the halting flow of words with a gentle hand. 

          Aragorn silently watched the exchange between the two, his eyes filled with compassion as he poured steaming water into a clean basin and crushed the leaves in his hand, breathing on them and sending a silent request to Eru to release the healing properties of the plant.  

          He scattered the leaves in the water and the clean, bracing scent of cool forests and open meadows permeated the room.  Laying a gentle hand on the hot, dry forehead of his patient, Aragorn closed his eyes, finding and sensing the depths of strength in this man he had yet to meet, before nudging him gently into a deeper, pain-free sleep.  Satisfied for the moment, he stood and walked over to Erelas’ father and wife.

          He smiled at Laurelin and asked, “My lady, would you mind getting some tea – some very strong, hot tea?  Sweetened, please.”

          She nodded understandingly and with a final encouraging peck on her father-in-law’s cheek, went quickly to do the King’s bidding.  Aragorn placed a consoling arm around the old man’s shoulders and led him to sit in a chair by the bed. 

          He pulled another chair over beside him and sat, stretching his long legs with a weary sigh of relief.  Glancing at the man beside him, he said, “He is sleeping quietly and the fever remains manageable for now.  We will watch the wound closely for several days, but I believe when he awakens later this morning you will already see an improvement in his condition.” 

          At Arador’s lack of response, Aragorn’s face grew stern as he ordered, “Now…attend me, Arador.”  Arador raised startled eyes at the commanding tone that had entered the King’s voice.  “Had it been your son’s time to leave this world, nothing would have prevented it.  But you yourself said it – Legolas was here – and I am here.  It would appear that it was not Erelas’ time.”

          He gazed expectantly into the deep blue eyes.  Arador shook his head and answered slowly, “Ye are right, of course, my lord.” 

          He shuddered.  “It is just that…” 

          The man’s voice trailed off as he fought once more to control his emotions.  Aragorn sighed.  “I know.  I, too, am a father.  I suppose knowing what we do makes every illness and injury to those we love even more frightening.” 

          Arador touched the King’s shoulder briefly.  “Indeed.  My lord, I must thank ye for steppin’ in so quickly.” 

          Aragorn shrugged.  “I knew Erelas’ condition was serious just from the looks in the eyes of his family, not to mention the urgent plea whispered to me by my friend as soon as he greeted me.  I am relieved I was able to recognize the problem and help.” 

          Arador smiled faintly, remembering how Legolas had grabbed the King as soon as he had dismounted, taking him aside and speaking quietly and emphatically in his ear.  Aragorn had come to them immediately and offered his skills as a healer for Erelas. 

          The two sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Arador looked at Aragorn and said, “I’ve treated many a puncture wound in my time, my lord, even ones that have left behind splinters and shards.  This one went bad so quickly, and with the wood movin’ the way it did, tis glad I am that you had the chore of pullin’ it out!” 

          Aragorn chuckled ruefully, “Well, I had the advantage of growing up amongst elves who delighted in racing through the trees, as well as the privilege of learning from and observing the best healer Middle-earth has ever known.  Let us just say that there are few wounds I have NOT seen and helped treat.”  The two men shared an understanding smile.

          They looked up as Laurelin reentered the room, followed by Aravir carrying a tray laden with steaming tea, thick slices of bread and a crock of honey.  The tall elf placed the tray on the table, his concerned gaze examining Erelas before turning to Aragorn.  One expressive eyebrow lifted in question.  Aragorn nodded.  “We located the splinter and removed it.  I believe the danger is passed, but we will know more in a few hours.”

          Aravir’s face relaxed into a smile.  “That is excellent news, aran brannon.  I will tell Lord Legolas.”

          “Wait and I will go with you,” Aragorn said as he took a cup of tea and sweetened it before handing it to Laurelin.  He dosed the other cup just as liberally and handed it to Arador. 

          “Drink it – ALL,” he ordered.  “I will return shortly.  I want you both ready to retire when I come back.” 

          He grinned at the militant look that entered Laurelin’s green eyes, but shook his head.  “I must insist, my lady,” he admonished.  “I will sit with him until you awaken.” 

          Finally, they both nodded, albeit reluctantly.  Aragorn went to the door and turned to look at them.  “Drink your tea, both of you.  Eat.  Check him, change him, do anything to make him comfortable and everything to reassure yourselves, but be prepared to leave when I return.  Is that clear?” 

          He gazed in amusement at the two rebellious faces before him and knew immediately when the realization struck them that they were arguing with the King!  Laurelin gasped and Arador bit his lip, chuckling ruefully.  “Aye, my lord King – very clear!”

          Their King laughed softly and turned, beckoning Aravir to accompany him as they left the room.

                              ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Aragorn and Aravir moved silently through the house, stopping at the door to a different room and knocking softly.  It flew open almost immediately and Aragorn found himself looking into the fearful eyes of Erelas’ twin sons. 

          Eyes locked on Aravir, the boys both spoke as one. “Father?” 

          Aravir placed a hand on each shoulder.  “Sleeping.  The source of the infection has been found and removed,” he told them. 

          He studied the drawn face of one of the twins.  “How is your head, pen-neth?” he asked quietly. 

          The boy frowned.  “It aches still, but it’s not bad.” 

          Aravir glanced back at Aragorn, who spoke softly in reply, “There is another pot of willow bark tea with valerian already prepared in the kitchen, is there not?”  The elf nodded.  “One-half cup only – sweetened,” the King suggested and Aravir moved to fetch the tea. 

          Aragorn turned back to the boys, smiling at their suddenly uncomfortable expressions.  “Now, tell me – which one of you is Raenor?” he asked curiously. 

          The silver-eyed twin with the sore head spoke up, “I am, my lord.”  Aragorn inclined his head in greeting and looked at his brother. 

          “You must be Calen, then.” 

          “Aye, my lord,” the boy acknowledged. 

          “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” the King offered.  “Raenor, Aravir will bring you something to help you sleep and ease that headache.”

          He gestured toward the bandage on Raenor’s head.  “May I?”

          Raen nodded.  Aragorn carefully lifted the bandage and examined the gash.  “Your mother’s handiwork?” he asked, smiling at the boy. 

          “Nay, sire,” Raen replied.  “My lord Legolas stitched it yesterday.” 

           Dark eyebrows arched in surprise.  “Did he, now?”  The boys watched the stern gray eyes light with laughter as the King smiled at them.

          “Thranduilion never ceases to surprise me with his hidden skills!”  The boys laughed at the King’s expression.

          Raenor explained, “He was most careful, my lord!”

          “I can only imagine,” Aragorn responded dryly, chuckling as he replaced the bandage.  He gestured at the sling and Calen’s arm.  “Calen, how is your wrist?  Broke it, did you?”

          Calen flushed.  “Aye, sire.  We were loadin’ some boxes in Linhir and one shifted and fell on my arm.  Daerada said twas a mere crack. He’ll be removin’ the splint in a few days.” 

          Aragorn grinned at the impatient look in Calen’s eyes.  “I know that will please you.  It must have been very frustrating to be so constrained.”

          Calen gave a heartfelt “Aye, my lord, it was!”, causing his brother to snicker and dig his elbow in his twin’s ribs.  Aragorn watched them, the sudden memories of watching another pair of twin brothers scuffle a bittersweet pain in his heart.   He did not see Elrohir and Elladan nearly enough. 

          Perhaps they can be persuaded to spend some time with us in a few months.  I will write and tell them that Legolas needs their medical advice…that should bring them both running!

          Aravir returned and handed the cup to Raenor, who sipped the hot liquid gratefully.  When he had finished, he handed the cup back, murmuring, “Hannon lle, Aravir.”

          Aravir nodded and clapped both boys on the shoulders.  “Now, off to bed with you!  Your mother will need your help tomorrow, as will the King.”

          “Good night, Aravir…King Elessar,” the boys chorused.

          “And thank you for helpin’ Adar,” Raenor called softly as he climbed into his bed.

          “You are most welcome,” Aragorn whispered. 

          “Good night, younglings,” Aravir called quietly as he shut the door.

                                 ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Aragorn and Aravir continued through the darkened house, the elf stopping again to check on Brethilas and his sisters.  All were sleeping soundly…finally.  It had taken many assurances and several creative stories on the elf’s part to coax the trio to bed. 

          Once on the porch, the two stood staring appreciatively at the reflection of the myriad stars on the shimmering surface of the lake.  A gentle breeze had sprung up at midnight and still sighed through the trees near the house, pausing only to ruffle the waters of the lake as it continued its way to the shore on the other side. 

          “This is a beautiful place,” Aragon commented, breathing deeply of the sweet, scented air.  “I will enjoy seeing it in the daylight.  Did my guard settle in?” 

          Aravir nodded towards the tents and smoldering light from banked fires near the barn.  “They found an open pasture by the barn with the house water well not far away, hir nin.  Jarrod bid me tell you that your tent has been raised should you find the time for sleep this night.”

          Aragorn chuckled affectionately.  “I doubt that will happen.  I must watch Erelas closely, at least for the remainder of the night.  But, first things first, my friend.  Where is our Prince?”

          “I believe your appearance shocked him considerably!” Aravir explained as they continued across the yard.  “Lissiriel told me she saw him walking down towards the lake.  She followed and noted he sat down on the hillside, just staring at the water.”

          “Was he angry, Aravir?” Aragorn questioned.

          Aravir gazed up at the stars thoughtfully.  “Angry?  I would not call it that.  Bemused perhaps.  Relieved for Erelas’ sake.  Speechless…yes, hir nin…undoubtedly speechless!”

          Aragorn snorted.  “Yes.  I noticed that.”

          Aravir paused consideringly.  “He was not angry with me for following, aran brannon.  I do not believe he was angry with you.  Will you seek him out now?”

          “Yes, mellon nin,” Aragorn replied.  “Best I not put off the inevitable.  Will you sit with Erelas until I return?”

          “Of course.”

          “And make certain Arador and Laurelin go to bed.  They are exhausted.”

          “I will do so, my lord.”

          Aragorn squared his shoulders and set off in the direction of the lake.

                                ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Jarrod intercepted Aragorn just as he reached his guards’ camp.  “The men are all settled, my lord…quite comfortably, I might add.  At Arador’s suggestion, we put the horses in the pen rather than picket them.”

          Aragorn’s gray eyes scanned the orderly camp approvingly and returned to his captain.  He had just decided to inquire about Legolas when his captain spoke again, his voice much softer now.  “Lord Legolas is on the hill several hundred yards past the camp, sire.  Look for his horses…they were following him when he passed.”  He jerked his head to indicate the direction. 

          “Thank you, captain,” the King spoke gratefully.  “I will find him.”  He walked away and stopped abruptly after several steps, turning back to grin at Jarrod.  “Jarrod, should you hear a loud splash, be prepared to come fish one of us out of the lake!” 

          Jarrod, who over the years had grown familiar with the antics of these two friends, chuckled.  “And who will be swimming, my lord?  You…or Lord Legolas?”

          Aragorn’s grin grew.  “I am not sure, but it could possibly involve both of us!  We shall see!”  He turned and walked off, his step jaunty and assured. 

          Jarrod laughed and returned to his post, glad to see his King smiling.  The precipitate journey to find the elven Prince had been tense, the guards influenced by the grim set of Elessar’s jaw and the troubled expression in his eyes.  The relief of the entire group had seemed palpable at the appearance of the elf earlier that evening.

          Aragorn strode along, his keen eyes quickly finding the pale forms of Arod and the mare grazing just at the crest of the hill.  He knew instinctively Legolas would not be far away, probably sitting on the incline below the horses. 

          He saw Arod and the mare raise their heads to see who was intruding on their peaceful meal and greeted them both with a soft whistle that Arod recognized instantly.  The big dappled white gelding ambled forward and stopped a few feet from Aragorn, his head lifted imperiously as if to say, “This far and no more!” 

          Aragorn stood still, pleased with Arod’s care for Legolas and disconcerted that the horse still deemed him some kind of threat.  After several minutes of scrutiny, Arod moved closer to the man, shoving his nose into his chest, and nudging the King urgently. 

          “Will you let me see him, Arod?” Aragorn whispered, placing a hand on the strong neck.  An emphatic toss of the elegant silver head and Arod turned, leading him past the grazing mare.  She raised her head, watching Arod guide her elf’s friend down the hill to where Legolas lay in the grass, eyes closed, with his hands linked behind his head.

          Aragorn sat down quietly beside the still figure of his friend, allowing the peace of the night and the light of the stars to soak into his bones.  He knew Legolas was awake and waited patiently for him to give voice to his thoughts.  Tilting his head back and closing his eyes, he let a small sigh of relief escape.

          “Do you ever feel confused, Estel?” the whispered question drifted up to his ears.

          “About what, gwador nin?” he asked.  Please…please let me have the right answers for him.

          Legolas opened his eyes and turned his star-lit gaze on the man sitting beside him.  “Everything – why things happen.”  He sighed.  “When we left Rohan, I believed I understood what I would have to do to endure the sea’s call.  At the time, it no longer taxed me as painfully, and though I knew I must come here, I truly believed I was prepared…” His voice caught, trailed off.  A prolonged silence stretched between them. 

          “I was wrong,” the elf whispered.

          Aragorn looked down at his friend and to his sorrow, spied the silver track of a tear tracing its way from the corner of Legolas’ eye to disappear in his hair.  The elf’s face remained expressionless and still, the only sign of his turmoil found in that single tear.

          “The sea-longing has returned.”  Aragorn’s words were a statement. 

          Legolas nodded.  “Yes, although it is not as harrowing as before, it is still as strong.  The tenor of the call has changed, Estel.  Before, it demanded my attention.  Now, it just reminds me that Valinor is still there…waiting for me.” 

          A very small, very rueful smile flitted across the fair face.  “This call beguiles me even more because of its tenderness.”  Aragorn placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

          “Does the song still comfort you?” he asked.

          Legolas shrugged.  “Yes, although I perceive there is a part missing which I will find when I finally behold the great sea of Arda.”

          Aragorn studied his friend’s face thoughtfully.  “Then perhaps your true respite from the pain and confusion lies there.”

          Legolas looked up, grimacing a little.  “Probably.”

          Aragorn squeezed his shoulder, saying matter-of-factly, “ We will accompany you…”

          The elf beside him stirred slightly, prompting Aragorn to hurry and complete his thought.  “Nay, mellon nin, do not think to dissuade us from this path you walk.  We will go with you and…” He stopped at the sudden, unexpected sight of a sincerely joyful smile blooming on Legolas’ face.

          The irritating elf chuckled softly.  “I would not dream of arguing with either you, or Aravir, for that matter.” 

          Legolas sat up gracefully, turning to look at Aragorn, the smile gone and his face solemn once more.  “I understand, AT LAST, that I need help.  I still do not like you seeing me like this, but …”

          Aragorn interrupted.  “Ai!  Legolas, you are the most exasperating being I have ever met!  And that includes wizards, dwarves, and Balrog-slayers!”  He snatched up a handful of fresh, fragrant grass and threw it at the elf.  “I cannot believe you so foolish as to think we look at this as a weakness on your part!  We know you too well to think you weak!” 

          Legolas brushed the blades of grass from the front of his tunic and smiled.  “Keep reminding me of that, Estel.  For I certainly feel weak while in the midst of it all!” 

          Aragorn rose to his feet, stretching mightily, and offered a hand to the elf, pulling him to his feet.  “I will remind you hourly, if you think it necessary.  If I do not, then Aravir will…and if he does not, Arod will do it for us!”  Legolas laughed.  He whistled for the horses, and together they made their way back to the barn.  He listened closely as Aragorn told him of Erelas’ condition; elated beyond words that the tall man would live to see his children grow up.

          Leaving Arod and the mare in the large pen with the other horses, Legolas accompanied Aragorn to the house, saying simply, “We will take turns watching Erelas, Estel.  You traveled far this day to reach us and need to take some rest before dawn.”  

          Aragorn clamped his lips shut and followed Legolas up the steps into the house.  Sometimes it was simpler to just let the stubborn elf have his way!

                               ~~~~~*~~~~~

          The next day became one of celebration, for Erelas awoke complaining loudly about his stitches and his poor, starved self.  Of course, that was before he realized there was a stranger in his room that was not one of the elves. 

          When his grinning wife leaned over and whispered in his ear that the man sitting by the bed who had likely saved his life was the King of Gondor, he had almost fainted. 

          “Sire, I beg yer pardon most humbly!” he gasped, glaring at his giggling wife and smirking father. 

          The King had proven a noble, gracious man, telling him to think nothing of his outburst as he ordered a substantial breakfast for all and a rather bland one for his patient. 

          Erelas had eyed the thin gruel in disgust, muttering to Laurelin, “I didn’t KNOW he was the King, Laurie!”  She had giggled at his face and fed him, kissing his cheek often to sweeten the porridge and pacify his sore temper, while promising a better lunch IF he fared well with his breakfast.  

          He had spent the rest of the day visiting with his august guests, playing with his children, sleeping and finally, eating real food.  By dusk, Aragorn pronounced him well on the road to recovery.

          “You will, however, stay in bed for two more days,” Aragorn warned him.  “If you tear open those stitches, I will not be responsible for the damage you might do to yourself.  That of course, does not include the damage your wife will inflict on you if you disobey my orders.” 

          Erelas grimaced and lay back on his pillows.  Aragorn finally took pity on him, saying, “After tomorrow, you may start getting up for an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon.  Sitting, mind you, not walking around wearing yourself out!” 

          Erelas brightened considerably.  “Aye, my lord, sittin’ only…I give ye my word!” 

          Aragorn examined the earnest face for a few moments before laughing, “I will let Laurelin deal with you, my friend.  If she is anything like my Arwen, you will not cross words with her nor try any deception!”  The two men had laughed. 

          “Rest now,” Aragorn instructed.  “Supper is being readied by Aravir and your wife, with Raenor making suggestions.  It promises to be interesting!” 

          He left Erelas to sleep, pausing outside the kitchen to listen to the friendly squabbling going inside.  Shaking his head and grinning, the King walked out and found Legolas and Calen entertaining the other children. 

          Legolas, it appeared, had shown Elena how to braid flowers into chaplets and necklaces.  She sat on the porch, her lap full of colorful blossoms gathered from her mother’s garden that she was industriously plaiting into fragrant rings. 

          Aragorn crouched beside her.  “Well, here is a pleasant sight,” he said.  “A pretty maid weaving bright chains of pretty flowers!” 

          She smiled demurely and placed a circlet of bright blue blossoms on his head.  “Ye need a crown, my King,” she said seriously.  “These will do well for ye – they make yer gray eyes look a most interestin’ shade of blue!” 

          Smothering a surprised laugh, Aragorn bowed his head.  “I thank you, Lady Elena.  You are too kind.”  He rose to his feet.  “Be certain to make a crown for Prince Legolas.” 

          She laughed.  “I am, my lord.  And for everyone else, as well!”  She cocked her head, studying the elven prince seriously.  “I think these red flowers would suit him very well.”

          “Oh, most assuredly, Lady Elena,” Aragorn chuckled. 

          Elena looked up at him.  “Ye like teasin’ him, don’t ye?”

          Aragorn laughed.  “He teases me as well, Elena.  We have known each other a long time.” 

          She giggled.  “I shall enjoy watchin’ ye play together, sire.”   

          “Very good, my lady,” Aragorn replied pompously, waving a hand.  “Do carry on!”  He walked down the steps, her smothered giggles following him.

          In the big yard in front of the house, Legolas, Calen, and Jarrod were giving riding lessons to Brethilas and Lissiriel.  The little boy was perched on Arod’s back, almost incoherent with joy as Jarrod led the big gray around, calmly instructing the excited child. 

          To Aragorn’s great surprise, Lissiriel rode the mare; a very calm, placid mare.  Aragorn watched in amazement as Legolas and Calen led her, Legolas alternately instructing the girl and whispering in the mare’s ears, praising her gentle patience. 

          The tall elf happened to see Aragorn descending the steps and stopped the horse, gazing admiringly at his friend.  “Why, sire!” he exclaimed.  “You look lovely!” 

          Aragorn snorted, eyeing the elf warningly.  “You do not want to get me started on ‘pretty’, do you, Elf?” 

          Slate blue eyes narrowed.  “Maybe later, when I can teach you better manners in the PROPER way…as befits a King.” Legolas replied thoughtfully and continued walking the mare.  Aragorn chuckled as he strolled away toward the barn.  Elena was right – he did enjoy ‘playing’, especially with such a predictable elf!

                                ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Later that evening, Arador slipped away from the house and walked towards the lake.  He had partaken of a delicious supper with his family and new friends, his beloved son was recovering quickly, and he knew if he did not get away for a short while alone, he would probably break down in front of them all. 

          Indeed, as he walked, tears were already welling in his eyes.  He let his feet, which had walked this path countless times, carry him down to the edge of the water where he stopped, quietly weeping.  For joy and thankfulness.  For terror relieved. 

          In spite of his inner turmoil, he sensed the approach of Prince Legolas immediately.  Wiping his eyes on a big square of cloth, he turned to find the elf only a few feet away, watching him with bright, concerned eyes. 

          “Arador?” he spoke gently.  “Are you well?  Can I help?”

          “Ai!  Ye’ve already done so much, my lord,” Arador said brokenly.  “Nay, Legolas, I will be fine shortly.  This be my way of havin’ a bit of hysteria, after all is said and done.”  He blew his nose and wiped his still streaming eyes again.  “Here now, rest beside me and let’s talk.”

          He seated himself on the soft grass, Legolas sinking down gracefully beside him.  They sat quietly for a time while Arador regained his composure. 

          Legolas began singing softly, a soothing melody that spoke of still waters and green fields.  Arador felt a peace descend over him and breathed deeply, listening to the wonderful song.  After a time, the song reached an end, although Legolas still hummed it to himself. 

          “We’re part of a whole, ye know,” Arador whispered.  “Part of the elves…distantly, yet still a part.”

          “I had wondered if that might be the case,” Legolas said softly.  “Your knowledge of the language and lore of my people is more than just passing.  Calen has a measure of the healing gift also.  I sensed it when he examined his father in the forest.” 

          Arador nodded.  “We’ve thought it might be so.  And Lissi?” 

          He looked at Legolas, who smiled.  “Ah, I think Lissiriel will possess, in time, the elvish gift with animals, particularly horses.”  He shook his head.  “I would not have thought it possible, yet Arod assures me he hears her clearly…and she senses him somehow.  It may never grow beyond that, but I believe it will as she grows older.”

          He turned to face the old man more fully.  “Are you related to Imrahil and his family?” 

          Arador tossed a small pebble into the water.  “Aye, cousins we are, many generations removed.  The daughter of Imrazor the Numenorean and the elf-maiden Mithrellas also had a daughter.  We share her blood.”

          “Tell me what you know about them,” Legolas coaxed.

          “Her name was Eledwen.  Tis said she was promised to another in marriage by her father; an arranged marriage that she did not want.  She and the man she loved – one of the palace captains – ran away and married. Her father was so incensed he cast her out of the family.”  Arador paused and shook his head.  “Foolish, foolish man,” he muttered.  “To think he could control her that way.” 

          Legolas agreed.  “Please, go on.” 

          Arador leaned back on his elbows, studying the night sky.  “For many years, she and her husband were ignored, as if they didn’t even exist.  It was not until her children were Elena’s age that he relented and tried to heal the breach between ‘em.  However, the damage was done and the reconciliation never truly complete.  Over the generations, the two families have drifted even further apart, the connection being by blood only now.”  He shook his head sadly.  “But the elven heritage she brought to her marriage was preserved, ye see…language and stories and songs – all were passed down from generation to generation.”

          Legolas nodded.  It was the same with in his own family.  “And your wife, my friend?  Raen told Aravir she had taught him Sindarin.”

          The old man’s eyes darkened with grief.  “My Lindórië had such a knowledge of languages – such a gift when speaking them.  I taught her what I knew and we bought several books written in Sindarin.  She learned even more that way.  The children spent a couple of hours a day with her, learning to read Sindarin and the Common Tongue, and to figure with numbers.”

          He paused and looked at the ground.  His shoulders slumped a little and Legolas could feel his grief.  He placed a hand on the broad shoulder.  Arador turned to him, his eyes glistening with tears.  “When she got sick, I tried everything I knew to heal her.  Nothin’ worked, and in the end, she was glad to be relieved of her burden of pain.  I know in my heart we’ll be together again.  I know it, Legolas – yet I cannot draw breath without missin’ her.” 

          Legolas squeezed his shoulder.  “I know,” he murmured.  “When my naneth was slain, my adar would have faded from his grief had I not been so small and needed him so much.” 

They sat in silence for a time, watching drifting wisps of clouds veil the stars, as they remembered those they loved and had lost.  Arador finally broke the silence.  “Why do ye tarry here, my lord?”

          “Tarry?”  Legolas replied, confusion shadowing his face.

          “Yes, my friend – tarry.”  Arador examined the fair being sitting beside him, finding the same weariness and apprehension hidden in the elf’s expressive eyes he had seen before.  “Ye are called by the sea, Legolas – yet ye remain here in Ennor and suffer.  Why?”

          Legolas stared at him in shock for a moment before answering, “I stay for my mortal friends – for a promise made – a word given.” 

          The man nodded.  “I suspected that might be the case, especially where the King is concerned.  But why are ye here…so close to the sea?  I would think that might be dangerous for ye.” 

          Legolas hesitated, then suddenly found himself confiding in this man – and also in Aravir, who had silently joined them, beckoned by a nod of his lord’s golden head to sit beside him. 

          He spoke in a low voice, telling of his first experience with the sea’s call twelve years before, continuing through the dream of Nienna, and concluding with what he had learned of the song since awakening.

          Aravir sat silently when Legolas stopped speaking, astounded by the compelling story, although he had suspected all along that some form of intervention had taken place. 

          Arador gazed at the Prince with shining eyes for several minutes before exclaiming, “Ye have been given such an unexpected gift, my lord!  The need for you to remain here at Elessar’s side must be great indeed, for Iluvatar Himself has made it possible for you to endure a while longer.”

          Legolas started in surprise.  Iluvatar? 

          Arador smiled at the bemused elf.  “Surely ye recall what the Lady Nienna said to ye – yer plight had been ‘brought to her attention’.  Just who do ye think told her, my lord Elf?”

           Legolas shook his head disbelievingly.  “Manwë would have spoken to her…”

          Arador interrupted.  “And who did Manwë speak for, my friend?  Who gave him his directions?”  He waited, but Legolas and Aravir remained silent, considering this startling idea.

          “The Valar usually do not interfere with the goings on here, do they?” Arador asked. 

          The two elves shook their heads as Arador pressed his point.  “Who do ye think could convince them to do so?” 

          They stared at him silently.  “Ye may not see it, my lord, bein’ so close to the situation, but I have come to realize King Elessar’s importance to Middle Earth right now.  Ye are his friend, Legolas.  When the burden of ruling overwhelms him, ye will be able to help him.  His path will not be an easy one.  He will need those who love him around as he heals and cleanses the land of Sauron’s poison.”   He studied the still skeptical expressions on the fair faces of the two beside him.

          “But…no matter, my lord,” he said.  “What will happen will, no matter what we might think or want.  As for this trip of yers…tomorrow, if ye like, the twins and I will take ye to the sea.”

          Legolas began to grin slowly, shaking his head at Arador.  “That really will not be…”

          “Please, my lord,” Arador interrupted.  “Allow me to help.”  Legolas gazed at the old man, reading the sincerity in his eyes and finally nodded.

          “We should be glad for your guidance,” he conceded.

          Arador clapped his knees with his hands.  “Excellent judgment, lad!  Be ready to leave at dawn then.  It will take five or six hours to get there,” he explained.  He had started struggling to regain his feet when Legolas and Aravir rose smoothly, grasped him under the arms and lifted him to his feet.  

          He suppressed a surprised gasp.  Barely.  “Thank ye both…I think,” he muttered as they steadied him for a moment. 

          The elves laughed as Legolas bowed slightly.  “Hannon lle, Arador.  We will see you in the morning.” 

                                ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Legolas entered the tent and silently made his way over to the sleeping figure in the corner.  He grimaced slightly at the snuffling snore issuing from the man on the pallet, wondering if there was a cure perhaps for this noisy affliction.  Shaking his head, he leaned over, grasped Aragorn’s shoulder, and shook him gently.

          “Estel!” he whispered.  “Awake, mellon nin!” 

          Aragorn stiffened suddenly as full consciousness returned in a rush.  He blinked repeatedly, trying to focus in the dark.  Recognizing Legolas’ voice and the elf’s faintly glowing figure bending over him, he relaxed a little as that first flare of alarm faded.

          “What is it, Legolas?  What is wrong?” he asked, preparing to leap from the bed. 

          The firm hand of his friend stayed his headlong rush into action as Legolas reassured him, saying, “Nothing is wrong, Estel.  I just thought you should know…we are leaving in the morning.”

          Aragorn blinked slowly at the elf.  Legolas grinned at the sight of the King of Gondor looking up at him like a rumpled, disgruntled owl. 

          “We are?” Aragorn asked.  “Where are we going?”

          “To the sea, my friend,” Legolas replied. “Arador will guide us…and I will hear its music…finally.”  

TRANSLATIONS:

aran brannon – lord king

pen-neth – young one

Thranduilion – son of Thranduil

hannon lle – thank you

adar – father

naneth – mother

hir nin – my lord

mellon nin – my friend

gwador nin – my brother (not related by blood; rather by fellowship)

Title:  THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Disclaimer:  The characters and world of Middle-earth belong to Professor Tolkien.   The stories I write about that world are for entertainment only.

Summary:  Finally the sea, and all its attendant problems!

A/N: Once again real life threw a wrench in all my plans to finish this story during the summer.  Please accept my apologies.  My heartfelt thanks go to Eruanneth_Luin and Alassiel for their encouragement and beta skills.

Chapter 16:  Linhir

          The first feathery fingers of dawn had just reached out to stroke the nighttime sky to wakefulness when a group of riders and one lone wagon set out from the house beside the Luinaelin.  Flanked by the two guardsmen the King had left behind, Laurelin stood on the front porch and watched them go. 

          She lifted her hand in farewell, smiling slightly at the unabashed enthusiasm of her eldest boys, visible even at this distance.  The King, Legolas, and Aravir also saluted her as they rode by - reassurance and a promise to care for her sons and their grandfather.  She sighed.  Turning to the two guardsmen waiting silently behind her, she eyed them for a moment.  So young!  And earnest, too. 

          “Well, lads, come with me,” she instructed.  “Erelas and the other children will be wakin’ soon and I’ll be needin’ yer help with my husband.”  She smiled, her green eyes sparkling, as the two exchanged grins.  Oh, to be young again when everything was an adventure to be anticipated and enjoyed!  Erelas and young Brethilas would soon disabuse these two of their innocent expectations…mayhap she should warn them before they awoke. 

          “Ye may smile now,” she said, struggling to maintain a stern expression, “But I’ll be warnin’ ye, Erelas is the worst patient it has ever been my misfortune to care for…and yer King is no longer here to keep him in line.” 

          Laurelin paused for effect before adding ominously, “And that doesn’t even begin to prepare ye fer that youngest one of mine!”  She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Ai!  He’s such an inventive child!” 

          Laurelin laughed at their suddenly sober faces.  “Ah well, let’s eat now before the excitement begins.  Ye’ll certainly be needin’ yer strength.  Then I’ll tell ye what yer duties will be for the day.”  The guards followed her obediently back into the house, privately wondering just what their King had gotten them into.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Arador drove his wagon towards the forest, whistling a tuneless melody and listening with half an ear to his grandsons’ banter.  Calen and Raenor had begun the trip quietly, wide-eyed with awe and excitement at the prospect of accompanying the King and the elves on their journey. 

          The quiet had been short-lived.  Before leaving, Arador had removed the splint and sling from Calen’s arm.  After a quick examination assured him the wrist had healed, he gave the boy one of Brethilas’ soft, stuffed balls to squeeze while he rode in the wagon. 

          “’Twill strengthen those muscles that have weakened durin’ the weeks ye’ve been unable to use that arm, lad,” he explained, ignoring the disgruntled frown on his grandson’s handsome face.  “Now don’t ye argue…just be squeezin’ that ball like I showed ye.  When ye get tired, rest for a time and then start again.” 

          To Raenor’s secret delight, Calen had reluctantly agreed and the skirmish between the two had begun.   Arador grinned, clicking his tongue and snapping the reins, signaling the horse to pick up the pace.  He could tell Calen was rapidly reaching the point where stuffing the ball in his twin’s ear would afford him almost as much pleasure as being included on this trip. 

          “Stop countin’ for me, ya dolt!” Calen finally hissed at his grinning brother.  “Raen, I swear before the King and all, I will shove this ball in yer gob if ye don’t be still!” 

          Raen chuckled, but a warning glance from his grandfather effectively ended the skirmish and he settled to watch the passing scenery, which happened to include the elven Prince riding beside them.  Raen loved watching the obvious rapport between the elf and his two horses.  He was hoping Legolas might offer to let Calen and him alternate riding Arod for a time on the journey.  

        To the left of the wagon, Legolas rode the mare, Arod trotting sedately beside her.  He was vaguely aware of the twins’ teasing and Raen’s longing looks at Arod, but only peripherally.  The elf had not slept at all, content to wait out the night sitting on the porch, softly singing a counter melody to the lake’s song and preparing himself for this sojourn to the sea.  He had no idea what to expect and the rising tension that hummed through his body like a swarm of mischievous bees threatened to slip past his control. 

          Drawing a deep breath of the cool, misty morning air, Legolas closed his eyes and allowed the gentle sounds of the lake, coupled with the mare’s rhythmic gait and the sleepy song of the approaching forest’s trees, to seep into his spirit, easing tight shoulder muscles and the constriction in his throat.

          You are not alone.

          He exhaled loudly and stroked the mare fondly.  I know, mir nin.

         Arod nudged his leg gently in support and Legolas smiled at his equine friend.  Stay close, Arod nin. 

         The big silver white horse shook his head.  And where else would I be?  Sometimes your thinking…  Legolas laughed softly as much of his tension drained away like water from an overturned bucket.   

          Aravir, riding some distance behind the group, sensed the moment Legolas began to relax and wished he could take the time to enjoy that fact.  However, he had his own problem to deal with in the form of an increasingly petulant Thalion.  At present, his only reason for rejoicing rested in the fact that he remained seated on the horse’s broad back!  He stroked the big bay stallion’s neck, speaking to him softly and firmly in an effort to soothe him.

          Calm yourself, mellon nin.  Thalion shied, shifting sideways and half-rearing in his agitation.  Aravir clamped his long legs firmly around the horse’s big barrel, absorbing the jolt with clenched teeth.

          Settle down, Thalion, or by the Valar, I will return you to the barn and ride with Arador in the wagon!

         The stallion snorted and shook his mane fiercely, his gait stiff-legged and choppy.  Several days of inactivity (along with the arrival of the strange horses that had unsettled the mare to the point that Legolas had removed her from the corral) had made the fiery horse short-tempered and irritable. 

          Sensing the underlying reason for Thalion’s tantrum, Aravir relented and allowed the stallion to take up his place behind Arod and the mare.  There now!  Are you satisfied?  She is fine, as you can clearly see for yourself! 

          The elf leaned forward, slapping the strong neck affectionately as he cajoled and coaxed the temper from the horse.  Finally, the stallion’s stride lengthened and settled, allowing his passenger to relax.    

          Aragorn, riding silently across from the elves, looked at Aravir, one eyebrow lifted in question.  Aravir rolled his eyes and shook his head as they exchanged smiles and prepared to enjoy this early morning trip through the woods. 

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          The company made good time, following the Gilraen as it plunged towards the sea.  By mid-morning, they stopped briefly to rest the horses, take some refreshment, and stretch their legs.  Arador pulled out a satchel of fruit and bread that Laurelin had packed, along with several water skins. 

          “We’re about an hour or so from the main road now,” he informed the others, passing out the food and water.  “I’ll be takin’ ye through the town and across the bridge to the other side.  We’ll set up camp this evenin’ on the promontory where the bay joins the open sea.  I’ve taken the twins there before.  It’s a pretty place…plenty of fresh water…trees…and away from the pryin’ eyes of travelers that come through town.  We’ll eat a bit here, then stop for a bigger meal in town before movin’ on to the camp.”

          All gratefully partook of the brief meal except Legolas, who wandered a short distance over to the bank of the river and stood staring at the rushing water, lost in thought.  Aragorn watched him closely, but made no effort to approach him. 

         Aravir set aside a peach from Laurelin’s orchard and a large slice of bread, wrapping it in a cloth.  He would see about tempting his friend to eat a little once the journey had resumed.  After the short rest, Arador checked the harness and horse carefully and nodded to the King that all was in readiness to continue.  The others mounted as Aragorn walked over to Legolas.

          “Legolas.”  A gentle touch on his shoulder.  “Legolas.”  The elf tore his attention from the rushing current of water below and looked into the concerned gray eyes of his friend.  “Come, my friend.  Arador is ready to move on.

          Legolas nodded and walked slowly over to the mare who was grazing quietly alongside Arod.  Aragorn watched as he spoke softly to both horses, leaning heavily against Arod’s side for a moment and gazing at the wagon nearby. 

          “Raen!” the elf called.  The boy jumped down from the wagon and ran over to his side, his silver gray eyes bright with interest and hope.  Legolas studied him closely before asking, “Do you need a saddle and bridle to ride, pen-neth?"”

          Raen shook his head, replying, “Calen and I both have ridden without before, though always inside the fence at the barn.” 

          Legolas nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention to Arod, laying his hand on the horse’s neck.  Horse and elf stood quietly for a long moment before Arod tossed his head and moved over to shove his nose into the boy’s chest.  Raen laughed, stroking the silky forehead. 

          “He is willing to carry you, Raenor, without saddle or bridle,” Legolas said. “He responds to direction by pressure from your legs; however, he will follow the mare closely without prompting from you.  It would not harm him to carry you at this pace for a time.  Would you like to ride him until we reach the town?” 

           Raen clamped down on his shout of joy and replied steadily, “Yes, hir nin, if you will allow it.” 

          Legolas smiled slightly. “Oh, it is entirely up to Arod, and he is agreeable.  Also, Calen may ride him on the return journey, if Arador pronounces his arm strong enough.” 

          He nodded at Calen, who had been sitting in the wagon watching and feeling decidedly left out.  The boys both beamed at him in agreement and Legolas helped Raen mount the gray gelding before vaulting onto the mare’s back.  Urging her to follow the wagon, they moved off with Arod and Raen trotting beside them. 

          Watchful green eyes marked the conversation between Legolas and Raenor and when the boy mounted Arod, Aravir looked over to meet the gaze of the King and nodded.      

          Legolas had grown progressively quieter as they had traveled, although they heard him humming softly from time to time.  This interaction with the twins was encouraging; it proved he was not as lost to the sea’s call as they had feared.  They were only an hour or so from reaching Linhir and after that, the sea.   Neither King nor captain had any idea what lay ahead for them and their friend.  They still could not help but approach the next hours with caution and a large measure of concern, but this small action on Legolas’ part eased their hearts and minds considerably.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Legolas forced himself to laugh and talk with each member of the party after that brief stop to rest.  He had surfaced from his contemplation of the river’s song at Aragorn’s summons, feeling drained and slightly dizzy, and very aware of the eyes of his fellow travelers surreptitiously studying his face, his every move.  He realized his preoccupation had revived everyone’s concern for him and set himself to erase that concern, or at least deflect it. 

          Suppressing a groan at the thought of being the center of attention, he took a large bite of the peach Aravir had saved for him and froze.  Ai!  Nectar fit for a Vala!  Swallowing, he made quick work of the fruit, savoring the sweet flavor and licking the sticky juice from his fingers like a greedy child.  Legolas noticed Calen grinning at him and chunked the peach pit at the boy, who yelped when it bounced off his shoulder. 

          “Let that be a lesson to you, young Calen,” Aragorn called.  “Never comment on the table manners of elves!” 

          Legolas sniffed grandly and nibbled on the bread, pausing from time to time to respond with a joking remark to Jarrod or one of the guards.

          Aravir watched his lord’s efforts to lighten the mood, marveling at how quickly and willingly the men put aside their worry to laugh with Legolas.  He, however, was not fooled.

          Neither was the man riding beside him.  Since resuming their journey, Legolas had pointedly ignored the two he was closest to.  Aragorn watched Legolas tease the twins, his expression an interesting combination of irritated exasperation and fond worry.   

          “His talent for frustrating me knows no bounds, Aravir,” he stated in a soft, flat voice.  “Look at him – as carefree and merry as an elf could be.  And he is blatantly avoiding us.”

          Aravir nodded.  He was well aware of the source of Aragorn’s frustration, but knew Legolas would not welcome any questions in front of the others; would only see them as embarrassing and intrusive.  His Prince valued his privacy, and had cultivated a rigid discipline of his emotions from the time he had been old enough to understand his public role as the King’s son.  Such a skill had proven invaluable in his travels as his father’s ambassador, had surely saved his life on the Quest, and, unfortunately, made him difficult to approach when he was hurting or needed help. 

         The two rode silently for awhile before the dark-haired elf uttered a silent, heartfelt curse and looked at the man beside him.  Legolas will not thank me for sharing this with the King, but it is necessary.  Perhaps he will forgive me…after an Age or two…

          “I grew up watching Aran Thranduil, my lord.”  Aragorn’s gaze sharpened at Aravir’s sudden confidence.  “He, too, governs his emotions and temper with an iron will – most of the time.” 

          Aravir smiled as Aragorn snorted in surprised amusement before continuing softly.  “The Prince is not as volatile as his Adar.  He is more slowly angered or distressed, yet the feelings tend to remain with him longer.  He has become quite the expert at concealing them, as you might have noted.” 

          “Indeed,” Aragorn murmured.  They rode a short distance further in considering silence before Aravir offered the King of Gondor one final observation about the Prince. 

          “I realize you have known him well for tens of years, while I have only recently made his acquaintance and become his friend.  However, I have watched him closely for hundreds of years.”  He paused. 

          “He is the calmest, most controlled ellon I know…on the surface.”  Another thoughtful pause. 

          “But if ever you wish to know his true state of mind, Aran Elessar, look at his hands.”  With that cryptic statement, the elven captain nodded politely, flexed his knees and sent Thalion trotting forward ahead of the wagon.

          A puzzled Aragorn stared after him, a frown creasing his forehead.  His hands?

          Speaking softly to the mist-gray stallion he rode, Aragorn allowed the horse to drift until they drew even with Legolas, Raenor, and the wagon.  He exchanged a smile with his elven friend and a few sallies with Arador, watching the twins attempt to play a word game with Legolas.  He joined the light-hearted laughter as the boys quickly became quite tongue-tied, only then allowing his eyes to fall, casually examining the Prince’s posture and hands.  Legolas sat the mare gracefully, one strong hand grasping her light golden mane, the other resting on his thigh.  

          Well…he looks relaxed enough.  Then Aragorn looked more closely and realized the truth of Aravir’s observation.  The Prince’s hands were fisted; the fingers clenched so tightly his knuckles showed white with strain under the fair skin.

          And we are yet miles from the sea.  What will happen when he must face it?

~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*

          The sea’s presence grew ever stronger as the little party drew closer to Linhir.  They regained the main road a league’s distance from the town and quickly noticed how the scent of salt and wet sands and fish became more noticeable, carried to them on a prevailing breeze.  They stopped long enough for Raen to rejoin his brother in the wagon and Arod moved even closer to Legolas’ side.

          Arador led them through the outskirts of Linhir, populated by a smattering of small farms; the land checkered with fields of tall plants bowing with heavily laden heads of grain, ripe for harvest.  Other fields sported the golden stubble of recently scythed crops, while still others contained the precise rows of low-lying green plants, each row tended by women and young girls intent on filling the baskets they carried with large, ripe red berries.

          “Look, Calen!  The strawberry crop is ripe!” Raen exclaimed.  “Mayhap Daerada will buy some in town!” 

          Calen laughed and slapped his brother affectionately on the back.  “No wonder Naneth gave us the coins before we left!  She knew if the berry crop was in ye’d never rest until ye had some!  Truth is, brother mine, ye are as bad as Brethilas when it comes to berries!”  Raen grinned.  Actually, he was worse than his little brother…he just wasn’t quite as messy about it.

          The road continued to drop towards the bay where the fresh waters of the river mixed with the salt of the sea. They could now see the flashing glimmer of light reflecting off water from time to time, though the sea itself still lay mostly concealed from their eyes.  Arador led them across the big bridge that connected the outer farms to Linhir proper and Legolas and Aravir found, to their relief and delight, that this town of men was not at all what they expected.

           With the removal of the Corsair threat, Linhir had blossomed from a mediocre fishing village into a thriving port of call.  Its location at the head of a narrow inlet connected to the open waters of the Belegaer offered more than adequate protection to ships during squalls and storms.  The townspeople had decided then to make it as attractive to visitors as possible. 

          The town itself was built into the side of the surrounding hills; the docks and storage houses constructed at the water’s edge were easily reached by well-kept roads winding down the hillside to the sea.  It provided a welcome haven to the fishing fleet that called Linhir home, as well as the larger visiting ships that brought goods to the town and carried away barrels of grain and salted fish, as well as boxes of strawberries or dried herbs to the large markets at Pelargir.

          A pretty town, it had been constructed in terraces around the landscape rather than in place of it, so that the native trees and shrubs remained, lining the roads and growing next to buildings to provide color and shade to citizens and visitors alike.  Storefronts as well as homes boasted boxes and wooden barrels overflowing with bright flowers.  To the discerning eyes of two wood elves, it was indeed a pleasant surprise.

          Legolas leaned towards Aravir and whispered in Sindarin, “I believe this is the first mannish town I have ever seen that has allowed any trees to survive its construction!” 

          He looked up, his attention captured by a gull floating overhead, and murmured, “Its cry does not seem to bother me right now.” 

          The Prince then turned turbulent sea-gray eyes on his captain and friend and studied him closely.  “You should never have come.  You also bear the risk of hearing the gulls and awakening the call of the sea in your heart.”  

          He looked away, his face grim.  “I hope you have not sealed your fate by following after me.”

          Aravir smiled.  “Stop worrying, Legolas!  I am fine.  As of this moment, I feel nothing but fascination for the sea.  Truly, I cannot wait to see it!” 

          Legolas stared at his friend for a moment, then retorted, “I hope that fascination is all you come away from this trip with.” 

          Aravir shrugged.  “We are told that the call will come to all of us, Legolas.  Worry not for me.  It is yourself you should be concerned about.” 

          “Why bother?”  Legolas relaxed suddenly, grinning.  “You and Aragorn worry enough for me.  My energy is better spent on other things.” 

          Aravir sniffed.  “Like what?  Rescuing men…dealing with argumentative dwarves…naming new horses…and keeping the older one happy…?” He grinned at Arod’s indignant I heard that!  “Traveling all over Ennor singing...or ordering a King or two around, perhaps?”  He continued to tick off his list on his fingers until Legolas was helpless with laughter. 

          “My, I am a busy elf, am I not?” he chuckled, feeling the warmth of friendship deep in his heart.  He looked over at Aragorn to find the man laughing at Aravir’s foolishness also, his gray eyes filled with mirth. 

          He responded to the King’s laughter impishly, “I would never dream of ordering a King around, Aravir.  As for the dwarf – one does not deal with him, one only endeavors to survive the encounter!” 

          The listening guards laughed with them, clearly recalling some of the more memorable conversations between Legolas and Gimli.  Then of course, Arador and the twins had to hear of them, resulting in even more hilarity.  A merry, boisterous group turned onto one of the side streets leading to a nearby inn, their laughter blending with the startled calls of birds overhead.

          A very tall, muscular man dressed in a clean, plain tunic and loose trousers came out the door at the sound of the wagon, took one look at the number in the party, and sounded the alarm in a deep, booming voice.

          “Artamir!  Haldor!  Valadir!  Come out here, ye slackards!  We have guests!”

          The doors of a building next to the inn flew open and three youths ranging in age from fifteen to ten years burst out.

          “Coming, Father!” the youngest shouted, his shorter legs pumping to keep up with his long-legged older brothers.

          The man turned to greet his guests, his whole face lighting up at the sight of Arador.  “Arador!  It’s been an age since we’ve seen ye, my friend!  And ye’ve brought Erelas’ lads, too!” 

          “Get down!” he urged, his dark eyes sparkling with pleased surprise.  “Get down, old man, so I might greet ye properly!”  Arador chuckled, climbing down from the wagon only to be swept into a hearty, bone- crushing hug from his much larger friend.

          “Ummmmph!” Arador gasped.  “Thoron, ye great oaf, leave off!” 

          Thoron shouted his amusement and gently set the smaller man down, thumping his back energetically and almost knocking him off his feet.  Calen and Raen climbed down to be swarmed just as happily by Thoron’s sons while the elves, Aragorn, and his guards watched the reunion, laughing. 

          The babble of greetings finally died down as Thoron asked Arador, “What brings ye to Linhir, Arador?  We weren’t expectin’ ye until next month when ye and Erelas bring in the last herbs of the season.”

          Arador turned the large man around and directed his attention to the men and elves waiting patiently behind them.  One dark eyebrow vanished into Thoron’s black hair as he quickly took note of the fine horses, the four men dressed in the livery of the King of Gondor’s guard, the tall, imposing figure who could only be the King himself…and two elves!

          “Well!” he sputtered.  “WELL!…Yes…umm…! 

          Arador turned his bright blue eyes on the King and exclaimed, “Make note of this day, my lord!  Thoron is speechless!” 

          Everyone laughed, Thoron loudest of all.  He quickly remembered his business and bid his sons and the twins lead the guards’ horses and wagon to the stable.  Aravir leapt from Thalion’s back, taking the reins of Aragorn’s stallion and calling to Arod and the mare. 

          “I will take these to the stable, Master Thoron,” he offered, bowing slightly, and walked away with his small herd following behind amiably.

          Introductions made, Thoron led the group into his “humble inn” as Arador explained.  “We’ve come for a meal, my friend.”

          “Well, ye be in luck, my lords,” Thoron’s dark, laughing eyes encompassed the whole group.  “A meal ye want…tis a meal ye shall have!  My wife has prepared a particularly fine lunch today!” 

          He directed them to the taproom where the guards made themselves comfortable near the door and Arador found the King and Prince a large table with a fine view of the hills and bay below.  Aravir joined them, explaining that Raen and Calen would eat with the other boys outside.

          Thoron and his wife, a statuesque brunette with shrewd eyes and a welcoming smile, served them large platters of fresh grilled fish, roasted potatoes, crusty loaves of hot bread, plates of sharp cheese and aromatic fruit, featuring bright red strawberries with bowls of clotted sweet cream on the side.

          Both men and elves ate until their appetites were sated, pushing back from the table with loud, appreciative groans.

          “Thalion will refuse to carry me,” Aravir moaned, “And the mare will collapse when you mount her again, hir nin.” 

          Legolas scowled briefly at his captain.  “I did not eat that much.” 

          At Aravir’s patently disbelieving look, he chuckled and stood, clapping him on the back. 

          “Come, mellon nin,” he invited, grinning across the table at Aragorn and Arador.  “I sense a sudden attack of pipe-longing in Aran Telcontar.  We should leave before he succumbs to it!”  Aravir rose with alacrity and accompanied the Prince to the door, the laughter of the men following on their heels.

          Thoron beamed at the two elves as they passed, saluting him and extending their compliments on the meal.  High praise indeed, coming from two of the Firstborn!   

          Aravir followed Legolas as he made his way over to a large, ancient beech tree that cast its shade over the stable and the well-kept grounds.  They settled comfortably under the tree, caressing the rough bark in greeting and smiling at the surprised thrumming response from the old one…a tree that possessed a sapling’s memory of the touch and song of the Eldar who had traveled this coast long ago.  Legolas leaned back, content of feel the sea breeze on his face and listen to the old tree’s welcome.

          Cloud gray eyes surveyed the activity in the harbor below, noting the organized chaos of a newly arrived ship unloading its cargo, and Legolas smiled slightly at the shouted instructions issued by a large, imposing individual.  The man seemed to have everyone hopping to obey him - the men scurrying to move large boxes from the ship’s hold to the dock.  The Prince gradually grew aware of the close regard of his companion, the lucent green gaze of his friend studying his features.  He looked at Aravir, one eyebrow lifting slightly in question.

          “Is the call strong now, my lord?” Aravir asked quietly, the concern evident in his voice.

          Legolas closed his eyes, his face calm and relaxed.  “Oddly enough, not at this time, Aravir,” he replied.  “I believe the song was actually more troubling on the path by the river.” 

          He paused, opening his eyes to frown at Aravir’s softly grumbled, “I noticed” before continuing.  “Right now it is a pleasantly faint melody playing in the back of my mind.”  

          Staring at the bay stretched out below them, he murmured thoughtfully, “Perhaps the open sea is still too distant and the harbor here is confined enough to block the full effect of the open waters.”  

          Silence reigned for a time as the two elves lost themselves in the bright sunlit scene before them and the whispered song of the tree at their backs.  Legolas had almost slipped into dreams when a troubling thought catapulted him back to consciousness.  He straightened suddenly, looking closely at Aravir and nudging him with an elbow. 

          Aravir turned his head. “What?” 

          “Are you well, my friend?” Legolas asked. 

          At Aravir’s blank look, he added, “The call of the sea, remember?” 

          Aravir smiled reassuringly.  “I am fine, neth ernil.  Worry not, Legolas.  I have not felt even a flutter of reaction – neither here nor in Pelargir when we passed through days ago.” 

          Legolas sighed deeply.  “I am relieved to hear it.  One of us suffering is more than enough.”  He closed his eyes, settling back against the tree once more and ignoring Aravir’s soft snort of amused agreement.

          The two elves passed the next hour quietly until the guards exited the inn, Aragorn and Arador close behind and accompanied by Thoron.  Aravir spoke a quiet word to Legolas before rising and making his way into the stable to alert the twins and prepare the horses and wagon.

          Legolas rose and strolled over to the group of men, grinning at the display of rough affection from Thoron as he said farewell to Arador. 

          “Arador does not see our friend Thoron often,” he whispered to Aragorn. 

          Aragorn glanced sideways at the elf.  “And how do you surmise that, mellon nin?” he asked softly, his words hidden by the noisy arrival of the wagon and horses as Aravir led them from the barn. 

          “Because his walk has thus far been unimpaired,” Legolas’ grin broadened. “At least until now.”  Both chuckled as Aravir rescued the old man from a particularly exuberant embrace and helped him into the wagon beside the twins.  The rest of the party hurried to mount their horses and in no time the company was ready to depart.

          “We thank you for your hospitality and a fine meal, Thoron,” Aragorn told the man.  “This is a beautiful place.” 

          Gray eyes scanned the surrounding town and harbor before returning to look approvingly at their host.  “I will be certain to apprise the palace cooks of the excellent fish provided here.  You can be certain we in Minas Tirith will take advantage of it in the future.”

          “Thank ye, milord,” Thoron smiled broadly.  “We could use the business and yer kind recommendation, that’s fer certain.  And ye are welcome here at any time ye care to visit!” 

          He bowed deeply, his stately wife and three sons following his lead.  Farewells exchanged, the wagon lumbered forward, leading the group up the street to the main road and out of Linhir.

~~~~~*~~~~~

          About three miles west of Linhir, Arador turned the wagon left and quit the main road.  The faint lane he led them down crossed a wide expanse of rolling hills.  The soil became sandier, supporting mostly hardy grasses with the occasional patch of late-blooming wildflowers caught amidst the green like bright jewels in a net. 

          The land dipped and the lane followed, curving west then slowly south before entering one of the few areas of dense vegetation nestled in the hollows between the hills – an old wood consisting of gnarled, wind-twisted trees of interesting shapes.  The trees offered welcome shade from the sun’s glaring rays and garnered the elves’ undivided attention as they sought to understand the wild, restless song sung by trees totally in thrall to the breezes and gales of the sea.

          One hour past their entrance into the wood, the troupe broke from the forest into full sun and Arador stopped the wagon.  Sharp blue eyes examined the tree line for a moment before the old man turned the horse and wagon off the lane.  Clucking to the patient animal, he guided the group forward until they reached a point where the trees began to thin, the boundary separating the wood from the grassy plain curving again even further left.

          As they rounded the corner, Legolas drew a sharp breath, his stunned eyes fixed on the unimpeded panorama laid out before him.  The dense living forest whispered on his left while before him the tall grassy plain extended for several miles more before giving way to sand, which gave way to the swelling waves breaking upon the shore in a constant rhythmic pattern.  Entranced, the elf’s slate blue eyes clouded to deep gray as they traced the shoreline meandering west; the smooth white sands of the beach before him ended abruptly several miles down, broken by immense stone outcroppings at the base of high, rocky cliffs.  The swelling waves of the beach became crashing breakers, throwing a misty fog filled with fractured prisms of light into the air.

          Legolas closed his eyes, grabbing a handful of the mare’s mane and holding tightly as he concentrated his considerable strength and will in an effort to counter the sharp longing that twisted his insides and stole his breath.  Beside him, Aravir sat transfixed by the enormous scope of the waters before him.  Stories told of the sea could never begin to match the reality of it.

          Several gulls flew overhead, their destination the shallow waters and tidal pools scattered between beach and cliffs.  Their wailing cries reached the ears of the two elves, causing them both to flinch slightly.  Aravir lifted his eyes to follow the birds’ wheeling flight, a strange tightness causing him to swallow hard as he rubbed his chest absentmindedly. 

          Finally, he shook off the strange heaviness, his forest green eyes fixing on Legolas with concern.  He watched the golden-haired elf sitting astride his mare, silent and still, face lifted towards the setting sun, eyes closed.  Even as he watched, Legolas’ anguished expression smoothed and became composed as his hands, his whole body suddenly relaxed.

          He does not seem to be in any pain or distress.  Aravir turned his attention to the steel white gelding standing alertly beside the mare.  Arod, my friend, is he well?

         He does not hurt as before – but he is far away.

         Aravir nodded.  That is what he had sensed also.

          Aragorn rode up beside him and asked softly, “ Aravir, how fares the Prince?”

          “He does not appear to be in any great distress, hir nin,” Aravir replied.  “Although he has been transfixed since our first sight of the sea.” 

          He turned to the King, his eyes questioning.  “Arod is concerned, but not frightened.  Should we try to rouse him?”

          Aragorn considered the still figure of his best friend, his healer’s eyes noting the even breathing, the fine flush of color on Legolas’ high cheekbones.  “Nay,” he answered.  “Nay, leave him be for now, Aravir.” 

          He studied the rapt face, a sudden thought occurring to him.  “It could be the Song he is so immersed in right now.”

          Aravir’s eyes brightened; he nodded slowly in agreement.  “It was his sole purpose in coming here – to find that part of the song he believed the Belegaer could provide.”  They exchanged mutually relieved glances.

          “Leave him undisturbed for now, my friend,” the King instructed, his eyes narrowing as he watched Aravir rub his chest again.  The elf had made the same gesture several times since they had started talking and seemed unaware of his actions. 

          Aragorn gritted his teeth and, in spite of a growing concern, managed to continue calmly, “We will establish our camp here.  If he remains lost to it, perhaps we will try to rouse him later.”

          He waited for a moment, watching Aravir stare at the waves.  “Aravir?”  No response.  Aragorn reached across and shook the elf’s arm.  “Aravir!” 

          The elf turned startled green eyes on the King.  “I beg your pardon, my lord.  Were you speaking to me?” 

          Aragorn stared at him, holding the elf’s eyes with his own stern gaze.  “Are you all right?  Are you in some sort of pain?  You seem uncomfortable.”

          Aravir shook his head.  “No, my lord.  It is not a pain precisely.”  He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  “I am fine…just somewhat overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all.”

          “I will take your reply as truth, my friend,” the King said slowly.  “And I will trust you to tell me if you are in any trouble.”

          “I give you my word, Elessar,” the elf replied softly.  “If I feel the longing begin, I will tell you.  This is more of a tug…without form or direction, really.  It is not bad, hir nin.” 

          The man nodded curtly and the two moved to help the others unload the wagon.  Jarrod had the guards quickly erect two tents while he laid a fire large enough to cook a substantial meal on later, pausing from time to time to look at the silent, motionless figure of his lord’s friend.  Arador sent the twins off to the beach, two long, efficient-looking spears in their hands.

          “Fish, lads,” he told them, grinning.  “Fresh fish baked over hot coals, along with some of those fresh vegetables yer naneth sent…and some of the fresh bread and strawberries Thoron’s wife packed fer us.”

          Raen and Calen laughed at their grandfather’s beatific expression and promised him a fine catch in time for supper.  Abruptly, Raen’s face sobered as his gaze returned to Legolas’ still figure.  At some point, the elf had dismounted, but still seemed lost to a vision only he could see; a song only he could hear.  The mare and Arod had not left his side, although they had relaxed their vigilance enough to begin grazing on the deep, thick grass. 

          “Daerada?” Calen whispered as Arador laid a comforting hand on each boy’s shoulder.

          “He knew it would affect him, lads,” he told them.  “He also knew he had to come.  We’ll stand watch until he finds his answers.” 

          He smiled reassuringly at both boys.  “Don’t worry – his time here is not yet ended.  Not even close.”  He squeezed the strong young shoulders and gave them a gentle shove in the direction of the beach.  “Now, unless fish have taken to jumpin’ onto yer spears, ye’d best get started before it gets too dark to see.  Off ye go!”

          Comforted somewhat, the twins raced off.  Arador sighed and looked back at the elven Prince.  “Now, just WHO will reassure this old man?” he grumbled, moving stiffly to the back of the wagon. 

          Calling to two of Aragorn’s escorts, he grabbed two buckets from the wagon, along with some of the empty water skins.  “Come on then, lads.  Fresh water not too far from here.”  The men groused good-naturedly as they lifted the rest of the skins and followed Arador into the woods to fetch water for the camp. 

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Night had fallen, soft darkness punctuated by brilliant stars and Ithil waxing, their reflections glittering on the ever-shifting surface of the sea.  The men had eaten their fill of grilled fish and laid about the blazing fire, talking in quiet, desultory tones. 

          Legolas came to himself with a start; his heart pounded frantically and he felt panicked…as if he had forgotten something very important.  He was still standing in the same place, Arod and the mare grazing off to one side, their coats molten silver and gold in the moonlight. 

          What?  I have forgotten something vital…what was it? 

         He breathed deeply, forcing his mind to calm down and think.  The mouthwatering scent of good food cooked over an open fire reminded him of hunger; the faint trembling of his legs told him he had been standing, muscles locked, for far too long. 

          What have I forgotten? 

         Suddenly, elven ears detected a faint song blending with the melody of the sea, a song that spoke of great love and great loss.  Legolas shut his eyes. 

          Ai, no!  Aravir!

TRANSLATIONS:

mellon nin – my friend

hir nin – my lord

pen-neth – young one

neth ernil – young prince

aran brannon – lord king

Ai! – alas!

Daerada – Grandfather

naneth – mother

ellon – male elf

mir nin – my treasure (jewel)

Title: THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Disclaimer:  The characters and settings of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  I merely borrow them for a time to play with!

Summary:  Legolas comes to a deeper understanding of the Song and the sea’s call, while Aravir begins his own journey of discovery.

A/N:  Many thanks to Eruanneth_Luin and Alassiel for their patience and beta skills.  I wish real life would leave me alone…

Chapter 17:  The Gift of the Sea

          He stood on a high cliff overlooking a wondrously fair and lush land.  Everywhere he turned, his eyes beheld a vista of such diversity he could scarce take it in; immense forests and wide, rolling plains of undulating grass…majestic mountains standing sentinel to mighty rivers rushing towards the distant sea.  He found each view overflowing with rich, vivid colors, and enveloped in air so soft and sweetly scented with the fresh green smell of growing things his senses were overwhelmed.  The light possessed a clarity that magnified the beauty spread before him ten, nay, a thousand fold, while meandering through the sights and scents sounded the clarion call of bells ringing.  The clear notes of each bell, interwoven with the melody of the land, spoke specifically to him; a summons of the heart to come home, to rest assured of his welcome here.  He could barely breathe for the yearning that suffused his very being.  Hot tears stung his eyes and blurred his vision.  In that moment, he knew there was nothing he wanted more than to descend from the heights and lose himself in this fair place the rest of his immortal life.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Aragorn lifted his eyes from an absentminded perusal of the fire just in time to catch sight of a faintly gleaming figure gliding past the camp on a direct line towards the forest.  He jumped to his feet, snatched up a nearby torch, and murmuring a quick order to Jarrod, set off at a loping run after Legolas.

          The elf, unaware of his friend’s pursuit, had not traveled far into the wood before he came upon Calen and Raen seated beneath a large oak growing beside the shallow stream that wound fitfully through the trees to empty into the sea several miles away.  Hidden somewhere in the oak’s leafy canopy perched the singer of the haunting melody that wafted over the forest like falling leaves drifting on an evening breeze.

          Legolas halted before the oak, searching the upper branches of the tree for Aravir.  Raen and Calen stood at his approach, watching him quietly.  Calen touched his brother’s shoulder and the twins exchanged uneasy looks.

          When they had returned from fishing, Arador had apprised them of Aravir’s condition, and they had all agreed this was not their problem.  Still, Raen and Calen had worried.  The King and his men guarded Lord Legolas, while Aravir was alone.  In the end, they had found it impossible to abandon the elf.

          Their grandfather had told the boys in no uncertain terms that, as neither the captain nor the Prince were human, their decision to stay by the tree constituted an outright intrusion.  They had remained anyway.

          In the face of his grandsons’ stubborn resistance, Arador had thrown up his hands and stalked back to camp.  “Stay then, if ye will,” he had called over his shoulder in a stiff voice.  “But do not be surprised if the Prince does not thank ye for yer interference.  The sea-longing is a private, personal thing among the Firstborn, especially at its onset.  Ye do not belong.”

          That parting shot had sobered both boys considerably, and as darkness fell, they had built a very small fire to provide a measure of light and warmth during their vigil.  Now, Prince Legolas was here, and faced with his possible rejection, they sensibly decided to remain quiet…and hope that the elf would not see them.

          Not see us?  How in the name of the Valar could he possibly miss us?  Calen felt a bubble of hysterical laughter threaten at the thought, and Raen, sensing his brother’s mood, elbowed him in the side.  Calen clamped down on the laugh and shot Raen an appreciative glance.

          Heedless of the two young men who waited breathlessly for his notice, his keen hunter’s eyes trained intently on the dark branches overhead, the golden haired elf remained silent.  Looking at the distant, grim expression on the usually open, friendly face, Raen could only think that his grandfather had been right, after all.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Aragorn broke from the trees into the small glade suffused with the warm yellow light of a fire and the ethereal glow of the stars.  In that light stood three figures, images carved like statues out of the night itself.  Aragorn paused briefly, studying Legolas’ stiff expression and posture before moving to stand quietly at his side.

          Smoke gray eyes flicked over the twins as Raen stepped forward and took the torch from the King’s hand.  His slight nod of thanks and approval eased the boys’ tension considerably.  Calen took a deep breath as his brother released the one he had been holding.  They had not been certain their presence would be appreciated…the King’s nod had at least made it acceptable.

          Long minutes passed; the little glade undisturbed but for the soft susurration of the stream and an elf’s hushed song of longing.  A hunting owl suddenly swooped down from a nearby tree, ghosting across the stream to snatch a quick meal on the other side.  The night breeze quickened, sighing through the trees and ruffling the men’s hair with careless fingers.

         The movement and sudden shriek of an unseen prey captured seemed to shatter the tension abruptly as Legolas started, his eyes reflexively scanning the opposite bank of the stream for danger.  Finding none, he heaved a great sigh and bowed his head, the golden hair falling forward to partially conceal his face.  Aragorn laid a hand on the tense shoulder and squeezed slightly, a gesture of comfort offered…and still no one uttered a word.

          Finally, Legolas lifted his head and Calen smothered a troubled protest at the crushing guilt plainly etched on the fair face.  The Prince looked at the man beside him and whispered, “I told him not to come, Estel.”

          He drew a shuddering breath.  “He would not listen.  His only thought was for my safety and well-being.”

          Aragorn’s grip on the elf’s shoulder tightened as he replied softly, “You could not have kept him away, gwador nin, any more than you could have kept me from coming to your side.”

          The King’s gaze grew more intent.  “It was HIS decision.  He came for many reasons, Legolas, not the least of which was his love for you.”

          Legolas turned and met his friend’s eyes, his own silver bright.  He nodded.  “I must go to him.”

          Another deep breath and he appeared to steady.  “Perhaps I can help.”

          He laid his own hand over the strong one gripping his shoulder.  “Hannon le, Estel.”

          Aragorn bowed his head slightly in response.  Legolas turned to the twins, who had moved to one side and stood watching the exchange with concerned expressions.

          “Thank you both for looking after him,” the elf said, laying one hand over his heart and bowing to the boys.  “Go with the King now…I will see you back at the camp later.”

          Without another word, he looked up and sprang lightly onto a low hanging branch.  Aragorn and the twins watched him quickly vanish into the night and the concealing leaves of the oak.

          “Put out the fire, Calen,” Aragorn instructed.  “And Raen, bring the torch.”  He handed Calen a small water skin and waited patiently as the boy quickly doused the fire, Raen moving to scatter the coals and make certain no spark remained.  The chore completed, they returned to Aragorn’s side.  The man placed a comforting hand on each youth’s shoulder and turned them in the direction of the camp.

          “Come,” he urged gently.  “Your daeradar will be concerned.  We will await Legolas and Aravir’s return at the campsite.”

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Legolas leaped from branch to branch, the skill as old and familiar to him as drawing his bow, his movement fluid and precise, his attention focused on reaching his friend.  He deliberately approached Aravir from above, not wishing to disturb the song or startle the singer into an unplanned descent from his perch.

          He dropped silently onto the sturdy limb, crouching beside the oblivious figure for a brief moment to study the closed eyes and rapt expression gracing his captain’s face.  The softly sung words spoke of a far green country of unspeakable beauty and Legolas knew exactly what Aravir was seeing…he had been there often enough in his own visions.

          Laying a hand on Aravir’s shoulder, he whispered, “I am here, mellon nin,” and proceeded to settle beside his friend to wait, dangling his long legs over the edge and leaning against the immense trunk of the old oak.

          Legolas lifted his eyes to the nighttime sky, gazing at the star-dusted magnificence framed within the sturdy branches of the tree and sighed.  His quick mind picked up the melody Aravir sang, as well as the counterpoint murmured by the tree, the rushing waters below, and the deeper, more compelling voice of the distant ocean.

          He began to hum a simple harmony, marveling anew at how all the various voices seemed to come together to form a glorious symphony of sound.

          Once more the truth shown to me by Nienna is affirmed; it has not changed since I opened my eyes in Eolyn’s room to become ever more aware of the different melodies of Ennor.  Perhaps the lesson will never end, from now until the end of days; that we all have a part in the Great Song…men…dwarves…hobbits…from the smallest living thing to…why, the very rocks of the earth cry out their own chorus to the music!

          He shook his head at the wonder of it all.  Even the Firstborn, whose time here is ending, still have a part in the song…and not only here, but in the song of Aman, as well.  Yet we of Middle-earth drown in our grief and longing, and fail to recognize our continuing importance on this side of the Sundering Sea.  Still.  Until the last of us takes ship.

          The elven Prince considered the simplicity of the Creator’s plan.  The perfection of His Song is not limited to the Blessed Realm.  And why would it be?  He is the One – the Creator of all.  Why should not the music here touch the deepest part of me, for has this not been my home also, since birth?  There is the home that beckons…and here the home that abides.  Both songs would resonate within me.  Both would offer comfort and strength, and I must learn to find that comfort until the time comes for me to leave these shores.  And when the time comes, I will take the melodies of Ennor with me when I go.  How could I think to leave behind the music of Ithilien and the Greenwood, the song of the Golden Wood and Rohan’s plains or the deep caverns of Aglarond, the White Tree…of Arwen and Aragorn…Gimli…

          His heart faltered at the painful thought of losing those dear ones…but I will not lose them entirely, and Iluvatar willing, the melody of our friendship and love will endure until we are reunited.

          Legolas felt an easing of the tight knot of grief that had gripped him since the day long ago when he first began to comprehend the finite lives of his mortal friends; a grief compounded since then by the cry of the gulls.  He swallowed a sudden urge to laugh.  How arrogant of me to believe I am the sole cause of Aravir’s predicament!  Arador tried to tell me I was part of a greater scheme…that we all are.  Aravir has his place also in the melody, and his awakening to the sea’s call is part of it.  My task now is to help others carry on, and not hinder them with undue panic and concern. 

          Legolas squared his shoulders.  He could do this!  He remembered the hundreds of years Aravir had spent guarding Thranduil and the realm.  “Unswerving loyalty” - words his adar always spoke when discussing his captain.  That loyalty, willingly transferred to the son, had become infinitely precious to Legolas as he had come to know Aravir.  The son of Thranduil listened carefully to his captain’s song, and with a thankful heart, added his joyful voice to the music.

          Those waiting nervously at the nearby camp recognized the new singer and immediately heard the difference in the music.

          “Ahhhhhh,” whispered Arador, closing his eyes and smiling.  “I do believe our Prince has realized the power and purpose of the Song.”

          Calen cocked his head, listening closely, and commented thoughtfully.  “I sense a great deal of relief now, Daerada.  I do not think the song itself has changed, has it?”  He looked at his grandfather.

          Arador opened his eyes and gazed at the young man waiting beside him for his answer.  “Very good, lad,” he said approvingly.  “Ye are right…the song has not changed – only the singer’s mood.  And if ye listen, ye can hear that Aravir is still longin’ for Elvenhome.  Legolas, though…now there is the difference.  Do ye hear the joy in the Prince’s voice, lad?  I remember the song he sang earlier today on the road to Linhir.  Sad, it was…full of melancholy and loss.  This is completely different.”

          He nodded, a satisfied smile creasing his weathered old face.  “Aye, as different as night is from day.”

          The old man leaned back once more against his pack and accepted a cup of tea from Raen, who sank down on the other side, listening intently as they spoke.  Arador sipped slowly and continued, “The call will still plague him from time to time, which will confuse him.  There will be times when he will feel completely unaffected…and time when the longing will wrench his heart right from his chest with its power.  If he will remember all he has learned on this trip, he’ll deal with it well enough.”

          “And Aravir?” Raen asked.  “Will he find a way to deal with the call?”

          Arador shook his head ruefully.  “He will deal with it, lad…or he will sail.”

          He set the empty cup down on the ground and pulled a blanket from his pack.  Looking at his two grandsons, he smiled.  “He is a strong-willed warrior, is Aravir.  I think he will find a way to counter the sea, as long as he believes the Prince is in need of his service and friendship.”

          Arador shook out the blanket and spread it over his legs, leaning back with a sigh of relief.  “Now,” he commanded.  “This old man is tired.  Get yer blankets out, lads, and settle down.  Tomorrow will come soon enough, and with it the trials of the day.”

          He turned over on his side away from the fire and settled to sleep.  Raen looked at Calen and rolled his eyes.  Reluctantly, the boys did as their grandfather had instructed and lay down.  Surprisingly enough, weariness claimed them both much more quickly than they expected, and they fell asleep listening to the elves’ new song.

          Aragorn, who had moved to the edge of the fire’s light where Arod and the mare had taken up their own vigil, listened to the conversation and found himself hoping that the old man was right.

          He draped one arm over the silver-white horse’s neck, stroking the warm, silken coat and murmuring soothing sounds to the restive animal.  Both horses had remained unsettled and nervous since Legolas had left them to go to Aravir’s side.  Upon Aragorn’s return from the woods, Arod had come quickly to him, but the mare had stayed apart, watching the man suspiciously.

          After a time, she had consented to stand at his side, sandwiching his tall figure between her own golden form and Arod.  Aragorn played with her long, pale mane and fondled her sensitive ears with his free hand, laughing softly when she shook her head and turned an impatient eye upon the irritating human.

          As the evening progressed towards midnight and the elves remained absent, Aragorn had a brief word with Jarrod and brought his own bedroll to arrange at the feet of the horses.  He checked their water, and welcomed a forlorn Thalion to the little group, rubbing the big bay stallion’s nose gently.

          “Our elven friends have much to answer for, do they not?” he asked the trio.  The nodding heads and accompanying snorts assured him there would be an accounting when Aravir and Legolas returned.  The King was still smiling at the thought as he lay on his blankets and lifted his eyes to the stars.  He sang a quiet hymn to Elbereth, and as Ithil set, finally found his own rest.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Awareness returned to Aravir after a time, but he kept his eyes closed and savored the peace of the forest’s song and the warm strength anchoring him to the tree’s limb upon which he sat.

          Anchoring…?

          He stretched out his senses warily and encountered the familiar presence of his Prince sitting beside him, one arm braced behind him for support.

          Ai, no!  I did not want to concern him with this!

          Aravir felt a glimmer of thought glide gently through his mind.  And just how did you intend to hide it from me, mellon nin?

          Aravir squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and sighed gustily.  I had not gotten that far, ernil nin.

          Light golden laughter sifted through his disquiet, and easing his eyes open, Aravir looked into the smiling eyes of Thranduil’s son.

          “You seem much recovered, hir nin,” he said, noting with relief the color and humor that had returned to the Prince’s face.

          Legolas nodded, his expression growing serious.  “I have made a rather belated discovery, my friend.  I think it will do much to make my stay here in Ennor more bearable – and perhaps now, yours as well.”  He paused.  “That is, of course, if you should choose to linger.”

          “How could you think I would leave if some way could be found to help me stay, pen-neth?” Aravir questioned gently.  Legolas brightened at the words.  That was his wish also.

          “Now, tell me,” the captain continued.  “Is it found in the Song, my lord?”

          Legolas nodded.  “Yes, partly.  But perhaps, with your permission, it would be better if I showed you.”

          Aravir smiled.  “Proceed, hir nin.”  As he bowed his dark head, the first lilting notes of a song he had only imagined drifted through his mind, and he willingly gave himself to the beauty and majesty of the music.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          The night had nearly spent itself when two graceful figures dropped silently to the ground and stole through the woods to the edge of the men’s camp.

          “Should we wake them?” Aravir asked softly, his eyes taking in the sleeping figures of the men resting by the remains of the smoldering fire.

          “Nay, let them sleep,” Legolas replied as he scanned the group, identifying Arador, the twins and each member of the King’s escort.  But where was Estel?  He looked across the camp, straight into the molasses brown eyes of the King’s captain, who had apparently drawn the last watch of the night.  Jarrod lifted his hand slightly in recognition, and gestured towards the lone figure bedded down near the horses.

          Legolas leaned towards Aravir.  “Come.”  The two faintly luminous figures moved soundlessly through the camp to stand over the sleeping man.

          “He must have had to settle the horses last night after I left them,” Legolas murmured, eyeing the bundle at their feet fondly.  All that was visible was a shock of dark, unkempt hair, but Legolas easily recognized those loud, rumbling snores.

          The elves slipped past the sleeping King and gathered their mounts, admonishing the three to keep quiet and follow.  Legolas turned to Jarrod and pointed towards the distant beach.  Jarrod lifted a hand in reply.  When King Elessar awoke, he would tell him where his friend had gone.

          Legolas caught up with Aravir and greeted Arod and the mare with warm strokes and whispered praise for their forbearing natures.  It took some time to appease Arod, however.

          You disappeared into the forest and the men would not let us follow.  The other one was fearful for his rider and would not calm…which caused the mare to become most afraid. 

          Legolas listened patiently to Arod’s litany of woe and did his best to quiet both horses.

          I am sorry, Arod nin.  Forgive me.  Saes, mellon nin, I did not intend to worry you so, but when I returned to awareness, my first thought was of Aravir.  He had heard the call of the sea also, and I was afraid for him.

          Arod accepted his rider’s apology and caresses - eventually.  The mare was just glad to have Legolas with them again.  The group wandered across the sand and downhill to the shore, the docile pair keeping their elf close by and in the middle.

          Legolas turned laughing eyes to Aravir, who had one arm thrown around Thalion’s neck and said contritely, “Ai, Aravir!  I have caused them much worry and grief – see how I am contained between them, much like an errant elfling between two wise parents!”

          Aravir laughed at him and replied, “Believe me, neth ernil, I know precisely how they feel!  One cannot fault their punishment either.”

          Legolas huffed and endured a nudge from Arod for his trouble.  “Come along then, pen-iaur,” he ordered his captain, giving the big horse beside him a good-natured shove in return.  “Let us go and greet Anor.”

The elves and their four-legged escort trotted forward across the sand towards the sea.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          Aragorn came awake in one great rush, knowing almost instantly the horses were gone.  He leaped to his feet, looking around wildly, only to be stayed by a strong hand on his shoulder.

          “My lord,” Jarrod said soothingly. “Slowly…they are fine.”

          Aragorn turned to him.  “Where…?” he asked hoarsely.

          “Lord Legolas and Captain Aravir fetched them right before dawn and took them down to the sea,” the guard explained, pointing in the direction of the beach.

          Aragorn’s eyes snapped back to examine Jarrod closely.  “Legolas?” he asked eagerly.  “How did he seem, Jarrod?  And Aravir – did he appear well?”

          Jarrod nodded reassuringly.  “They both looked fine to me – and right glad to see their horses again.”  Aragorn relaxed slightly and both turned as Arador, who had been tending something over the fire, approached.

          “Porridge and toasted bread is ready, my lord King…and some leftover grilled fish and fresh fruit, too,” he announced, ticking off the breakfast menu cheerfully.  “Come and eat and then we’ll take some food to our elven friends.  You did say they were on the beach, isn’t that right?”  Jarrod agreed and both men eyed Aragorn closely for a moment.  Arador cleared his throat.

          “Ah…yes.  Well…Ye’ll be wantin’ to wash up some before ye eat, my lord.  There be warm water and soap over there waitin’,” he said helpfully, indicating some buckets and basins set on the back of the wagon.

          The old man arched one eyebrow at the scowl now gracing the King’s handsome face, and grinned.  “Get ye over there and clean up, Lord Aragorn.   And while ye are at it, see if ye can’t encourage those boys to do the same.”

          Aragorn snorted softly and walked away, muttering under his breath about naneths and well-meaning friends, pointedly ignoring the smothered laughter of the two behind him.  He reached the two youths, who stood before the bowl of water staring at it as if at a coiled serpent.  Aragorn joined them before the basin, examining it with a jaundiced eye.

          “Here is fresh water for you, my lord,” a voice behind him said.  “All nice and hot.”

          Aragorn and the twins turned to glare at the Captain.  At a nudge from Aragorn, Calen dumped the old water and held the basin as Jarrod poured in the new.  The King sighed and looked at the boys.

          “Well, my lads, there is no escape.  I will if you will,” he challenged.  Shoulders sagging with defeat, Raen held out some soft soap to Aragorn.

Calen snickered and held out a towel.

          “All right then,” Aragorn said.  “Together.”  With much splashing and muttering, the three proceeded with their morning chore.  Arador brought them clean shirts and wooden combs, and received a well-aimed stream of water in the face for his trouble.  Finally, tidier and considerably more awake, the three joined the rest of the company to break their fast.

          They ate quickly with good appetite, finishing and each going to complete a chore around the camp afterwards.  The twins had heard the news that Legolas and Aravir were probably on the beach and had wandered off to look for them.  Aragorn had just joined Arador to help pack some baskets of food for the elves when Calen appeared, running toward them and yelling, “Daeradar!  My lord!”

         The excited boy slid to a stop a few feet from them, gasping for breath. “Come quickly!”  Ye’ve got to see this!”  He turned and ran back in the direction he had just come from.  Aragorn motioned off an approaching Jarrod, and lifted one of the baskets as Arador grabbed the other. 

          The two men hurried after the boy, just as he turned around and yelled again, “Hurry!  Hurry!” 

          “Most likely one of the big fish that swim offshore, my lord!” Arador panted.  Aragorn nodded, slowing his pace slightly to accommodate the older man.  They reached the crest of an enormous hill of sand where the brothers waited; gazing down at the beach below with identically fascinated expressions.

          The elves and their horses were playing.

          Playing and cavorting in the water.  And out of it.  Chasing each other, kicking great arcs of sand, running from the horses and the waves. 

          It was a marvelously graceful, energetic game accompanied by the sound of fair elven voices rejoicing in the bright clear light of a new day.  Aragorn sank to the sand, so relieved at the sight he doubted his legs would hold him.  He chuckled as Legolas took a flying leap over Arod’s back to avoid the rambunctious animal, drenching Aravir with the splash from his landing.

          The King reached into his basket and brought out a handful of strawberries and a crust of bread.  He motioned Arador and the twins down beside him.  “Let them play,” he ordered, popping a ripe berry in his mouth and grinning at them.  “Here, have yourself a second breakfast.  They will come when their stomachs are singing louder than their voices.”

          He chewed thoughtfully, his sea-gray eyes becoming pensive.  “Besides, you will not see this revelry often.  I, for one, intend to enjoy it…while I can.”  The little group settled on the hill, basking in the early morning sunshine and the music and antics of two wood elves, who, it appeared, had found some measure of peace in the sea.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

          The games ended.  The long day passed.  The tides rose…and fell again.  Arador stood on the sandy hill once more, watching the day slide towards evening.  From his vantage point, he could see the curve of beach, the roll of the sea…and Legolas and Aravir sitting beside one another, sometimes talking in low voices, sometimes singing softly.  Alone.  Together.

          He knew they were both still troubled and confused, although they seemed to be coping well with the sea-longing.  If only I could make them understand…Legolas is close…but Aravir is too newly aware and cannot see it as of yet.  He sighed.  In the short time since meeting them, he had grown to love these two as if they were his own; consequently, their pain was his.  Arador walked over to them and crouched down.  Two pairs of eyes, one pair deep evergreen and the other the stormy blue-gray of the sea, looked at him in surprise.

          “Come along, lads,” Arador invited.  “I’ve got somethin’ to show ye.”  He rose and started down the beach; confident they would follow, walking carefully as the path became steeper, rockier.  The waves no longer gently slapped the shore; they pummeled it.

          The old man finally found what he was looking for and motioned his followers over to a large pool of water some yards away from the shoreline.  He crouched in front of the pool, Aravir and Legolas on either side, and for the first time, the elves beheld a hint of the wonders contained beneath the waters of the sea.

          “What is it?” Legolas breathed.

          “It is so beautiful!” Aravir whispered reverently.  Arador sank to fully rest upon the sand, crossing his legs and leaning forward to examine the teaming life contained in the clear pool.  Brilliant colors exploded here and there in the form of shells and plants trapped in the crystal of the water, and odd looking creatures swam or crawled along the bottom.

          “There are pools like this scattered all along the shore, carved in the rock over the yeni, and left behind each time the waters withdraw.”  His bright blue eyes studied the elves’ rapt faces and he smiled.  As fascinated and attentive as wee children, they are.

          “And the life in the pool – it is left behind also?” Legolas asked, his eyes caught by the gently waving fronds of an exotic plant.

          “Aye, lad,” the old man replied.  “Left behind to remain captive to that one pool of seawater.”

          “Look at all the different kinds!” Aravir exclaimed.

          “Tis a small world within the water, Captain, where each depends on the other for survival,” Arador explained.  He had their attention completely now, sharply focused on him and his words.  “I know ye still have questions and doubts about stayin’, especially you, Aravir.  Though ye’ve both found relief in the Great Song and it eases the longin’ inside, ye still wonder if it is worth the pain of stayin’.”

          “Consider this pool, lads,” he continued.  “This world of Ennor is very much like it – and we are like its creatures; dependent on each other, whether we like it or not, for our very lives.”

          He dipped one hand into the water, letting it pool in his palm before turning to pour back, a silver stream glinting in the sun’s light.  “Can ye understand that though ye’ve had little to do with men until recently, we’ve always known the Firstborn were here?  Ye gave us stories, legends, and songs…whole chunks of our language; and that does not even address the knowledge we’ve gleaned from ye in the practical things.  Ye’ve been the magic in this world.  When ye finally leave us completely, we’ll be hard put to preserve the memory of that magic.”

          He bowed his white head, the sadness apparent.  “It is my prayer and hope that we’ll be able to keep a measure of it alive…and my fear that several generations from now, it will be lost.”

          Arador lifted his face, his blue eyes even more brilliant from the unshed tears filling them.  “All part of a whole – never doubt it.  And never doubt yer part here in this little world while ye remain.”

          He struggled to his feet and stood, looking down at the two elves, their heads bowed now, one dark as night, the other fair as a sunlit day.

          “There’s much to be learned from this small world,” he said softly.  “I’ll leave ye to study it.”

          Legolas raised smoke gray eyes to Arador, his face solemn.  “Hannon le, mellon nin,” he murmured.

          The old man laid his hand briefly on the golden head, and turned back towards camp, walking through the sand as capricious waves washed over his legs, erasing his footprints with their retreat.  Legolas and Aravir sat silently for a long time, contemplating the life in the pool and their own place in Ennor.

TRANSLATIONS:

mellon nin – my friend

daerdadar (daerada) – grandfather, grandpa

gwador nin – my brother (not related by blood)

hannon le – thank you

Ennor – Middle-earth

Aman – the Blessed Realm

Iluvator – the Creator of all

Ithil – the moon

Anor – the sun

neth ernil – young Prince

hir nin – my lord

ernil nin – my Prince

pen-neth – young one

pen-iaur – old one

naneths – mothers

yeni – a measure of time amounting to over one hundred years

saes – please

Title: THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and its characters belong to

J.R.R. Tolkien.

Summary: At last, a name worthy of the golden mare presents itself!

A/N: Once more, I apologize for the time between postings. The ‘hurrieder’ I go, the ‘behinder’ I get! And again, a very special thank you to the always patient and persistent Alassiel for beta-reading this chapter!

Chapter 18: Fields of Gold

Aravir breathed deeply of the salty sea air, enjoying the way the constant breeze cooled and caressed his face. He cast a sideways glance at Legolas. His Prince appeared lost in thought, eyes fixed on the clear tidal pool before them. Arador had left them an hour before to ponder his remarkable speech concerning the Eldar and their place in Middle-earth.

Legolas suddenly looked at him, his gray eyes reflecting the deep blue of the pool and his considerable confusion. The two bemused elves studied one another for a long moment before Aravir rose lithely to his feet and stretched. He held out a hand to his friend and tugged him up also. The immortals stood for a moment staring out to sea as the huge, fiery orb of Anor began the slow descent that heralded the arrival of evening.

“It is magnificent in its very scope and power,” Aravir murmured. “But I will be relieved to return to the forests of Ithilien and the comfort of the trees.” Deep green eyes studied the restless waves. “I will not come here again.”

Aravir looked at Legolas then and answered the question he saw lurking in the blue-gray depths. “Why continue to aggravate an already troublesome wound?” Turning towards camp, the elven warrior hesitated, his eyes drawn unwillingly back to the sea.

“Still...” he whispered, as a sad, faraway expression cast a shadow across his fair face. “Our memory will vanish…just as Arador fears…”

Legolas laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Nay, Aravir. Perhaps not entirely. There are those who will see that we are remembered. Arador…Erelas, Laurelin and the children…and their children’s children…certainly Aragorn and his kin will see that the elves are not forgotten. It may be true that in a thousand years we exist only in stories and legends…but we will continue to live in the memories of those who care to listen.”

Aravir gave his Prince a doubtful look, earning a playful shove in return.

“Come, mellon nin,” Legolas urged, as he set off down the beach. “Let us return to camp. The evening meal will be ready and I am hungry.”

Aravir could not repress the smile that threatened…let the future Ages of this world wait – the Prince was hungry! Shaking the melancholy off, he followed the bright, sunlit figure. “As always, elfling,” he chuckled softly. “As always.”

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

The two elves passed a pleasant evening in the company of the men and boys, later retiring to the forest to share a tree and the Song before sleep claimed them. Aravir noted with relief that the initial tension caused by the sea’s call continued to ease.

He tilted his head back, green eyes shuttered, listening to Legolas’ golden tenor weave a tender harmony with the trees and the nearby stream. For over a decade, Legolas had borne the unrelenting call of Aman alone…each year of denial more painful than the last. Given what Aravir now knew, he marveled that the Prince had been able to resist at all; the thought of Legolas remaining for the lifetime of Aragorn was sobering.

And now Eru, through Nienna, has given him a way to persevere even longer, for the sake of Elessar! I only hope I may prove as steadfast as he…

It seemed incomprehensible to him that the very thing which tied Legolas to Middle-earth might also prove to be the thing which helped the Prince weather the sea longing. And yet, the Prince’s love for Aragorn had so far proven the stronger. He sighed. Men were so difficult to understand. They lived so much in the present and had so little time; each day a stone in the structure of their lives’ goals and dreams, trusting the next generation to continue what they had begun.

Aravir shook his head slightly. Such heavy thoughts did not encourage sleep and he was tired, worn by the discoveries and pressures of the day and previous night. He settled back, sinking deep into the welcoming embrace of the tree and allowed the gentle music to lull him to sleep.

The next morning, Aravir awoke just as dawn’s light began filtering through the leafy canopy overhead. Feeling much recovered and reinvigorated, he left Legolas still slumbering in the tree and returned to camp.

Stepping lightly around the snoring lumps of sleeping men, he slipped over to Arador’s wagon and found the bread laid out for the morning meal. Cutting a thick slice, he grabbed a handful of berries and, after seating himself near the horses, made a quick meal of his findings.

Brushing crumbs from his leggings and shirt, he stood and greeted the mare and Arod, fondling soft ears and murmuring even softer endearments. At Thalion’s insistent huffs of neglected temper, he left Arod and grabbed a brush one of the men had left near the picket line. He set about grooming the impatient horse, chiding him for his jealous nature, brushing the stallion’s coat until it shone a golden-red fire in the early morning light. The sounds of men awakening reached his ears just as he worked a stubborn tangle from the heavy mane.

“I believe it is time we left this place for some exercise,” he whispered in Thalion’s ear. “A fast, hard gallop, my friend. Just what we both need.” The stallion shook his mane, stomping a foreleg restlessly.

“Suilad, Aravir,” Aragorn called, walking across the clearing.

“Suilad, Aran Elessar,” the dark-haired elf smiled, eyeing this King of men whom he had grown to respect and admire over the past few months.

Aragorn returned the smile. “How fare you this morning, my friend?”

“Tolerable, hir nin,” Aravir replied. “Actually, better that tolerable today.”

“I am relieved to hear it,” the King responded. “And our mutual friend – how is he?”

Aravir shook his head fondly. “He sleeps still in the oak by the stream.” He gave Thalion’s muscular shoulder a last firm stroke with the brush and swatted the big horse affectionately.

“Thalion and I are off for a run,” Aravir informed the man. “This land with its hollows and hidden wedges of forest cries out for exploration.”

Aragorn stroked the big bay stallion’s soft nose thoughtfully and nodded. “Yes, you had best explore today, if you plan to at all.”

The elf watched Aragorn for a moment. “Are we leaving soon then?”

Aragorn hesitated. “If Legolas has accomplished his mission here, then yes, we will probably leave early tomorrow.”

Aravir sighed. “I must confess I am relieved to hear it. The voice of the sea at this close proximity presses me constantly. I will be glad to put it behind us.”

The obvious relief in the elf’s voice brought a playful smile to Aragorn’s face. “Then I may assume you will forego any trips we might make to the seashore in the future?” the King asked nonchalantly.

Aravir looked askance at the grinning man. “You assume correctly, hir nin!” he exclaimed, and knowing the human’s tendency to tease, laughed and tossed the brush at him.

Aragorn snagged the tool handily and saluted the smiling elf, who leaped upon his horse’s back calling, “I take my leave of you now, aran brannon.”

Deftly controlling his prancing mount with a softly spoken word and touch, he lifted a hand in farewell. “Tell the neth Ernil I have gone adventuring!” Leaning forward, the elf whispered in the horse’s ear. Thalion tossed his head, arching his neck proudly as he turned and carried his rider away towards the beckoning hills.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Shortly following Aravir’s departure, as Aragorn sat next to Jarrod eating the last of his toasted bread and discussing the journey home, Legolas emerged from the trees, stretching and running a hand over his gleaming hair. For all the elf had just awoken, he still managed to look freshly groomed.

Aragorn eyed his friend and snorted softly before announcing to the camp at large, “It has ever been a mystery to me the ability of the Firstborn to maintain their pristine appearance, even upon awakening.”

Muffled laughter drifted through the camp as all eyes turned to examine the “pristine” Prince.

Legolas shrugged. “It is a gift,” he replied smugly. At the blank looks from the men he continued, “To the Firstborn – after all we ARE the eldest and should set an example for the younger kindred…” here he paused and waved his hand to encompass his audience…and was promptly pelted with flying bits of bread from Aragorn, accompanied by groans and catcalls from the company of men.

He ducked most of the missiles and slipped behind Arod, calling, “Peace!”

Laughter. Followed by more bread bits.

“Peace, Aragorn!”

The rain of bread suddenly ceased and after a moment, Legolas peered over Arod’s broad back in time to see Arador walking towards him carrying a plate in one hand and swatting the men around him with a towel held threateningly in the other. A suitably chastised King followed the old man, the laughing twinkle in his gray eyes belying the meek expression on his handsome face.

Arador called, “It is safe to come out now, my lord.”

He spotted Legolas cautiously peeking over the silver white back and grinned. “Here is yer food. Come and eat now, before it gets cold.”

At that, Aragorn reached around Arador’s shoulder and nipped a large berry from the plate.

Arador spun around, his deep blue eyes sparkling with humor. “There’s more back at the fire if ye still have a hunger for it! Really, my lord! Have ye no manners?”

Aragorn popped the berry in his mouth, chewing blissfully on the sweet fruit, and shook his head. “Nay, Arador. Besides, tis a proven fact, Legolas’ food always tastes better!”

Legolas slipped from behind Arod and grabbed his plate. “Hannon le, Arador,” he said graciously.

To Aragorn he growled, “Stop eating my food, your royal pain in the…”

“LEGOLAS!” gasped the King, laughing.

The elf smiled sweetly and said between gritted teeth, “Get your own, Estel.”

Aragorn laughed and threw the strawberry stem at the elf. “Oh, all right. Go on and eat, then.” He turned to walk away, tossing back over his shoulder, “Aravir has gone riding. He said to tell you he will return when he returns.”

Legolas smirked at the retreating back and sank gracefully to the ground, crossing his long legs under him. Riding, hmmm? That sounded like an interesting and worthwhile pastime. He began devouring the food, watching his friend with narrowed eyes just in case any more sneak attacks had been planned.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Aravir loosed Thalion and the pair thundered across the rolling plain in a flash of muscle and speed, the elf marveling at the rapid changes from wide open space to shady woods nestled between rolling hills, and reveling in the surging strength of the horse beneath him.

They had just exited one of the small forests, Thalion cantering easily through the tall grass, when, topping a hill, Aravir brought the big horse to a sudden prancing halt. Stretching before his dazzled, delighted gaze, a small sheltered valley carpeted in warm, undulating gold lay, trapped between a pocket of morning mist and the stream of sunlight.

Slowly Aravir guided Thalion forward slowly into the gilded field. Before long, he could not resist examining the bright blossoms more closely.

“I cannot remember ever seeing anything like them before,” he murmured to his horse, dismounting to walk through the golden sea. “Although I believe I have heard stories about these lovely blooms from someone visiting in Lasgalen many, many years ago.”

He ambled slowly along, his arms outstretched, fingers lightly brushing across the tall stalks crowned with pale yellow bell-shaped flowers. Their spicy-sweet scent surrounded him, lifted to his nostrils by a soft sea breeze that swept across the field, sending the tall plants swaying and rustling.

Examining the lush blossoms more closely, Aravir looked at Thalion, who was nosing the flowers curiously, though not eating them. He smiled as the big horse sneezed, tossing his head and blowing gustily.

“Come, mellon nin,” Aravir called, laughing. “We must go and tell Ernil Legolas about this place!” Vaulting lightly onto the stallion’s back, he sent the horse racing back towards the camp.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

After the morning meal, a pensive Legolas declined all offers of company and walked along the shoreline, examining driftwood and shells washed up overnight and deposited upon the sand by the retreating waters.

The elf wandered a goodly time, reaching the part of the beach where the sand became a stony incline. Climbing until he reached the summit, Legolas stood on the rocky prominence as a warm wind whipped his fair hair back from his face and plastered his shirt against his body. He let the heartbeat of the sea blend with his own and listened as the rising wind sang to him of far away places.

With a heart so full of the beauty of the morning he felt he might burst, he turned and made his way back down to the level sand. Singing softly, Legolas slowly walked back to the hill where Aragorn had sat the day before, watching two elves frolic with their horses. Along the way, different shells that happened to please his eye or catch his interest found their way into the pocket of his tunic.

At last, sitting comfortably on the sloping hill, he studied a curious white, disc-like object he had found half buried in the sand, turning it over and over with careful, agile fingers. Obviously it had once been a living creature and now only this fragile shell was left, imprinted with what looked remarkably like the petals of a flower.

It is so finely wrought…a delicate sea blossom captured in this porcelain frame.

He slipped the disc in his pocket, along with the other shells – souvenirs of his journey.

The day was not overly warm yet; autumn’s still gentle hand lay lightly upon the land. The violent storms and chill of winter were yet to come; for now the days remained clear and mild, the breeze off the water just short of brisk.

Legolas tugged his boots off and stretched his long legs out in front of him, leaning back on his elbows, bare toes digging into the sand. He closed his eyes as he hummed brief snatches of the melody from the cliff, the snippets of sound caught up by a playful wind and lifted aloft.

It was thus that Raen and Calen found him, by way of the song he sang. They crept up quietly and sat, one on either side of the elf, crossing their legs and listening to the tune he wove with the sea and wind.

Legolas at last fell silent, eyes still closed, his head tilted to one side in an attitude of listening. “I like the way the song is new every morning,” the elf whispered, and suddenly turned his bright eyes on first one boy, then the other, smiling. The twins grinned back, caught by the peace and joy shining in the elf’s crystal gray eyes.

“Daeradar says it is the way of Iluvatar’s creation – that all life and hope be renewed each day,” Calen offered hesitantly.

Legolas studied the boy and nodded. “It would seem, pen-neth, I still have much to learn.” The boys chuckled softly. How often had they been told exactly the same thing…and how strange was it to hear those words spoken by one who was older than they could possibly imagine?

The three sat for a time in companionable silence, listening to the murmuring waves whispering their secrets to the waiting shore. Long before the twins became aware, Legolas discerned the pounding hoof beats of an approaching rider. He looked up, watching the big stallion crest a distant dune and sweep down the beach towards them, his flashing hooves throwing plumes of sand and water into the air.

Aravir slowed the big horse’s approach, and Legolas observed with growing amusement as his captain considered an abrupt halt at the feet of his Prince, along with its accompanying shower of sand. He grinned knowingly when duty defeated impulse and Aravir slowed Thalion to a more sedate walk, finally stopping in front of them.

Legolas slanted a laughing glance at the pair. He knew exactly the temptation Aravir had turned from.

I wish he had done it! He needs to learn to find joy again in the little things…to let go of duty from time to time, and I would not have minded a little sand in the face!

Legolas huffed in exasperation as he considered the elf and horse before him. He is not old enough to be my adar, although he certainly acts like it most of the time. Adar told me much of his joy was taken from him by Shadow, along with his family…and he has remained aloof from other attachments, choosing to find his fulfillment in duty. Well, it is time he embraced happiness once more…

Legolas felt a warm glow of satisfaction that Aravir had at least considered the act. His dignified, reserved Captain would learn to relinquish the tight grip of his control eventually. What interested him now, however, was the excitement gleaming in those leaf-green eyes.

“What is it, Aravir?” he asked, swiftly pulling on his boots and rising to his feet, dusting the sand from his leggings.

“Gather the mare and Arod, my lord,” Aravir instructed. “I have found something you must see for yourself.”

His friend’s eyes widened. “What?” he asked.

Aravir laughed. “Call the mare and Arod, hir nin,” he repeated, ignoring the Prince’s impatient glare as Legolas loosed a shrill whistle that brought both horses galloping over the ridge where they had been grazing quietly all morning. Noting the downcast faces of the twins, Legolas looked at Aravir, one eyebrow lifted, questioning. The captain nodded, grinning.

“Come, Raen,” Aravir called. “Ride behind me.” He stretched out a hand and pulled the suddenly jubilant teenager up behind him.

Legolas laughed at Calen’s hopeful look. “Up on Arod, Calen” he chuckled, sending the boy to the dappled white horse with a wave of his hand.

Once Calen was safely mounted and away, Legolas jumped upon the dancing mare’s back, twining his fingers in her pale mane and leaning forward to whisper in her ear.

“An adventure, mir nin!” She tossed her head in agreement as the elf sent her in pursuit of Arod and Thalion.

~~~~*~~~~*~~~~

Legolas had taken one look at the gleaming field of flowers and whispered to himself, “Of course…” before riding on into the field. He stopped in the middle, and sliding off, walked through the nodding golden blooms, the mare following close on his heels.

But Arod hung back, refusing to follow Legolas and the mare, no matter the encouragement given. Aravir had dismounted at last and placed a gentle hand on the gelding’s silver-white neck.

What troubles you, my friend? He continued to stroke the dappled coat soothingly.

Arod snorted softly, pawing the ground restlessly. This is their time. Now she truly becomes his, as it should be.

“Ah yes, I see,” Aravir breathed, draping his arm over Arod’s neck and resting his cheek against the sun-warmed neck. He closed his eyes against the sting of tears as the pain-joy experienced by the big animal flooded his mind.

You are a true friend to him, Arod. He has indeed been fortunate in you.

And I in him.

Will you wait here, then? The great horse tossed his head in acquiescence, turning aside to reassuringly nuzzle the elf leaning against him.

Then I will join the young ones. I believe from the looks of longing they are giving these flowers that they wish to bring some back to their mother’s garden.

Arod nudged the elf gently with his nose. Go then. Your friend and I will keep watch.

Giving the horse one final affectionate stroke, and speaking softly to Thalion not to wander off, Aravir turned to the watchful, silent twins.

He smiled at the boys, beckoning them closer. “We will stay here on the edge of the field for a time,” he spoke quietly.

“Is anything wrong, Aravir?” Calen asked, his eyes straying towards Legolas anxiously.

“Nay, Calen,” Aravir hastened to assure him. “Everything is fine. I believe the Prince has discovered his inspiration for the naming of the mare – finally!”

They exchanged amused, understanding glances. Even as far back as Edoras, Legolas had taken a fair amount of teasing from everyone over the nameless state of his new horse. He had always responded nonchalantly, with an arched brow and a sniff. “I will name her when the appropriate title presents itself to me – and not before!” Apparently, that time was now before him.

Aravir led the twins to a nearby cluster of particularly large, lustrous blooms. “Now my young friends, do you think your naneth would find these lovely flowers a welcome addition to her garden?” he asked.

“Yes, she would!” both twins exclaimed.

“She is always looking for new varieties…” Raen explained, kneeling to examine the plants more closely.

“…and we have instructions to bring any to her if we can transport them safely,” finished Calen, stooping to appreciate the sweet spice scent of one large bright specimen.

Aravir nodded. “Well, I believe we can do that fairly easily.”

The three turned their attention to selecting four or five sturdy plants. Aravir used his belt knife to carefully loosen the soil around the root system, lifting the plant gently from the ground, making certain a sufficient amount of soil remained clumped around the fragile roots. Calen gingerly wrapped each root ball in a portion of his undershirt which he had willingly sacrificed to the project while Raen secured each cloth and dampened it with water from his water skin.

Raen looked up at his brother, his silver gray eyes shining. “Naneth will love these,” he said, grinning. “And I think the soil near the lake has just enough sand in it to keep them happy.”

Aravir listened to the boys talk approvingly. He could hear echoes of both father and grandfather’s instruction in these two. Their love of the living world around them was evident, and whatever they chose to do with their lives, he felt both would be involved somehow with growing things.

He had in mind a suggestion for the boys’ life work, but as the idea was only half formed and the timing awkward, he set it aside and promised himself to speak to Legolas later. The elf laughed as Calen pointed out that their mother would likely put them in charge of planting these new flowers.

“My back aches just thinking of it, Cal,” Raen said with a groan. “You know she’s been wantin’ a new bed near the path to the lake.”

He paused, shrugging. “Still, they’ll look right nice there.” And Calen agreed – these would be lovely additions to the riotous color and joy of Laurelin’s gardens.

Glancing across the field, Aravir saw that Legolas was also putting the beautiful blooms to good use.

“Aravir,” Calen called. “Here is a hardy plant. Dig it up next.”

Returning to the chore at hand, Aravir began breaking up the soil around the plant’s stem.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~

Legolas chose another blossom, carefully breaking the stem as he sang a song of thanks to Yavanna for the offering of the plant. The mare stood statue-still beside him, her elegant head raised, the deep golden brown eyes fixed on the rolling hills, beyond which hid the sea. Only the occasional flick of an ear betrayed the close attention she paid to the elf at her side as he lovingly braided blossom after blossom into her thick mane, the deeper gold petals and dark vibrant green leaves providing a rich contrast to its pale silver-gold.

As the elf worked, he spoke to the mare softly. “It is told of the elves who wandered these lands and sailed in these waters Ages past…how when they first beheld these same golden flowers, they were reminded of the golden bells found in the Undying Lands. And often these same flowers would awaken the Sea-Longing in them, for they spoke to the Eldar of Elvenhome.

Legolas paused, his sea-gray eyes fixed on a far off sight. “I have heard those same bells pealing,” he murmured, “In my dreams their sweet music ever calls me, and when I finally walk on those distant shores, they will ring joyously once more to welcome home another son.”

He closed his eyes briefly, lost in that thought. It was the soft nuzzling of the mare that brought him back to the present, her thoughts gentle and hesitant.

But you will stay now?

Yes, mir nin. I will stay now. And you will remain my jewel. But I will also call you ALFIRIN, my golden bell…a reminder forever* of all that brought you to me.

It has a pleasing sound.

Legolas smiled in reply, fixing one final flower in her mane and drawing the proud head down to plant a kiss in the middle of her forehead.

Yes, my lady Alfirin, it does – almost as pleasing as your fair self!

Alfirin snorted. You are strange.

Legolas shouted with laughter, drawing the smiling attention of Aravir, Calen, and Raen across the field. The elven Prince leaped on Alfirin’s back and urged her towards the small group.

“Come then, hiril nin. Bear your strange burden to the others, that I might introduce you properly.”

TRANSLATIONS:

*alfirin – one of a species of flowering plants that grew in the coastal lands of Lebennin. It was said the bell-shaped golden flowers reminded the Eldar of the golden bells of Aman. The translation of the word ‘alfirin’ is “immortal”.

Anor – the sun

suilad – hello

Aran Elessar – King Elfstone

hir nin – my lord

hiril nin – my lady

neth Ernil – young Prince

Ernil Legolas – Prince Legolas

hannon le – thank you

mellon nin – my friend

daeradar – grandfather

Iluvatar – the Creator

pen-neth – young one

adar – father

naneth – mother

mir nin – my jewel (treasure)

                               THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Disclaimer:  The characters and setting of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  I gain nothing from their use except the joy of spending time with them.

Summary:  Leaving Linhir and returning home – at last!  And oh, the surprise that awaits Legolas!

A/N:  Slow…slower…slowest.  Sorry!

          A very special thank you to Alassiel for beta-reading this chapter.

*character thoughts will appear in italics

Chapter 19:  Where Your Treasure Is…

Concealed in the shadows of an ancient beech, he stood on a sturdy branch, casting his eyes and thoughts across the forest spread before him.  A fine mist crept over the ground, burying the dense undergrowth in a silent shroud of shifting, pale gray and caressing the trees with wispy, vaporous fingers.

He waited patiently.  As the first rays of Anor limned the canopy in gold and set the leaves of his beech ablaze in the reds and golds of autumn, he heard the trees’ sleepy nighttime song change to a contented murmur.  The watcher closed his eyes and stretched his senses even further afield…towards the south wood.

A faint frown creased his brows as the first distressed notes of a forest still in pain impinged on his consciousness.  Parts of this forest suffer still from the effects of Shadow.  

The farther south he listened, the more melancholy the trees became.  Yes, though much has been accomplished, much more needs doing before this land returns to full health.

The watcher shook his head thoughtfully.  For that to occur, the trees needed their Prince to move among them again.  The elves who had accompanied him were well-versed in wood lore and the care of the forest, but it was Prince Legolas’ particular affinity to the trees that was needed to further the healing in these still ravaged areas.  Even the trees in the recovered regions closer to the colony mourned his absence.  He had been sorely missed by all concerned. 

The frown deepened.  It was past time the Prince of Ithilien returned to his duties.  But meanwhile, in his absence, perhaps I can do something to relieve these lovely trees of the darkness that haunts them still.

Strong hands caressed the bark of the old tree.  And perhaps Ernil Legolas was even now on his way home to Ithilien. 

He fervently hoped so.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

The sun crested the mountains, setting the waters of the Blue Lake ablaze.  In front of the house overlooking the lake, a party of men waited for their order to begin the journey back to Minas Tirith.  Five mounted on horseback and dressed in the black and white livery of Gondor  were led by their Captain, who besides controlling his own horse, held the reins of the big gray stallion stamping impatiently beside him. 

Finally the door to the house opened and the King of Gondor descended the steps, his head bent towards a smaller, white-haired man walking beside him.  Aragorn listened intently as the old one spoke earnestly in a quiet voice, nodding from time to time in understanding.

Lagging behind, surrounded by the children of the house, walked Legolas and Aravir.  The youngest son rode on the back of the fair haired Prince, his short arms locked around the elf’s neck, shrieking with laughter as the one carrying him pretended to lose his grip and drop his burden.  

Legolas smiled, bouncing the gleeful boy again and wincing as the child’s shrill squeal assaulted his sensitive ears.  “Ai, Brethilas!  I will be permanently deaf before I put you down!” 

Brethilas sobered immediately.  Maybe elves have really delicate ears!  He eyed the leaf shaped ear of the one carrying him.  It was certainly an odd shape…it didn’t resemble his own at all!  And his mother was forever warning him about hurting her “tender” ears, too!  He leaned forward, his silver-blond hair mingling with the warmer gold of his friend’s. 

“I didn’t hurt ye, did I, Legolas?” he whispered in the elf’s ear, his face clouded with concern. 

Legolas laughed.  “Nay, pen-neth nin!  I was only teasing!” 

The little boy heaved a sigh of relief.  “Oh well, that’s good then!” 

Legolas smiled down into the laughing eyes of the young girl walking beside him, her arm linked with his. 

“Ye will be lucky if he doesn’t have to be pried off yer back, my lord,” she warned him. 

“Ah well, he is no great weight, Lissiriel,” the Prince replied.  “And I would not mind taking any or all of you back with us.” 

If anything, the girl’s smile grew more radiant.  “Really?” she breathed.  “Do you think we could come visit ye in yer forest sometime?” 

Legolas eyed her, considering the question carefully.  “Hmmmm,” he hummed softly, pretending to examine a particularly thorny problem. 

“MY LORD!” Lissiriel protested. 

Legolas laughed at her outraged expression.  “Of course you may.  I have already issued the invitation to your adar and naneth.  They said perhaps in the spring you might all make the trip.” 

He shifted Brethilas higher on his back.  “Your daeradar told me they usually send their herbs to Linhir to be delivered to Minas Tirith.  He seemed to think perhaps the whole family should make the delivery this spring…see the King and his family…and then make the additional journey to Ithilien.”

Lissiriel could scarcely contain her elation.  She turned to her sister, walking with the elven Prince’s dark-haired captain.  “Elena, did ye hear?  We might be going to visit the King and Prince Legolas in the spring!” 

Her older sister nodded her head furiously, her eyes shining with excitement.  “I know!  Isn’t it grand?” 

Aravir looked over the girl’s fair head at Legolas and grinned.  The twin brothers strolling behind them, Raenor and Calen, had overheard and hastened forward to join in the lively discussion of this most welcome news.  They had all been dreading the departure of their guests.

Directly behind the chattering children, their father, Erelas, grasped the hand of his wife, Laurelin, and lifted her fingers to his lips.  “So much for surprising ‘em!” he murmured, smiling and kissing her fingers. 

She returned his smile.  “We would have had to tell ‘em soon, love.  They were heartbroken at the thought of their friends leavin’.”  They followed the little procession down the steps and into the big yard for a final round of good-byes. 

Aragorn made his farewells first, warmly clasping Erelas’ shoulder before bowing to Laurelin, graciously accepting their heartfelt thanks for his help with Erelas’ injury days before.  He tousled Brethilas’ hair, swept another elegant, courtly bow to his giggling sisters, and turning to Raen and Calen, clapped both on the back as he urged them to come visit his city soon.  Mounting the big gray, he easily controlled the restive horse with a soft word and firm hand. 

Leaning down, Aragorn spoke quietly to Arador.  “Hannon le, my friend.  I will try my best to remember your words of advice.” 

The old man smiled.  “Ye’d best try, Aran Elessar.  He’ll not be patient with ye if ye push him too hard about things.  He expects ye to understand his decision and honor it.”

“Believe me, I do,” Aragorn replied, suddenly serious.  “And I am well aware of the honor he affords me in the making of this decision.” 

A quick, mischievous grin lightened the King’s face.  “But it would not be the first time I had reason to push him about a bit.  So to speak.”

Arador smiled broadly, shaking his head at the thought.  “It seems that ye’ll have a hard lesson to learn then, my lord!” 

Aragorn laughed, and catching his Captain’s eye, he signaled them to start towards the woods.  “Truer words were never spoken, Arador!  Navaer!” he called.  “We will expect you in the spring.”  He turned the big stallion to follow his men, urging the animal across the field at a brisk trot.

Legolas, meanwhile, chirped a call across the yard, bringing Thalion, Alfirin, and Arod to him.  Lissiriel dropped his arm and stepped out to meet the horses, her eyes shining with the joy of seeing them, and filling with tears at the thought of their departure.  Arod gently nuzzled her shoulder with his soft nose and the girl wrapped her arms about his neck, murmuring soft, broken endearments into the silver-gray mane. 

Aravir caught Legolas’ eye and whispered, “We need to talk about that.”  He nodded towards the heartbroken girl who was petting all three horses now, in between trying to wipe the tears that flowed down her flushed cheeks. 

Legolas nodded.  “We will talk later,” he returned quietly.  “I have given some thought to a solution.”  Aravir smiled to himself at the determined look that had flashed throught the Prince’s eyes.  Lissi would have her horse…and soon.   

Reaching behind his head, Legolas grabbed Brethilas under the arms and lifted him up and over, depositing the lad in a giggling heap on the ground. 

To Raen and Calen he said, “Take care, you two.  We will see you again once winter has spent itself.”  He went on to speak to each family member, Aravir following close behind with his own words of thanks and good-bye. 

When they turned to mount Alfirin and Thalion, Legolas paused beside Lissiriel who was now stroking the mare’s soft nose and forehead.  The girl gazed up at him forlornly. 

“Tis a lovely name – Alfirin…and an even better story of the flowers she’s named for.”  She gazed across the yard at her mother’s garden.  “I’m glad the boys brought some back – so I when I look at them, I will remember…” 

The mare shook her mane, the girl’s distress communicating itself clearly, and nibbled on a golden braid’s green ribbon tied above Lissi’s ear in an effort to distract her.  Lissi gave a watery giggle and leaned into Alfirin’s warmth. 

Legolas, patting her back awkwardly in consolation, whispered in her ear, “You will have your own one day, Lissiriel.  Never doubt it.”  He brushed a tear from her cheek, his warm smile encouraging another very small one in return from the sad child as she stepped back to join her brothers and sisters once more.  Raen slipped an arm about her shoulders and hugged her gently. 

Legolas leapt onto Alfirin’s back and after accepting his pack from Aravir, the two bowed slightly to the family.  As reluctant as they were to leave, it was time.  “Navaer!” they called and left the yard in pursuit of the King and his men. 

“Good-bye!” called the children, running a short way after them, waving.  “We’ll see ya soon!” 

They stopped, watching disconsolately as the horses disappeared into the forest at the edge of the field, and finally turned to trudge back to the waiting adults.  Arador slipped an arm around Raenor, while Erelas snatched Brethilas up on one hip and put his other hand on Calen’s shoulder.  Both girls went to their mother, who put loving arms about their shoulders as she led everyone back into the house. 

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

Three days of steady, uneventful travel found Legolas and Aravir once more before the gates of Minas Tirith bidding the King of Gondor farewell. 

“You are certain you and Aravir will not stay and rest for a day or two?” Aragorn asked, although he thought he knew the answer he was most likely to receive. 

“Nay, Aragorn,” Legolas replied.  “I have been gone much too long as it is.  And though I did have an excellent reason for my absence…”  Here he paused to run a fond hand over Arod’s neck.  “I must not tarry now.  I am certain my people have despaired of my return in this Age!” 

Aravir huffed softly, earning a look from his Prince.  He returned the look blandly, eliciting a bark of laughter from the King and thump on the arm from Legolas. 

“Well, I can only say that you had best visit soon,” Aragorn admonished his friend.  “Arwen will not be pleased you declined the invitation today.  She will insist on seeing…with her own eyes…that you are hale and whole once more!”  

Realizing the mild irony of that statement, Aragorn backtracked swiftly.  “At least, as hale and whole as is possible, given the sea-longing that still plagues you.”  He turned the assessing gray gaze of a healer on the silent elf at Legolas’ side.  “And you also, Aravir.  She will wish to ascertain your condition, as well.”

Aravir inclined his dark head slightly in response.  If the Evenstar wished to fuss over him and the Prince, he would gladly allow it.  He had the feeling they would both become increasingly grateful for her care and concern as the years passed.

“Come, mellon nin,” Legolas said to Aravir.  “Let us go now. I would prefer to reach Ithilien sooner, rather than later.” 

Aravir and Aragorn exchanged smiles.  “Well, THAT makes sense!” Aragorn muttered.

Elven hearing being what it is, Legolas heard and shouted a Silvan insult at his friend in reply as he nudged Alfirin to a brisk canter down the road that led to Ithilien. 

“What did he say?” Aragorn asked, taking in the surprised, choked look on Aravir’s face. 

“I am not certain, Aran Elessar,” the elf answered, his voice hoarse with suppressed laughter. 

Aragorn narrowed laughing eyes at the elf.  “Never fear, Captain,” he warned lightly.  “I will find out.”  He chuckled.  “I always do.” 

Sobering quickly, he gazed at Aravir.  “Take care, my friend…of him…and yourself.” 

Aravir smiled.  “Fear not, Elessar.  We will probably trip over each other trying to do your bidding.”  He lifted one hand in farewell, saluting the King as he turned Thalion to follow the Prince towards home.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

Aragorn shrugged out of his cloak the moment he entered the royal apartments and walked towards the bathing chamber.  He had been stopped at least a dozen times on his way up to the Citadel, receiving greetings and reports and requests at an alarming rate. 

Perhaps I can hide here for a time.  He had only taken a few steps, however, when the door behind him burst open and Arwen swept into the room, followed closely by his exuberant son.

“Estel!” she called, her steps quickening as she ran into his arms.

“Suilad, meleth nin,” he whispered in her ear, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. 

“Oh Estel,” she breathed.  “Finally…”  He inhaled deeply of her sweet floral scent, closing his eyes in appreciation.  It was always so very good to return home!  He opened his eyes to the sight of his son standing and watching his parents with good-humored impatience.  

“Greetings, Adar,” Eldarion said, rolling his eyes at the antics of the adults in his life.  Aragorn beckoned him forward, pulling him into a swift, one-armed embrace. 

“Hello, ion nin,” his father returned.  “It is good to see you both.”  He squeezed Eldarion before letting him go, but retained his hold on Arwen.

Arwen leaned back to examine her husband’s face.  “Is everything all right?” she asked.  “Is Legolas…”

“Legolas is fine,” Aragorn reassured her.  “For the moment, anyway.”  At her questioning look, he continued.  “He believes he has found a way to deal with the sea-longing.  It still has the power to affect him, but it is not as debilitating as it was prior to his little sojourn to Rohan.  And the trip to Linhir has proven beneficial as well.”

“Linhir?  Is that where you found him?” Arwen asked, leading her husband over to sit in the big, comfortable chair by the window.  He nodded as she poured a goblet of cider for him and turned to Eldarion, who was lounging in another chair across from his father. 

“Son, go ask Melora to send a tray of food here for your Adar.”  Eldarion stood, grinning at the sudden flash of interest in his father’s eyes at the mention of ‘food’.

She paused.  “On second thought, tell her to send our meal here.  We will eat together in the privacy of our rooms tonight.  I am certain you want to hear of your father’s journey…and I have only several hundred questions to ask him!” 

“That will set the tongues in the house wagging!” Aragorn quipped, and he and Eldarion both laughed as the youth left to do his mother’s bidding. 

Arwen waited until the door shut, then slipped into her husband’s lap, wrapped both arms around his neck and kissed him lingeringly.  Aragorn sighed.  She lifted her head after a time and laid her cheek against his.

“Welcome back, dearest heart,” she whispered, her soft smile promising a warmer, more intimate welcome later. 

“It is good to be back, meleth,” Aragorn grinned at her.  “I must confess myself surprised, though.”  She lifted an eyebrow in question.  “I thought you would certainly take me to task for not bringing Legolas along.”

Arwen shook her head and laughed.  “Oh no, guren nin, I had every intention of sending him on his way, even if he did come with you.” 

Aragorn looked at his grinning wife.  “But…..why?”

“Because, Estel, my love…he has a surprise awaiting his return.”  He leaned back quickly to get a better look at her face, but lost his train of thought completely when she chuckled wickedly and kissed him once again.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

Luncheon was just being served the next day when word from one of the border patrols reached the colony that Prince Legolas and Captain Aravir were perhaps an hour away.  Everyone froze for just a moment at the announcement, and then a cacophony of cheers and joyous voices filled the room.  Boisterous chaos reigned for several minutes before loud clapping caught the crowd’s attention.  All eyes turned to the elleth in charge of the house, one Eloriel by name. 

She smiled at them all and called out, “Finish eating and return to your duties!  Their surprise will, of course, await them in the stable!  And spread the word to those not here…we will hold a feast tonight, in honor of their return!” 

Everyone shouted their approval and rushed through the rest of the meal as Eloriel went to the kitchens to placate Cook and discuss the evening menu.  Soon all were helping with the preparations.  Whether lending aid in the kitchen or decorating the green for the festivities, the entire colony was buzzing with gleeful activity.

~~~~~*~~~~~*~~~~~*

Legolas drew Alfirin to a halt, sitting quietly with his head cocked in a listening attitude.  He had been sensing something very different in the song of the forest ever since they had crossed into the elven region of Ithilien an hour before.  Aravir stopped beside him. 

“What is it, Legolas?” he asked. 

“I know I have been gone for a long time, but…do you feel something different in the air of the forest…or hear something new in the song of the trees?” asked the Prince. 

Aravir stilled, focusing his attention on their surroundings.  After a few minutes, he looked sharply at Legolas.  “You are right…there IS something different.” 

The elven captain frowned.  “But…..what is it?  It seems familiar somehow…”  His voice faded away as he continued to listen closely. 

Legolas nodded.  “Yes…familiar…and the trees are excited.  Someone new has been visiting them.  I wonder who it could be?” 

He shook his head, his expression clearly perplexed.  “Well, one thing is certain…we will not be finding out if we continue to sit here.” 

He spoke to Alfirin and she started forward again, Thalion and Arod close at her side.   Legolas felt an overwhelming urge to reach his home as quickly as possible, and his urgency translated to the mare.  She picked up the pace, covering the miles in a sweeping canter.  Thus it was the travelers reached the elven enclave a little over an hour later. 

“Where is everyone?” Aravir asked, searching the deserted grounds for any signs of life.  Thalion pawed the ground, snorting uneasily and Aravir stroked the sweaty neck soothingly.  “I suppose I should be concerned…but do you get the feeling they are hiding?” 

Legolas grinned and nodded.  He could sense his people everywhere; in the big house and behind it, in the trees…Well, he supposed they were entitled to their tricks and fun.  He and Aravir would play along – for the time being. 

“We should take care of the horses, mellon nin,” he said loudly to Aravir.  “Then we can return and see just what is going on.”  Calling Arod to his side, he guided the mare to the path that led through the trees and to the stable.  Soft, teasing, disembodied laughter drifted down from the trees and followed in their wake. 

Aravir sighed.  “I wonder what they have planned.”  He exchanged an uneasy look with Legolas. 

The Prince shrugged.  “I have been gone almost a year.  I would not be surprised if they have decided on a most raucous welcome,” he remarked dryly.  “Prepare yourself, my friend.”  

Aravir snorted.  “I do not see why I must pay the price for your absence, hir nin.” 

Legolas laughed.  “Do not try to wriggle out of it, CAPTAIN.  I will not tolerate any sort of desertion from you at this late date.” 

Aravir looked appalled at the thought.  “Why, Ernil Legolas!  That you would suggest such a thing!” 

Still laughing, they both slid from their mounts and led the weary horses into the cool dimness of the stable.  Legolas looked around with interest.  

“No one here, either,” he noted wryly.  “I did not expect there to be.” 

Aravir led Thalion into his customary stall, while Legolas urged Arod into the one next door and showed the mare where her new home would be.  The two spent the next minutes filling troughs with fresh water and fetching buckets of fresh grain before beginning the tasks of grooming their mounts. 

Legolas had finished with Arod and was vigorously brushing the dust from Alfirin’s golden coat when he sensed someone watching him from the stall door.  He tensed as a familiar tendril of warmth crept through his mind, wrapping him round about as closely as a loving pair of arms.  He turned slowly.  

Ai!  Am I truly seeing this? 

His slate gray eyes filled with tears.  Three steps forward and he WAS wrapped in those loving arms.

“Adar,” he breathed, and buried his face in his father’s neck.

TRANSLATIONS:

Ernil Legolas – Prince Legolas

ai – alas

pen-neth nin – my young one

adar – father

naneth – mother

daeradar – grandfather

hannon le – thank you

Aran Elessar – King Elessar

navaer – good bye; farewell

suilad – hello

meleth nin – my love

ion nin – my son

meleth – love

mellon nin – my friend

hir nin – my lord

guren nin - my heart

                                 THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.  I may visit from time to time, but make no profit in doing so.

Summary:  A homecoming and a reunion – served hopefully with a large dose of understanding

A/N:  Special thanks to Alassiel for beta-reading this chapter.  She assures me it does not sound like a travel guide to Ithilien, though we both agree we would like to live there! 

*character thoughts will appear in italics

Chapter 20: …There Shall Your Heart Dwell Also

“I suspected he was in trouble months ago,” Thranduil said, his voice low, his eyes intent as he watched his son move among his people, greeting each one personally.  “But I was not completely certain until you sent the letter informing me of Arod’s injury and Legolas’ extended absence from Ithilien.”   The King of the Greenwood leaned back, relaxing and enjoying the fact that he did not have to do a thing during this celebration – just sit back and watch his very able son do all the work.  

At Aravir’s lack of response, Thranduil paused from the perusal of the Prince to examine the pale face of his companion in the fading light, a niggling suspicion growing in his mind.  He continued to speak, watching the dark-haired elf’s shuttered eyes closely.  He knew this one almost as well as he did Legolas.  Something was wrong.  He could feel it…and it was not like Aravir to try and conceal anything from him.     

“It took some time to make arrangements to leave Lasgalen and by the time I reached Rohan, you and Legolas had left with the others.”   

Aravir sighed softly.  He glanced at the older elf sitting beside him for only a moment before quickly dropping his eyes to study the goblet of wine he held in his right hand.  Warning bells now sounded loudly in Thranduil’s mind, riding upon the crashing waves of the sea.  He knew the source of that look…had experienced first hand the alternating joy and despair.  “Ai, no, Aravir.”   Thranduil could not quite contain the small distressed sound of realization that escaped.

Aravir heard the King’s sharp intake of breath; knew that if he looked at him, he would see compassionate understanding in the storm-gray eyes.   His lips tightened stubbornly.  He had not wanted to spend this time alone with Thranduil.  He had considered every excuse imaginable, but in the end decided such subterfuge was unworthy of him, as well as disrespectful to the King.  Had he truly thought it possible to hide his newly-found fascination with the sea?  Certainly, that piercing gray gaze saw entirely too much.  And there were others here who knew him just as well. 

Aravir took a sip of the sweet, heady wine and grimaced.  Since I was small, I have always been an open book to him!  Valar, now what should I say?  How can I explain?  And will he still trust me as he once did?

Aravir closed his eyes and tried to swallow past the sudden lump in his throat as a sharp, intense desire for his adar and naneth, long in Namo’s care, pierced his heart.   

Pen-neth nin…

The King’s distinctive mind-whisper brushed his consciousness, lending support, even as it rebuked him gently.  Fighting the sting of emotion, Aravir shot a lightning glance at Thranduil before bowing his head and silently accepting the offered comfort.  Forgive me, hir nin.

The King, thankfully, said not a word in reply.  Perhaps he had read the entreaty in that brief glance from Aravir or sensed the finely drawn control the captain was holding onto so desperately.   Long minutes passed before Aravir began to calm a bit and Thranduil finally picked up the reins of their interrupted conversation. 

“Your sister and cousin are remarkably disciplined tonight, child,” he remarked casually.  “I thought they would monopolize you entirely this evening.”

Aravir sighed soundlessly.  He had yet to hold any lengthy conversation with his sister, Tasarien, or Ariann, his cousin.  Deep green eyes sought and quickly found them both, seated next to Aradhel, Ariann’s betrothed.  Tasarien was watching him calmly with that quiet look he knew masked so much.  She had the ebony hair and green eyes of their family, although her eyes were the soft green of a lazy river, rather than the hard, gem-like emerald of his.  Twenty years younger than he and twice as bossy; he loved her dearly.

Aravir dragged his gaze back to Thranduil and smiled wanly.  “They will wait for you to soften me up.” 

The King chuckled.  He knew well the two female members of Aravir’s family – had helped them overcome the horrendous loss of their loved ones when they had yet been elflings, had raised them to become the strong, independent adults they were today.

“And have I?”  He paused.  “Softened you up?” 

“I am undone,” Aravir sighed.  “They will find me an easy mark - and totally at their tender mercies.”  Reluctantly, he looked at Ariann, who lifted one eyebrow in question, her moss green eyes filled with concern.  Ari was the healer of the family, with an uncanny knack of discernment.  She frowned at him now, giving him a look that spoke volumes, letting him know that he had only postponed the inevitable interrogation.  She was not pleased.  Aravir stifled a groan; Tasarien might be bossy, but Ariann possessed an iron will and a perceptive nature that scared him witless.  She would have the whole story from him in minutes! 

Thranduil, easily following Aravir’s thoughts, chuckled as two attendants began laying platters of steaming vegetables, sliced venison and pork, and baskets of hot, fragrant bread on the table before them.  Looking over Aravir’s head, he caught the eyes of both elleth and shook his head warningly.  Not now, his look plainly said.  Gaining a reprieve for the troubled elf beside him, he took a plate, filling it with a generous portion of food before handing it to him. 

Setting his own loaded plate on the table, he slathered fresh butter and honey on one of Cook’s hot rolls and took a huge bite.  Sighing blissfully, Thranduil quickly demolished the roll before turning to Aravir again. 

He frowned at the captain’s plate.  “Eat, or there will be no sweet for you later…and I know for a fact that Cook prepared your favorite.” 

Aravir flashed a lightning grin at the King as he stuffed a fork full of meat in his mouth and chewed obediently.  His favorite was a flaky pastry stuffed with fruit and nuts and dripping with a honeyed glaze.  If that was indeed the offering, he would force himself to eat.  He would need all his strength for the assault he knew would come later in the evening. 

Thranduil eyed the elf’s deliberately innocent expression a moment longer, enjoying the brief, carefree look that had flashed briefly, and returned to his meal, satisfied for the time being that the shadows marring the brilliance of Aravir’s eyes were diminishing. 

They ate quietly, enjoying the variety of dishes brought from the kitchen until Aravir pushed his plate away with a groan.  “I cannot eat another bite.  Except for a small helping of dessert.  Perhaps.  Later.” 

“I sincerely doubt that any ‘helping’ you take will be small, Aravir,”  Thranduil grinned knowingly.  “I distinctly remember you wearing out your welcome in the kitchen at home, filching those sweet buns whenever you could find them.” 

“Meneldur never could catch me,” Aravir admitted proudly, as he leaned forward confidingly.  “Do not tell Lomelas,” he whispered, looking guilty.  “But I still take them when I can!” 

Thranduil shouted with laughter, that long missed sound drawing fond looks from all over the green, as well as a grin from his son. 

Thranduil grinned back before turning once more to Aravir.  “Legolas has been remarkably close-mouthed, for all he was overjoyed to greet me,” the King observed, watching the Prince accept a heaping plate from Eloriel and a seat beside some of his foresters. 

“Still…I suppose he will speak when the time is right.  And then again…”  A thoughtful, pregnant pause.  “…pigs might fly first.” 

He smiled at Aravir’s startled laugh.  “Now…tell me about ion nin,” he requested gently. 

Aravir sat back, drew a deep breath.  Thranduil deserved to know what had happened and he found he wanted to talk with the King.  He had always found discussing things with the wiser, more experienced elf eased his own mind.  Besides, the King had to hear the story sometime in this millennium.  Silently apologizing to Legolas, he launched into the tale, beginning with the arrival of Aragorn and the subsequent invitation to accompany him to Rohan to check on Legolas. 

Thranduil listened closely, his expressive face awash with a variety of emotions.  The collapse of Legolas on the Snowbourne elicited fear, while some of Gimli’s more colorful remarks startled the King to laughter.  He listened to the orcs’ attack on Legolas quietly, his face expressionless, his clenched fists and stiff body radiating a fierce rage.  Aravir paused at that point, uncertain, until Thranduil drew a deep, cleansing breath, calming his temper by the sheer force of his will, and beckoned him to continue.

The King soon discovered his reaction to prior parts of the story paled before the shock and surprise that silenced him as Aravir related Legolas’ dream-conversations with Nienna. Thranduil held up a hand to halt Aravir for a moment as he grappled with the thought of one of the Valar delivering a message to his son. 

“Did it really happen, Aravir?” he asked finally.  “Or was it just a dream?”

Aravir answered slowly.  “I cannot say.  All I know is this…he wept, my lord.  He was unconscious and he wept for days on end.  And nothing Elessar did would rouse him.” 

Aravir paused, groping for words to explain more clearly what he felt had happened.  “I believe Legolas really spoke with her…that somehow he was taken to Aman and shown what he needed to know in order to deal with the sea-longing.”

“Did he explain why they would want him to remain here?” the King asked.

“Yes,” Aravir replied.  “Legolas said he was needed as a support for Elessar.”

Thranduil stiffened and Aravir hurried on.  “As friend to the King of the Reunified Lands, he will be in a position to help and encourage him.” 

Thranduil snorted.  “Help him?  How?  He cannot interfere in the governance of men.” 

Aravir shrugged slightly.  “I do not know how Legolas will help, hir nin – only that he will.”  Thranduil sat back in his chair, his fingers drumming an edgy rhythm on the wooden arm.

“And this wild trip to Belegaer I have been hearing about, Aravir,” Thranduil snapped impatiently.  “If he was given the knowledge necessary, why risk himself…and you on that insane trip to the sea?” 

Aravir shook his head helplessly.  “He NEEDED to, my lord,” he answered.  “If he was to learn his place and part in the Song.” 

Thranduil huffed softly.  “Ah, yes, the Song,” he interrupted, staring hard at Aravir.  “Explain it to me.” 

Aravir swallowed hard, then replied slowly.  “I cannot.” 

“Can not?  Or will not?” Thranduil asked softly. 

Aravir winced.  “My lord, you know if I could, I would tell you everything,” he said earnestly.  “But unfortunately, I do not understand it enough to explain how it works.  I only know that when Legolas joins his voice with it, we…he finds peace.” 

Thranduil nodded, somewhat appeased.  He would definitely be questioning his son about the Song later.  And willingly or not, Aravir had just confirmed that he, too, had been touched by the sea.

Aravir’s expression brightened suddenly.  “We met a most interesting family that lives on Luinaelin, my lord.  Healers and herbalists that have a familial connection with Imrahil of Dol Amroth.” 

Thranduil’s gray eyes narrowed in thought.  “With that lost group of elves from Lothlorien?” he asked finally.  “The one from which Nimrodel and Amroth went missing?”  Elven memory recalled the dark-haired elf maiden and her Numenorean lord.  “That would be the descendants of Imrazor and Mithrellas.”

“Aye,” Aravir confided.  “These humans are a most engaging group.” 

Thranduil sniffed disdainfully and looked away.  “More mortals for Legolas to mourn…and now he has involved you!” 

“You would like them, my lord,” Aravir said softly, refusing to take insult at the King’s dismissive, sarcastic tone. 

Thranduil stared into the dense, dark forest at the edge of the green for a long moment, his strong, sculpted features cold and remote.  Suddenly, he sighed and turned back to Aravir.  Steel eyes warmed to a foggy gray as he smiled ruefully at the elf sitting beside him.  “I probably would.”

“We left them four days ago, and after seeing Aran Elessar safely inside the gates of his city, we rode here as quickly as possible,” Aravir concluded, feeling suddenly and inexplicably weary.  He had forgotten how intense a conversation with the King could become. 

He smiled faintly at Thranduil.  “As we drew closer, we could sense a new presence in the forest…but…”  Here Thranduil raised an eyebrow at Aravir’s hesitation and the younger elf flushed.  “…we did not recognize you.” 

Thranduil laughed softly, his mood lightening.  “Well, all the more reason to stay for a while.  Amros and the council will deal with the realm, while Golasgil oversees the security.  Galion assured me the house has survived worse things than my puny absence.” 

He studied Aravir again with those bright, discerning eyes.  “It becomes more and more evident you both need looking after, Aravir.”  

Aravir frowned at his hands and missed Thranduil’s grin. 

“You are most welcome here, my lord,” the captain murmured. 

Thranduil laid an affectionate hand on Aravir’s shoulder.  “Yes, yes, I know – you are both all grown-up now,” he teased in a fatherly, sympathetic tone.  “But I see two children in need of comforting and supervision, and I am just the elf to provide both.” 

Aravir raised his eyes.  “You misunderstand, my lord,” he whispered.  “I mean it.  I am very glad to see you, Aran Thranduil.”  

Thranduil kept his strong hand on the younger elf’s shoulder, the laughter fading, his pensive gaze wandering past the celebrating elves again to the trees just beyond the glow of lanterns and firelight.  “No more than I, pen- neth.  I will rest easier knowing Legolas, and now you, are safe.  And, of course, this forest needs further attending.” 

He looked at Aravir, suddenly smug and teasing once more.  “I believe I might be of some assistance in that continuing endeavor.” 

Aravir laughed, feeling a tight knot inside begin to loosen in the familiar, beloved presence.

The two elves looked up as a shyly smiling Eloriel approached them.  She dipped a demure curtsey and said, “Lord Legolas sends you both his regards and requests that you stop discussing him and join him for the remaining festivities!” 

She blushed at the laughter of both the King and Aravir.  Thranduil stood and took her hand, brushing an airy kiss over her fingertips. 

“Eloriel, my dear, you are as lovely as ever!  Lasgalen has sorely missed your presence,” he exclaimed gallantly, his gray eyes sparkling with humor at her discomfiture.  “And I see that Ernil Legolas is still sending others to do his dirty work!  Tell that rapscallion son of mine we will join him shortly.” 

Eloriel curtseyed quickly and fled.  Honestly, she knew not who was worse – the father or the son!  While she might smother a smart retort to the King, she had known Legolas since birth and never hesitated to rip a strip off his hide when the situation warranted it.  The fuming elleth smiled grimly.  She would make him very sorry first…then let him carry his own messages to his adar from now on!

~~~~*~~~~*~~~~*

Dawn came to the elven meadow, slipping over the land gently, caressing the trees with mist and soft light that hovered and drifted in the hollows and folds near the stream, only to become luminous, shimmering pools as Anor’s hold on the day strengthened. 

The last elves to leave the welcoming feast had discharged their duties and gone to their well-deserved rest only a few hours before.  Faint wisps of smoke from extinguished fires strayed aloft to mix with the morning fog. 

The light grew in intensity, and the sleepy twitters and chirps of early birds sounded.  Suddenly, with a rush of frantic wings, a group of them took flight from the trees to see about breakfast.  At the bend of the stream, a pair of heron left their nest in the reeds and began their stately walk through the shallows, looking for an unwary fish.

Legolas watched the world awaken from his favorite perch in a venerable old oak at the edge of the lawn, letting his eyes wander through the clearing as he reacquainted himself with his home.  A soft rustle in the leaves near his head brought him to quick attention, only to relax, grinning, as a small brown wren hopped from branch to elven knee and chirruped at him happily. 

“Suilad, tithen min,” Legolas whispered. 

The little bird twittered a bright greeting, fluttering to an extended finger.  Legolas gently stroked the soft, warm little head, smiling. 

“I am very glad to be back, small singer,” he replied. 

The wren flitted to his shoulder, cheeping seriously.  Legolas chuckled at the tone.  “I believe I have been taken to task and lectured most severely for my long absence.” 

He nuzzled the soft feathers and said reassuringly, “I am not leaving again for a long while.”  With a final chirp that sounded suspiciously like approval, the wren left him in a flurry of wings.  Legolas followed her flight, smiling faintly.  An appropriate welcome, indeed! 

He let his eyes sweep the clearing again, examining the large house built on the rise across from the water with the critical eye of one who would always prefer the living forest to stone.  How he had fought against the building of such a dwelling – even if it was for the elven lord of Ithilien!  He smiled at the memory of Aragorn’s exasperation at his resistence to the whole idea.

~~~~~*~~~~~

10 years before…

“I will live in the trees,” Legolas stated for the umpteenth time, crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring out one of the large windows in the royal apartments of the Citadel.

Aragorn exchanged a look with Faramir and Arwen.  This dispute had been raging for days now, ever since Legolas had returned from Eryn Lasgalen with the first group of elves bound for northern Ithilien.  At least he was listening – the first few times the subject had come up, the stubborn elf had walked out!  The King moved over to stand beside his friend.  They both gazed silently out the window, Aragorn thinking furiously.  Time to negotiate…cajole…plead if necessary. 

“Why not build both, mellon nin?” he asked calmly.  “Talans in the trees for everyday living, and a house to serve those who visit that might not feel comfortable climbing about the canopy.”  Legolas snorted, sliding a sour look at the King by his side.

“You mean humans,” he groused.  He was really in no mood to be placated…or managed.  

Aragorn sighed.  A plague on stiff-necked elves!  “You will have them from time to time, Thranduilion,” he pointed out, his tone now that of the King.  “You will need an appropriate place to house them, to hold conferences or audiences, or whatever is required of you in your capacity as a lord of Ithilien AND a representative of myself, Faramir, and your father.” 

Legolas continued to scowl to the plains below the window.  Of course, Estel was right.  And the idea of building both had merit.  But he did not have to like it!

Aragorn waited patiently.  If he knew one thing about this particular elf, it was his well-developed sense of responsibility.  Legolas huffed, a noisy sigh of resignation, and thankfully, the beginning of reluctant agreement.

“All right, aran brannon,” Legolas consented, after stretching the silence to the breaking point.  “At your suggestion, the house will be built.  But I will decide on its location and design.”

Aragorn exchanged a quick look of relief with Arwen and Faramir.  Arwen winked at him, grinning cheerfully as her husband clapped a hand on the tense shoulder of the elf beside him, and Faramir moved up to render any suggestions or aid necessary.

“There are some beautiful clearings near one of the smaller streams that flow into the Anduin, Legolas,” Faramir offered.  “Not too far from Cair Andros.”  He paused for a moment, glancing at Legolas before adding slyly,  “And some of the culumalda trees have taken root there.” 

Legolas eyed the Steward carefully, his interest piqued in spite of himself.   He did love the magnificent red and gold trees which normally grew only on the island of Cair Andros. 

Aragorn, encouraged by this new attentiveness, decided to push the discussion forward.  “Good,” he said, beaming at the elf with approval.  “Faramir will aid you in finding the perfect location.  I have already spoken to Gimli, as I know you will wish to use as little wood as possible in the construction.  He has some very intriguing ideas.” 

Legolas rolled his eyes.  “Now why does that NOT reassure me?” 

Everyone laughed at his suspicious expression and Arwen stepped to his side, linking her arm with his.  “It will be lovely, Legolas,” she reassured him soothingly.  “Gimli will consider it his sworn duty to create something even a ‘fool elf’ will appreciate.” 

“Yes, well…” grumbled the fool elf.  “We shall see.”

~~~~~*~~~~~

Legolas examined the huge house and grounds (he avoided the word ‘palace’ like the plague) and had to admit Gimli’s labor of love had been an overwhelming success.  He loved the open glade Faramir had brought him to all those years before.  Even now, the feeling of settling, of rightness he had experienced when first setting eyes on this special place still had the power to render him breathless.

The spacious rolling meadow was surrounded by forest, with the smaller tributary stream of the Anduin winding its way through one edge, sliding over the rocks in a series of small cataracts, tumbling rapids and waterfalls.  Several smaller streams fed quiet pools before actually joining the larger waterway, which would continue through a narrow gorge until it reached the falls at Henneth Annun. 

The house itself, a stunning construction of warm, golden stone Gimli had located in a quarry in south Lebennin, rambled along the rise near the riverbank; two levels with wide porches and inviting terraces framed by large oaks.  The profile of the house was graceful, all gabled windows and dramatic angles, constructed in a harmony that not only pleased the eye, but also emphasized the warm beauty of Gimli’s stone.  From any window or door, and Legolas had tried them all, one had a lovely view of the river, the forest beyond, or any of the many cleverly situated gardens.

Legolas drew a deep breath of the crisp, early morning air and opened himself to the song of the forest.  The trees were at their peak now, vibrant colors made even more brilliant by the gilded light of the rising sun, their song full of contentment.  Fallen leaves skittered across the wide expanse of green lawn, chased by a capricious breeze that playfully tugged at the golden hair of the Prince.  He had missed this more than he had realized. 

Sensing a change in the trees’ song, Legolas looked down to see his father crossing the grass to stand beneath his tree.  Looking up, Thranduil met the gaze of his son.  One elegant eyebrow arched in question, asking. 

Legolas smiled.  “Come up, Adar.  The view of a morning is always spectacular up here.”

Three graceful, powerful leaps brought Thranduil into the tree, settling his tall, lean figure on the huge branch beside his son.  Legolas relaxed against the immense bole of the old oak, patting its bark fondly as he gave his father time to get comfortable.  He had known this discussion was coming; he was grateful his father had given him one night to gather his composure and thoughts before initiating it. 

Thranduil tilted his head back, eyes closed, savoring the fresh, clean scents of autumn and exuberant tree song as he waited patiently for his son to start.

“You heard of Arod’s injury…” Legolas began slowly.  His father nodded encouragingly.  “Well…”

~~~~~*~~~~~*

Legolas’ tale repeated much of what Aravir had said.  Thranduil knew there was more, but was hesitant to push too much.  Time enough later to discuss the import of Nienna’s words…and the whys and hows of the Valie’s intervention.  But the Song…ah, the Song had caught his attention and he wanted to hear more about it. 

“I understand there is a wonderful waterfall above a hidden valley not far from here,” he remarked idly.

Legolas looked at him, bemused at the sudden shift in subject.  “Yes,” he replied slowly.  “Henneth Annun – ‘the window of the sunset’.  The Rangers of Ithilien used the caves behind the falls as a hiding place during the War.”

“That is what Faramir told me,” Thranduil allowed a little excitement to creep into his voice.  He turned his intelligent gray eyes on his son.  “Could you show it to me and still manage to return here by nightfall?  I would not want to take you away from everyone so soon after your return, but a few hours will not matter overmuch.”

Legolas nodded, swiftly calculating distances and traveling time.  “If we take the route through the trees, it is only an hour or so away.  But Adar, I should warn you that once you get there, it will take the rest of the day to see all there is of interest.  Also Ithil is full this night – and rises early.  You will not want to miss that.” 

He stood, stretching and grinning at his father suddenly.  “Besides, I do not think anyone will begrudge me wanting to show my father around our forest.  I will stop by the kitchen and beg a packet of food from Lomelas and rejoin you here.” 

Thranduil smiled back, pleased to see that his child still glowed at the prospect of a picnic near the water, as well as radiated a possessive pride in his new home.  He had hoped that for Legolas, ever since releasing him to come here.  He had also made it a point to stay away all these years, to give his son the time and space he needed to establish himself as lord of this forest. 

“Legolas,” his father called, as his son started down, intent on his errand.  Legolas glanced back questioningly.

“Bring Aravir along, hmmm?” the King suggested.

Legolas laughed aloud.  “As if we could leave without his escort, Adar!”  He descended rapidly and crossed the lawn to the house at a loping trot.

Thranduil leaned back against the old oak, satisfied with his plan thus far.  With any luck, this magical place Faramir had described would inspire his son to share some of the Song with him.  Perhaps then he might begin to understand.

~~~~~*~~~~~*

Of course, the outing turned out to be much more complicated than either Thranduil or Legolas imagined.  Aravir, most certainly, had to come with them…along with one of his captains from the patrols.  Tasarien happened to be in the kitchen when Legolas accosted Lomelas for the food, and invited herself along, “to keep an eye on that brother of mine”.  Then Ariann heard that her betrothed, Aradhel, was the patrol captain going, and decided for such a trip, a qualified healer was a necessity. 

Legolas shrugged…Thranduil snickered…and an hour after breakfast, the merry group took to the trees, traveling along the gorge pathway as they followed the rushing stream southwest to Henneth Annun. 

“Where does this stream have its source?” Thranduil asked, admiring the dramatic view from the cliffs overlooking the rushing waters below.

“It runs from the Ephel Duath to the River Anduin, just below Cair Andros, hir nin,” Aravir answered, joining the King on the ledge. 

And it was a majestic sight; the hills, with their shadows and many textures spread out before them, blanketed with a dense forest dressed in all its autumnal glory, awash with light and living color.  And beyond them loomed the dark silhouette of the Mountains of Shadow.

They stopped for a time to examine some of the trees along the stream that Legolas’ foresters had been concerned about.  Thranduil walked quietly among the giants with Legolas, singing softly to the old ones and listening intently to the murmuring reply. 

“Duilin is concerned they might not be strong enough to endure a harsh winter,” Legolas said, running his hands over the rough bark.  “They have only recently recovered from some sort of mold growth that was stripping the leaves.” 

Thranduil shook his head.  “I can understand his fears.  I, myself, have doubts about one or two of the eldest.” 

Legolas frowned.  He, too, sensed the weakness in the older trees.  “I will tell Duilin…maybe there is something we can do to help them through the coldest part of the winter.” 

“If the winter is not too severe, they might survive.  Certainly another growing season should see them recovered,” his father agreed. 

The elves leaped into the trees again and continued on their way to Henneth Annun.  As they approached the falls, the noise of the waters grew ever louder, and a fine mist could be seen rising from the forest ahead.  The stream rushed through the deepening chasm, frothing and bubbling over terraces carved into the sides of the hill as it plunged over the cliff. 

“Faramir says these are the fairest of all the falls of Ithilien,” Legolas murmured.  “They are certainly the largest I have seen thus far.” 

Thranduil examined the basin far below with interest.  “Are we on the proper side to have a look at the caves?” he asked nonchalantly. 

Legolas and the others laughed at the King’s obvious curiosity.  “We are, Adar,” his son answered.  “Follow me.” 

They spent the next few hours exploring the cave entrance and the hewn passages, coming at last to stand on the ledge of stone thrust out from the cave’s mouth to the streaming waterfall. 

“The window of the sunset,” Thranduil said softly, looking across the deep valley below to the west where the sun would set.  “I can certainly see where it gets its name.  Amazing.” 

The little group climbed back up the hewn stairs and found a pleasant clearing about two-thirds of the way on one side of the falls to eat not only their lunch, but dinner also.  If one is visiting a place called the ‘window of the sunset’, one must definitely stay to see the sunset, or so the King insisted, glaring at the Prince’s softly muttered, “I told you so”. 

So they found comfortable trees more than willing to shelter them and watched Anor gradually sink below the horizon.  The light, filtering through the mists of the waterfall, was softened to a shimmering haze, slipping through the branches of the forest in beams of gleaming, molten gold even as it painted the sky shades of pink, yellow, and purple. 

Legolas, sitting close to his father, closed his eyes, his fair head cocked in an attitude of intense concentration.  Thranduil held his breath, remaining absolutely still and was finally rewarded when he began to sing softly.  It was a song unlike any Thranduil had ever heard before.  And it was only one part of a more complex harmony.

He could almost hear the greater part of the melody – almost.  Placing an arm about his oblivious son, Thranduil looked across to the next tree.  Aravir, too, sat with eyes closed, listening to the growing power of Legolas’ song.  A peace lay on his face that had been lacking the day before.  Tasarien, arm linked with her brother’s, laid her head on his shoulder and wept quietly.  She could hear the sea in the music and now knew for certain what her brother had refused to put in words the night before.  Aradhel wrapped a comforting arm about Ariann as they whispered quietly. 

The melody continued for some time; Ithil rose, casting a pearlescent light over the slumbering forest below to mingle with the ghostly mists of the waterfall.  After a time, Legolas stopped singing and rested silently in the strong embrace of his father. 

“At first, I could not hear it, Ada,’ he whispered.  “She told me that everything has its own sound, from the smallest blade of grass to the highest mountain.  She said to listen carefully, and not just with my ears, but with that inside that makes me who I am.  I told her that since I had heard the voice of the gulls, I could not hear much of anything.” 

Legolas looked at his father.  “She said that beyond that silence was where I would hear the song of creation – the whole of the music, and not just the song of Ennor or the promise of the song of Aman.  All of it.  And when I could finally hear it, I would be able to add my own part.  I did.  At last I understood.” 

He sighed deeply and leaned against his father’s strength.  “It helps.  A great deal.  There is peace in it…and I can even hear the trees again.  I think that hurt worst of all, Ada, that I could not hear the trees.  I felt like some part of me had been amputated.  I would reach to use it, and it was not there anymore.” 

“It is still there, ion nin,” Thranduil said softly.  “And when you finally sail, it will return to its full strength.” 

He tightened his arm about his child.  “I am so glad you have found a way to endure.  I suppose I should not be surprised that music would provide the comfort you need.” 

Legolas glanced at him questioningly.  Thranduil smiled reminiscently, recalling the soft melodic humming sounds his infant son would make even in sleep.  He explained, “Even as a tiny elfling, you would sing, after a fashion – awake or asleep.  The birds would come and perch on the trees outside our room and add their own songs to yours.  We were enchanted – your naneth and I.  I remember lying in bed under the window, with you between us, listening to the music you and the birds and the trees would make.” 

He kissed his son’s forehead.  “No, I am not surprised that this would be the solution given you.” 

“Then you believe my story of Nienna?” Legolas asked hesitantly. 

“I always believed you, child,” his father said.  “After hearing this, it only proves the lengths the wise and powerful employed to keep you here.” 

He frowned, his displeasure clear to see.  “Though, I cannot say I am happy that they would let you suffer so.” 

“I want to stay,” Legolas whispered.  “I know it will hurt to lose so many I have come to love, but it is worth it.  I would not lose the privilege of knowing and loving them, Adar.”

Thranduil smiled sadly.  “I am beginning to understand that, nin hen.  It takes me longer to see things sometimes.  Your mother used to tell me it was part of my stubborn nature and that I enjoyed being quarrelsome.” 

Legolas laughed shakily.  “No!  Not you, Adar!” 

Thranduil gave his son a warning squeeze.  “Watch your mouth, pen-neth!  You are never too old for an ‘Ada-punishment’, you know!” 

Legolas looked at his father, shocked at his use of that phrase.  “You knew that is what I called it?”  His father’s ‘consequences’ had always been more severe than his mother’s, and to be avoided at all costs. 

“Of course I knew.  So did your naneth.  She thought it most humorous,” Thranduil laughed as Legolas groaned.  They leaned back against the tree, content to rest in each other’s presence and that of the forest. 

“Will Aravir be well?” Legolas asked heavily, the guilt he felt at having introduced the other elf to the sea still evident in his voice. 

“Aravir will be fine, I think,” Thranduil said, looking across at the captain, who was now speaking quietly with his sister and cousin.  “He has much to hold him here, and it is HIS love which also makes him strong.” 

Legolas nodded.  “Have I thanked you yet for sending him with me?” 

“No, but you are welcome,” Thranduil teased gently.  “I wanted him to get to know you better.  I thought you might become friends if you could break down those walls of duty he had built around himself.” 

“They were strong walls, Ada, but they finally collapsed during this trip,” Legolas replied, watching his friend fondly.

“I am glad,” Thranduil said simply.  “Glad that you have each other to rely upon, especially now.” 

He examined their surroundings once more, marveling at the beauty of the woods.  “I would have thought the suffering of this forest to be greater, given its proximity to Mordor,” he remarked thoughtfully.

Legolas shook his head in agreement.  “The first time I walked through these woods near the field of Cormallen, I was also amazed at the lack of the severe damage we are so familiar with at home.” 

He studied the landscape for a time, oddly hesitant to continue, but not wanting to keep anything from his father.  “I happened to voice my thoughts in front of Lord Celeborn once and he said that as there were no elves living here, Sauron’s malice sought other outlets.”  He held his breath.

“The Greenwood,” Thranduil said, his voice deadly quiet. 

Legolas reached up and gripped his father’s hand.  “But we fought Shadow, Ada,” he reasoned earnestly.  “We fought and we never gave in to him…no matter the cost to us…no matter our lack of a ring of power…we fought until the Greenwood was ultimately victorious!” 

Thranduil smiled slightly, his eyes brooding.  “Yes, we did win.” 

He returned his gaze to his son.  “And now we will fight to heal all the wounds dealt by Sauron and his hate…both to the Greenwood and Ithilien.  The trees here still feel the effects of Shadow, though they are not as twisted as some of the woods of home.” 

Legolas nodded, his slate gray eyes glittering with purpose.  “In another decade, we will have reached them all and returned them to health and wholeness once more.” 

He climbed gracefully to his feet and stretched his arms wide as if to embrace the whole of the forest below them.  “Welcome to the land of the moon, Adar,” he said softly to his father, now standing beside him.  “Welcome to my home.”

TRANSLATIONS:

ai! – alas!

pen-neth nin  -  my young one

hir nin – my lord

ion nin – my son

Valar – the powers of Arda

Valie – one of the female powers of Arda (in this case, Nienna)

aran brannon – Lord King

Aran Thranduil – King Thranduil

pen-neth  -  young one

suilad – hello

tithen min – little one

mellon nin – my friend

culumalda – a tree indigenous to Cair Andros, prized for its dazzling red and gold foliage

Henneth Annun – window to the sunset

Ithilien – land of the moon

adar/ada – father/dad

nin hen – my child

naneth/nana – mother/mom

Ernil Legolas – Prince Legolas

THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Disclaimer: The Prince, the King and Arod (not to mention Ithilien and Middle-earth) belong to JRR Tolkien, drat it. I am only borrowing them for a time and promise to return them…eventually. I make no profit from this, but it sure is fun playing here!

Summary: Back home, and life returns to normal…sort of.

A/N: I do so apologize for the long delay in updating (stubborn muses…). I am completing this story NOW, although events seem to suggest a sequel will soon follow! LOL Thank you all who followed the story and reviewed…you will never know how much comfort and encouragement I gained from your kind words. Thank you again.

Chapter 21: Seasons of Change

Legolas slipped from his talan and walked quickly across the lawn to the great house. The sun had not yet risen, but he knew Lomelas always began an initial breakfast well before first light, as the replacements in some of the closer patrols were made frequently and had to be fed and provisioned before they departed on their assignments.

The newly returned Prince slowed a bit, lifting his face and breathing deeply of the earthy spice-filled scent of the forest even as he watched a pair of kingfishers pursue their morning meal with quick, splashing dives into the still water of a nearby pool.

He was to breakfast with Aravir and his lieutenants, receiving their formal reports at that time. Following that, his entire morning was over run with meetings…with his advisors…his staff…anyone and everyone within shouting distance wanted to see the Prince today.

The only one he was not meeting with was his adar. A fond smile replaced the pained expression for a moment as Legolas thought back to the day before. It was strange how just talking with his father had a way of putting things into perspective. He felt much steadier now; his rest the night before had been uninterrupted for the first time in days.

Legolas huffed quietly. It most definitely would not do to let his adar know that little bit of information. He had spent uncounted years establishing his independence and his father had grown, if not totally accepting, then at least resigned to letting his only child seek his own path.

Yet there were still times when Thranduil would subtly let him know of the place he still held in his son’s life. Take the evening of his homecoming, for instance. Legolas had been smugly proud of the way he had handled the ceremony and festivities. He had felt calm and in control, and everything had been proceeding smoothly until a freshening breeze had whisked through the trees surrounding the green, filling the air with the sighing, rustling susurration of the leaves. It had sounded like the sea – and he had been lost in a moment, staring into the darkness, stricken with the unexpected pain in his heart. His father had sensed his predicament somehow, and come up behind him silently, his strength a steady, warm presence that Legolas could not deny…had not the strength to deny.

Legolas recalled the rest of the encounter reluctantly. It had not been his finest moment. He had remained stubbornly stiff and silent, refusing to acknowledge his father’s presence. Moments passed uncomfortably, until his father had squeezed his shoulder once and walked away to rejoin the others. It was then he had felt the jolt of energy and strength imparted to him by his father with that simple touch. His skin still hummed from the contact hours later. Sneaky old ada. He had to admire his sire’s single mindedness…and appreciate the unconditional love from the elf who understood him better than he did himself.

Now, in light of the day ahead, he wished he could have snared his father into attending some of these interminable meetings with him. He had even asked him as they prepared to retire, but Thranduil had cocked one eyebrow at his son’s invitation and shaken his head – an emphatic NO. He was, he informed Legolas, going to sleep late (if one could consider dawn late), get up, eat a hearty breakfast, and go for a ride, after which…well, his father was not certain, but he was sure it involved a delicious luncheon and then a lengthy contemplation of some nearby trees.

Legolas groaned. His father was more than willing to help him with the sea’s call; meetings however, were ranked as one of the Dark Lord’s most abominable creations. As he had reminded his son, one must face one’s responsibilities head on… and if one was going to be absent from his duties for almost a year, one got what he deserved.

Thranduil had laughed at the outraged, guilty look on Legolas’ face at that reminder, and kissed his son on the forehead. “I believe I will forego the pleasure of your company until AFTER you have discharged your duties.” And the King had cheerfully wished him a restful night and gone off to bed.

Legolas grinned ruefully. Bless his adar…he had forgotten how quickly and efficiently Thranduil could cut through to the heart of the matter. Word had it from among his escort he planned to spend the winter in Ithilien. It would be good to have him around for awhile. Humming softly and preoccupied with the morning schedule, Legolas walked quickly through the terrace doors that led into the communal dining area, not noticing Aravir’s sister until he collided with her.

His hands shot out to steady her as he exclaimed, “Tasarien! Forgive me; I was not watching where I was going! Are you all right?”

Tasarien glanced up at him coldly, stepping back and standing stiffly at attention, as she replied flatly, “I am fine, Ernil Legolas.”

Legolas started at her tone and looked at her more closely. “Tasarien?” he inquired quietly.

“Your pardon, hir nin,” she stated shortly. “I am due in the stables.” She stepped around him and stalked away, her shoulders set in an attitude of angered affront.

Legolas watched her go thoughtfully. Since she had followed her brother to Ithilien twelve years before, she had been reserved, but friendly towards him in her quiet, shy way…always open and natural, not reacting overmuch to his rank and always, always accepting of his ‘affliction’. While some had looked at him in wary confusion, she and Aravir had made up part of the small group that sought to comfort him with their unquestioning support.

Legolas sighed. He had his suspicions about the cause of her unexpected and uncharacteristic behavior, but knew not how to resolve the matter. Valar! He did not have any idea how to even approach her about it! He slumped against the door facing, suddenly overwhelmed by his guilt and her rejection, when a strong hand grasped his shoulder and turned him around. Aravir examined his Prince’s wan face closely before his troubled eyes left to follow his sister’s progress toward the stables.

“I am sorry, Legolas,” he said softly.

Legolas smiled sadly. “She is angry with me.”

“Oh, not just with you, my lord,” Aravir replied, his chagrin obvious. “I told her you sent me home before you left for Lebennin and that I had disobeyed orders. She was not impressed.”

He shrugged. “Give her some time,” he said gently. “Once she sees I am not seriously affected by the call, she will calm down and see that her anger is misplaced.”

Legolas shook his head, hoping the captain’s optimism was warranted. “I hope so, Aravir.”

Aravir squeezed the tense shoulder reassuringly. “She will.”

Legolas gazed at him steadily. “No, Aravir. I hope YOU are right – that you will not be seriously affected by the call.”

“What will be, will be, hir nin. We may protest all we like and it will change absolutely nothing.” He clapped Legolas on the back. “Come along, my friend. Our meal and a multitude of reports await us.”

As he guided Legolas towards the appetizing smells drifting through the open doors of the dining hall, Aravir promised himself a private conversation with his little sister later, once his duties to the Prince had been satisfactorily completed.

~~~~~*~~~~~*

Eloriel watched from a corner hallway as the two tall elves passed through the doors into the large room beyond. She sensed something was wrong – indeed, she had suspected all was not well the day of their return. The familiar tension in Legolas remained undiminished, but Aravir was…had felt…different. Then, the two had returned the next day from their excursion to Henneth Annun in a very subdued state, and with the exception of Thranduil, the others who had accompanied them had looked positively stricken.

This morning, she had watched Tasarien pick and poke at her favorite omelet and refuse the company of her usual friends. The brief confrontation between the normally even-tempered elleth and Legolas only heightened her suspicions.

Deep inside, she knew what that “something wrong” was, although she really did not wish to face it at this time. Especially if “it” now involved Aravir. Aravir! She clamped down on her shaky emotions, shying away from the thought of the tall, black-haired warrior.

Shaking her head, mentally chastising herself for acting a self-indulgent coward, she leaned against the cool wall and closed her eyes. I have never backed away from a challenge before! Yes, her unruly heart countered, but such challenges have never before involved such a threat to him! Eloriel fought the quick rush of fear, commanding her quick mind to consider what might be done to offer additional aid and comfort to two of the most stubborn, secretive elves alive.

“When are you going to give him some hint of your feelings, Eloriel?”

The soft voice whispering in her ear startled her and she jumped, turning to find Aran Thranduil behind her, his deep gray eyes also fixed on the door she had been watching. Those eyes lowered to examine her knowingly, the King considering her flush of embarrassment and smiling slightly. Eloriel’s heart sank. There was no way on Arda she could possibly escape the coming…inquisition.

“No, you are not,” Thranduil said softly. She looked at him questioningly. “Going to escape.” Her heart sank a little further.

“Walk with me, child,” he ordered, taking her chilled hand and placing it on his arm in a gallant, courtly gesture that brought foolish tears to her eyes. Thranduil patted her hand gently, giving her time to regain her self-control as they walked along.

“Aravir is a good elf,” Thranduil mused as they strolled through one of the many side doors leading into the various courtyards. “Kind…intelligent…responsible to a fault…”

“Blind,” she interjected, finally finding her voice and a small measure of composure.

Thranduil chuckled. “Oh, yes indeed,” he agreed amiably. “He is most definitely blind. He would not dream than any elleth could look at him ‘that way’.”

She snorted softly; looking away from the King’s smiling face she studiously examined the last of the autumn flowers blooming in the small garden. Thranduil led her to a bench beneath a graceful, old beech tree. They sat silently for a time until the King spoke.

“He has lost much. He has lived his life since coming of age in memory of his parents and brothers, his grandparents, aunt and uncle. His constant battle against Shadow consumed him, Eloriel.”

“Just as his care of your son consumes him now,” she retorted unthinkingly. Suddenly recalling just who she was speaking to, she gasped and buried her face in her hands.

“Yes,” Thranduil said, placing an understanding hand on her shoulder. “It does…and I am so grateful…I cannot tell you how much.”

He stood suddenly and moved to the edge of the terrace, gazing blindly out across the gardens. “It has been difficult, as a father, to let my son go. For so long he was Legolas, son of Thranduil. I was content with that.”

He shrugged. “I did not want that to change.”

The King turned to face her again. “But life IS change, Eloriel…even if we do not wish it, it will come.”

He returned his gaze to the grounds as Eloriel rose and came to stand by him. “I am proud of all he has accomplished here. It is even more than I had hoped for him.”

He smiled at the elleth at his side. “For all of you.”

She nodded in understanding. The elves who had accompanied their Prince to Ithilien had come for various reasons, and in the long term, had ultimately found new purpose and a new home.

She drew a deep breath. “Do you truly believe I should pursue what I feel for Aravir, aran brannon?”

“I believe that now, above all else, he will need your strength and love to balance and anchor him here, Eloriel,” he replied, holding her gaze with his own. “You do know why?”

She nodded hesitantly. “I believe so, my lord.”

“And it makes no difference to you?”

She snorted softly. “Hardly, Aran Thranduil. Where the Captain is concerned, it is merely another challenge to be met.”

She glanced up at the King, her smile fierce. “I like challenges.”

Thranduil laughed softly and surprised her with a quick, fatherly hug. “Take care of them both, my dear.”

She touched his arm briefly in reassurance and comfort. “You may count on me, my lord.”

They reentered the house and as Eloriel left him to make her way to the kitchens, Thranduil called quietly. “Oh. And Eloriel?”

She stopped and looked back at the tall, imposing elf studying her so closely. “My lord?” she asked.

“Do send me an invitation to the betrothal, hmmm?”

She grinned. “Of course, sire.” Dropping a quick curtsey to the King, she left him smiling as she practically skipped off to attend to her morning duties.

~~~~*~~~~

Aravir considered himself an intelligent elf – logical, not given to flights of fancy or bouts of temper or melancholy. Balanced. As a leader of his lord’s warriors, he had always made it a habit of knowing those he worked with inside out, and of all the elves he had ever lived and worked with throughout his life, he felt he knew his sister the best.

He smiled wryly. His little sister…quiet, calm, more often than not shy Tasarien…she had a temper comparable to Mount Doom. And she had not reacted well yesterday to his revelation of his ‘heightened awareness’ of the sea. In fact, she had been unexpectedly angry.

“Heightened awareness?” she had hissed at him, her eyes blurred with tears. “Is that how you would describe it, brother? Couch it in such bland terms as to make it less threatening than it is?”

At his blank look, she had thrown up her hands in disgust and stormed off. Now, after crossing paths with her several times during the day since her morning confrontation with Legolas – she had pointedly ignored him each time – he could only conclude that there was trouble ahead. Yes, indeed, a storm was brewing.

Ai, there was no help for it. He was going to have to poke, prod, and pry the anger out of her. If he did not, it would only fester and churn and make her miserable…not to mention everyone around her.

He shrugged, sighing heavily as he looked up at the bright, sunlit sky. Yes, today seemed like a good a day to die. Aravir squared his shoulders. But first, he had to find her. He made the long trek to her talan. Empty, her possessions in telling disarray.

A quick trip to the stables revealed the stable master energetically grooming a young filly before releasing her to graze. In response to his question about Tasarien, Caladir had stared at him grimly before answering, “I sent her to eat, Captain. She is not fit company for elf or horse right now.”

“I see,” Aravir murmured before taking his leave of the fuming elf. And he did see – Tasarien in a snit was such a rare occurrence that everyone forgot just how unpleasant it could be.

He tracked her finally to a small table in an alcove off the main kitchen overlooking the fountain in the rose garden. Judging from the bits of straw still clinging to her tunic, she had managed to work part of her anger off in the stables before being banished. Now she sat alone, systematically shredding one of Lomelas’ sticky buns to crumbs.

“Are you going to do something about whatever is bothering you, or merely sit on it like a broody hen?” he asked, standing over her and watching carefully.

She ignored him pointedly. “Nothing is bothering me.”

“Ah, I beg to differ, sister mine,” he retorted.

She glared up at him silently as he continued. “Your anger has been at a slow boil since I last spoke with you yesterday.”

“I do not boil. You boil,” she replied hotly. Their eyes held – green to green, hers snapping with temper, his considering.

He slowly arched one expressive eyebrow. “I only simmer,” he corrected.

She snorted derisively. “I fail to see the difference.”

He sat down across from her, snatching one of the larger pieces of the bun from her plate and popping it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“Simmering,” he mused reflectively, “Is a slow process, actually.”

He took another piece of the bread and pointed it at her. She stiffened further as he rambled on. “It achieves its goal, cooking the food in a calm, orderly manner.”

Lomelas set two mugs of cold cider before them. “Boiling, however – hannon le, Lomelas,” Aravir nodded to the grinning cook.

“Boiling however,” he continued to lecture, “Involves an increasingly violent bubbling of the mixture, which often spills over on anyone and everyone unfortunate enough to be standing nearby.” He took a long drink of the sweet cider, eyeing his fuming sibling. Almost there.

“As I happen to be the one closest to this particular pot, and am always interested in maintaining my excellent health, I find it necessary to remove said pot from the fire before I get burned.”

Another piece of bread found its way into his mouth. Tasarien sat in silence for a heartbeat. “That is the most asinine thing I have ever heard leave your lips, muindor nin,” she snarled.

He grinned and toasted her with his mug. “But you still love me.”

“You are insufferable, Aravir,” she sniped, bouncing a crumb off his nose.

He brushed the bread away and took another sip, watching her anger slowly seep away to be replaced by an infinitely sad expression. She looked up. “Do you remember what comes next, brother?”

He waited. He was also a patient elf.

She sniffed. “Now you should say, ‘Tell me who has angered you so, Sari, and we will go and pound them to dust together.’”

He smiled sadly. “We cannot do that this time.”

“No,” she whispered. “We cannot.”

Aravir reached across the table and took her hand. “It is not Legolas’ fault, pen neth.”

She tried to tug her hand free, but he clasped it firmly, refusing to let go. “Tasarien.”

She lifted her tear-glazed eyes reluctantly. He squeezed her hand encouragingly. “You know in your heart that he would die before knowingly bringing harm to anyone.”

She opened her mouth to protest hotly that unfortunately the Prince seemed to have forgotten this time, but the stern, uncompromising look in her brother’s eyes stopped the words.

“You KNOW,” he insisted, and watched her shoulders slump in defeat.

“I know,” she whispered. “He is a good lord…kind and just…”

Aravir nodded.

“…and in so much pain!” she finished, her voice anguished. “And now you have joined him in his pain and we will lose you both!”

Her tears broke free, along with a sob. Aravir left his chair quickly and knelt beside her, gathering her into his arms as she cried brokenly on his shoulder. He did not try to calm her with platitudes or false promises. Her fears were very real. They all faced an unknown that could very well end up in wrenching division.

“We face this together, Sari,” he whispered, stroking her long, dark hair. “We are not alone. Legolas, on the other hand, has been alone with this for years. But now we can help him – and he can help us.”

He placed a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “I learned much on this sojourn with him. I realized so many things which were never clear before. We are not here by accident,” he whispered, tenderly wiping her tears away. “Neither is Legolas. He is here for a reason beyond our comprehension. And we are here to support him…and each other, for as long as possible.”

He examined her face. “All right?”

She sniffed and he took a linen napkin from the table and pressed it into her hand. She wiped her face slowly and nodded. “I will try.”

“And blame him no more, tithen nin,” he ordered. “Believe me when I say that he already blames himself enough.”

He stood, looking across the room at Lomelas and nodding. The elf had been waiting for his signal and hurried to bring a tray of fruit, a fresh loaf of bread, and cheese to their table. Regaining his seat, Aravir deftly scooped up the crumb-filled napkin in front of his sister and handed it to the cook.

“Thank you, my friend,” he said as he and the cook exchanged smiles.

“Of course, Captain,” Lomelas said. “Let me know if you require anything else. And Tasarien…” She looked up at the elf. “Eat. Do try not to kill the food this time.”

She blushed, looking down and muttering something under her breath. Aravir winced and waved Lomelas away before serving his sister and himself generous helpings of the fruit and large slices of bread and cheese.

“He is right,” he said. “Eat. You will feel better.”

She nibbled on the cheese obediently, watching as her brother began clearing his plate quickly and allowed the relatively peaceful silence to stretch between them for a time.

“Thalion is in love,” she announced suddenly.

Aravir choked on a piece of fruit and looked at her, laughing. “I know,” he said.

“He is such a big love-struck lummox, Aravir,” she complained. “We had to keep him in the stall next to Legolas’ new mare…he was kicking up such a fuss.”

She smiled slightly. “Arod thought it all very amusing, I think.”

She watched her brother for another moment. “Do you plan on breeding the two?”

Aravir coughed and looked at her askance. “Thalion and Arod?”

She gaped at him, at a loss briefly, before threatening him with an apple slice. “No, you dolt. The new mare and that rose bush over there.”

As her brother snickered, she frowned mightily. “Honestly, Aravir...” He held up both hands in surrender, managing to look so contrite that she finally relented and, with a warning look, continued with her previous thoughts.

“Because,” she continued huffily, “We believe she…the mare NOT the rose bush, you idiot… is showing signs of coming into season. So maybe you and Legolas should decide if you want a little one running around this time next year.”

Aravir chuckled. “I will speak with the Prince later today, Sari.”

She sniffed. “The mare is a beauty, though. Alfirin?” She glanced at her brother questioningly.

“Yes, that is what Legolas finally named her,” he replied.

“How appropriate,” she commented snippily.

At her brother’s frown, she said, “Well, it is. Appropriate….and beautiful.”

She watched him eat for another minute, finally realizing he had slowed and was deliberately wasting time. Losing all patience, she jumped up. “For Valar’s sake, Aravir, take it with you! Come! I need to feel the wind in my face and leave all this behind for a time. Let us go for a long ride…that is, if we can drag Thalion away from his lady-love!” She headed for the nearest exit, looking back to make sure her brother was behind her.

Aravir laughingly scooped up several pieces of fruit and followed her out the door.

~~~~~*~~~~~

“Berenthil!”

At the sound of his name, the tall elf turned from his conversation with the small group of elves, his face lighting with pleasure as he watched the King make his way down the staircase towards him.

“Good evening, Sire,” he called, bowing slightly to Thranduil. “I trust your day was pleasant…and uneventful?” His deep blue eyes sparkled with suppressed mirth.

Thranduil grinned appreciatively in return. “Ah, my old friend, what can I say? The entire day was blessed…unmarred by trials…free of argument and debate and…” Here, he leaned closer, looking both ways before whispering, “…council meetings!”

Berenthil and the other members of Legolas’ advisory council threw back their heads and laughed before crowding around their lord’s father, calling greetings and pounding him on the back enthusiastically. The Elvenking’s thoughts on those subjects were, of course to them, a matter of record.

Thranduil smiled at the expressions on the faces of this crowd of his contemporaries. The eldest members of the group accompanying his son south, they had helped Legolas form the administrative backbone of the colony. Presently all seemed at ease, with nothing pressing bothering any one of them. That boded well for Legolas’ frame of mind, especially following a morning and afternoon laden with intense meetings.

“It is good to see all of you again…Aldaron, how is Miriel?”

The mahogany-haired elf laughed and stepped forward, clasping Thranduil’s shoulder. “She does well, hir nin! You must come for dinner soon! She will never let you hear the end of it if you do not!”

“Let us make plans for a few days from now,” Thranduil agreed. Miriel, a close relative of his dear wife’s, had made it a point to keep a close eye on her cousin’s husband and son. Deeming Legolas too young and inexperienced to let out of her motherly sights, she had convinced her husband to offer his services as one of the advisory council once word spread Legolas would relocate to Ithilien. To her way of thinking, Thranduil would do well enough on his own…finally.

Thranduil turned to the auburn haired elf standing beside Aldaron. “Ornendil, how are you? And how is that scapegrace brother of yours?”

The seneschal of the colony bowed slightly, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I am well, Highness. And Tathor is…Tathor.”

Thranduil nodded in understanding. That meant young Tathor still exhibited some of the wilder, more enthusiastic tendencies of his youth. Of an age with Legolas, he had come south as one of the warriors under Aravir’s command. He would check on the youngling’s progress with Aravir later. Not as King…just as an interested observer, and Ornendil’s friend.

Thranduil turned to the last member of the council. “Well, Ohtar?” he asked the solemn elf standing to the side, quietly observing the reunions.

“I am well, aran brannon,” the dark-haired elf replied. “And you look in fine fettle yourself, Oropherion.”

Thranduil snorted softly. “Come here, you old curmudgeon,” he groused affectionately, grabbing the elf and embracing him quickly.

“Some things never change, it seems,” he said, leaning back to smile at his father’s old friend. Ohtar nodded his head slightly, a faint smile brightening his deep gray eyes to silver.

Thranduil looked around at the group. “It is good to see each of you and I look forward to visiting with all before we leave to return to the Greenwood in the spring.”

He turned to Berenthil. “Now, pen aiur, have you seen my son?”

Berenthil nodded, glancing at the others with a grin. “I do believe we succeeded in surprising the youngling, my lord. He came into the council room weighted down with the thought of all that must be accomplished this day.” Quiet chuckles rippled through the group. “However, he soon found he was mistaken, as we completed our business shortly after lunch and released the young Prince forthwith to the freedom of the outdoors.”

Thranduil gave a mock gasp of affront. “Ai, you will spoil my offspring, mellon nin!”

Once the laughter had died down, Ornendil gestured towards the kitchens. “I believe he was going to beg some food from Lomelas and head for the stables…not to ride, I think, but to locate his old friend, Arod, and spend some time with him this afternoon.”

The King nodded. “Thank you, Ornendil. I will begin my search there.”

He waved to his old companions and headed for the kitchen, murmurs of farewell following in his wake.

~~~~~*~~~~~

He found his wayward son in one of the large open meadows reserved for the colony’s horses behind the stables. Legolas and Arod both lay in the soft lush grass beneath the shady branches of a stately beech, the elf’s head pillowed on his horse’s neck. Legolas was sound asleep, Thranduil noted as he silently approached the pair. Sinking to the ground beside them, he placed a gentle hand on the horse’s head.

Peace, Arod, my friend. Do not trouble yourself to rise. We have met before, you and I, but I have never taken the time to thank you for your care of my son.

The big silver-grey gelding snorted softly, his dark, intelligent gaze studying the strong, imposing figure of his friend’s father. I am his. We are together, at least, for now.

The King smiled, stroking the broad forehead. As you should be. The two were quiet for a time, listening to the wind in the trees and the sound of distant waters rushing over unforgiving stone. A small grey squirrel scurried down the trunk of the tree and paused, chittering nervously at the intruders. Thranduil closed his eyes, savoring the peace of the moment, gladdened beyond measure that Legolas had also found peace in this place.

“Adar?”

Thranduil returned to awareness at the whisper word. He looked down to find Legolas staring up at him, a bemused smile lifting his lips and lighting his eyes.

“Hello, lazybones,” he smiled, the old nickname eliciting an embarrassed laugh from his son.

“I had a difficult day, Ada,” Legolas complained. “Do not begrudge me a few moments of rest before I must return…”

He stopped as Thranduil began chuckling, shaking his head. “Nay, Legolas, do not even attempt to engage my sympathy. I have already spoken with Berenthil and your advisors…”

Legolas winced.

Thranduil laughed knowingly. “Yes, my son…and they described to me, at length, those long and arduous and draining meetings today.”

He eyed the guilty face before him. “My observation stands,” he stated. “Lazybones!”

Legolas snickered and sat up, stretching mightily. “Yes, well…short does not necessarily make them any less difficult, Ada.”

Thranduil grimaced in understanding and stood, offering a hand up. They moved aside as Arod lunged to his feet, tossing his mane and shaking bits of grass from his sleek coat. Both elves grinned and stepped to the horse’s side, brushing away the remaining debris.

Legolas stroked the warm neck affectionately. Go, Arod nin. Stretch your legs and work off some of that energy before Caladir calls you in. He sent the big animal on his way with a firm swat to the rump, laughing as Arod shook his head and bucked in an excess of high spirits.

“He has recovered?” Thranduil asked, watching the big horse’s gait closely.

“Aye, though I will not ride him any distance ever again,” Legolas replied sadly.

Thranduil placed a consoling arm across his son’s shoulder and turned him towards the path that led to the main grounds. “But he is still with you and that, I think, will prove the greater comfort in the long run.”

Legolas nodded as his father continued. “And you have the new mare to train and ride. She is a beauty! From Eomer King, you said?”

Legolas allowed the diversion, grateful to his father for the concern and the loving arm that held him close. As they walked on, he gazed across the grounds of the compound, marveling at how much had been accomplished in such a short time. There was still much to be done, however, and not just in the restoration of the forest.

According to the scouting reports, men were beginning to make their presence known in northern Ithilien. Legolas had not been surprised to hear it; he had been expecting it for some time. The war was over. Sauron was defeated and the lands free once more.

The problem arose from the fact that Aragorn had ceded land that traditionally belonged to Gondor to an elven leader. On top of that, the people of Gondor were not familiar with the Firstborn. Indeed, in the past elves had always been characters in stories told to children. Now they were faced with the real thing and because they did not know or understand, they were suspicious and fearful.

Legolas knew firsthand the product of suspicion and fear – a gap between the two peoples that would continue to deepen until it became an unbridgeable chasm. What he needed was a liaison between the elves and any settlers who might make their homes in the forest…someone both parties could trust and talk to. He planned to address that just as soon as the winter months had passed. Hopefully, his father would help him acquire the man he had in mind to bridge that gap. He sighed heavily. How he wished things could remain as calm and peaceful as they were right now!

“Change is inevitable, Legolas,” his father murmured. Legolas glanced sharply at the King, surprised to see the comprehension and understanding in the steel gray eyes. “In the end, it is not how we face the change, but in how we deal with it, that truly matters.”

They stopped and faced each other, two tall regal figures limned in gold by the setting rays of the sun. Thranduil placed a hand on Legolas’ shoulder and examined the tense face lovingly. “You have been given the weapons to face any change that comes, my son. I placed some of them in your hands myself as you grew to be the strong adult you are today. The Valar gave you the rest over the years…in the friends they led to you and the song they placed in your heart. It remains only for you to use these weapons wisely.”

“But will I be sufficient…and wise, Adar?” Legolas asked, his throat tight with the mixed emotions of love and fear.

Thranduil smiled reassuringly. “The Valar choose their champions well, Legolas. You will not fail them…or yourself. Now come. The day is ending and your people await you.” They turned as one and followed the path through the trees to the great house beyond.