This story is set between “The Warrior” and “Fire and Shadow,” but you don’t have to have read those stories to follow this one. In it, Legolas is a young adult, age about 80. Here’s what Tolkien says about when Elves reach adulthood:

“Not until the fiftieth year did the Eldar attain the stature and shape in which their lives would afterwards endure, and for some a hundred years would pass before they were full-grown.” (From Laws and Customs of the Eldar)

Legolas’s brother Eilian is about 140 or a little more. His nephew, Sinnarn, is about 40, so around 16 in human years.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

*******

1. Family Time

“There is nothing so sweet as being home with my family awaiting what is sure to be a very fine meal.”

Legolas lifted an eyebrow at his brother, who had just accepted a glass of wine and settled on the garden bench next to Legolas with his long legs stretched out in front of him. “You sound as if you are not certain whether we or the meal are the main reason for your contentment.”

Eilian grinned at him. “I met one of the servants on my way out of the palace, and she told me what Alfirin ordered for tonight’s meal. If you had heard her, you would be in no doubt of which thing was uppermost in my mind at the moment. After evening meal, I may change my mind and like you better, of course.”

Legolas laughed and turned to his sister-in-law, seated on the opposite bench with Sinnarn by her side. “I must admit that I have eaten well since I have been home on leave. You do know how to feed a hungry warrior, Alfirin.”

Alfirin smiled placidly. “I am planning a feast on the green for tomorrow night because you are both home, but tonight’s meal should be acceptable. There is no mystery at all to feeding males. If you put a large amount of food in front of them, most of them are happy, although they are happier if you also sprinkle honey on some of it. You and Eilian are probably old enough that you notice if the honey is accidentally put on the parsnips rather than the pastries, which, in terms of eating, is the only distinction between you and Sinnarn and his friends.”

Her son made a face. “In truth, Naneth, you could leave the parsnips off the table completely, and I would not mind.”

Alfirin patted his arm. “But at least you eat them now without being coaxed, so I suppose you will soon be as discriminating about the honey as your uncles are.”

Legolas smiled at Sinnarn, who rolled his eyes at what he evidently judged to be his mother’s poor attempt at humor. Every time Legolas came home on leave, it seemed to him that Sinnarn was visibly taller. Already, the top of his head came up nearly to Legolas’s eye level. Sinnarn would be a novice soon, Legolas thought. Remembering the merry child who had played in this garden such a short time ago, Legolas could not help regretting what seemed to be his nephew’s inevitable future. Legolas had sometimes surprised expressions of regret on the faces of his father and older brothers when he had been Sinnarn’s age and talked about becoming a warrior. Only now did he fully understand them.

“How much longer is your leave?” Eilian asked. He had arrived home only that afternoon for his own week-long leave.

“I have to go back the day after tomorrow.” Legolas was gratified by the obvious disappointment on Eilian’s face. Eilian captained the patrol that hunted in the realm’s dangerous southern regions, while Legolas served in the far safer Eastern Border Patrol. As a consequence, he and Eilian saw one another only when their leaves overlapped, a situation that occurred far too rarely to please either of them.

Ah well. He had two days to learn how things had been wearing on for Eilian, and he had this early evening moment in a garden in spring with his family. The scent of lilacs hung heavy all around them, and as they sat in comfortable silence with one another, someone on the other side of the garden wall began singing of the beauty in the woods. Another voice joined in, singing a counterpoint, and next to Legolas, Eilian took up the song too. Then they were all singing, with Legolas admiring the way Sinnarn’s young tenor threaded its way around his mother’s sweet soprano.

After a while, the song wound its way to its finish. “I cannot think of a better scene to come home to,” said a deep voice, and Legolas turned to see Ithilden coming toward them with a smile on his face. “Mae govannen, Eilian,” he said, as Eilian rose to clasp arms with him. “It is good to have you home.” He nodded to Legolas and then dropped onto the bench next to Alfirin and put his arm around her shoulders to draw her close against his side. She leaned her head back against him, looking completely contented. Legolas felt the small stab of loneliness he sometimes experienced when seeing his oldest brother’s joy in his wife, and next to him, Eilian shifted slightly and looked away.

For a while, they sat without speaking, content to listen to the wind in the trees and the buzzing of the bees in the lilacs. A sparrow who had been attracted by their song hopped around Sinnarn’s feet, searching the ground for its own evening meal.

“Did you finish your lessons, Sinnarn?” Ithilden asked his son.

Sinnarn sighed heavily. “Yes. You do not need to keep checking on me.”

“I do when your tutor tells me you have been leaving your work undone.”

“I have done most of it,” Sinnarn said defensively. “My tutor does not seem to notice that I have other things to do too.”

“You have enough time to roam the forest with your friends, so I believe you have enough time to complete your lessons. You need to recognize your responsibilities, Sinnarn. You cannot always do just what you like.”

“Sinnarn did his work today,” Alfirin interrupted firmly, “and that is all that needs to be said on the subject. Sinnarn, would you please pour your adar some wine?” Seated on either side of her, her husband and son both pressed their mouths shut in irritated expressions so alike that Legolas nearly laughed out loud.

Knowing how poorly a laugh would be received by everyone involved, he settled instead for smiling sympathetically at Sinnarn as he rose to pour the wine from the carafe on the small table at the end of the bench. The sparrow feigned fright and flew away, but not very far, coming to rest on the garden wall.

In truth, Legolas did sympathize with Sinnarn. He had been his nephew’s age only a few short years ago, and it had sometimes seemed to him that Thranduil lectured him about being responsible on an almost daily basis. Like Sinnarn, he had wanted to escape the schoolroom and the constant surveillance of his tutor and his father and have what had looked to him like the freedom of adults. He had wanted to make his own choices, and govern his own time, and do what he chose, not what everyone else thought was good for him. He had been sick of being the family baby and had longed for his father and brothers to respect him as someone who could make good decisions on his own and contribute to the wellbeing of his father’s realm.

Then he had come of age and become a warrior and found that his life was nearly as closely governed as it had been when he was Sinnarn’s age. Not only did he, like his fellow warriors, owe obedience to the officers who commanded his patrol, but also, when on patrol, he lived under the ever watchful eyes of a bodyguard. Moreover, while he hoped he had his family’s respect, he had come to realize that his father in particular might never stop seeing him as a child.

Ithilden accepted the cup of wine that his son gave him, drew a deep breath, and prepared to change the subject. “Eilian, you might be interested to know that some Western Border Patrol warriors brought home two wounded patrol members today. One of them was Galelas.  I think he served under you when you were captaining the Northern Border Patrol.”

“Indeed he did,” Eilian said, his interest obviously sharpening. “Is he badly hurt?”

“He has a deep wound in his sword arm. It will heal, but he was not going to be of much use to his patrol for a while so they sent him home.”

Eilian frowned. “I had heard that things have become more heated along the western border.”

Ithilden nodded. “Yes, they have. I trust the situation is only temporary, but the patrol there has run into an unusually large number of spiders of late. What sent Galelas home, however, was an encounter with Orcs.”

“They have seen both spiders and Orcs?” Legolas asked in surprise. “Things have been very quiet in our area for several months now.”

“Thank goodness,” said Alfirin.

“Yes, of course,” Legolas agreed. “I did not mean to wish for trouble, but routine patrols can become tedious after a while.” He looked at Ithilden. “I have been in the Eastern Border Patrol for a number of years now. Have you considered my request to be transferred? I know you will not let me go south with Eilian,” he added hastily, seeing both Ithilden’s and Eilian’s faces, “but you could send me west.”

“You are fine where you are,” Ithilden said. “It will not hurt you to gain a little more experience.”

“Galelas is only two years older and therefore two years more experienced than I am!” Legolas protested. In truth, Legolas had never particularly liked Galelas, who was competitive and inclined to be jealous of Legolas, who he suspected might be getting special treatment as the king’s son. The fact that Eilian had taken Galelas under his wing and encouraged him had not sweetened Legolas’s feelings toward him either. Legolas had admired Eilian all his life and drawn great comfort from Eilian’s obvious affection for him, and he had been dismayed to find Eilian taking an interest in Galelas’s well-being.

Ithilden had apparently been thrown off stride by Legolas’s pointing out that, when compared to the posting he had selected for Galelas, he seemed to be sheltering Legolas, for he had not immediately answered, and then he was saved the trouble when they were interrupted.

“Good evening, everyone,” said Thranduil’s voice and Legolas looked back over his shoulder to see his father approaching. He started to rise, but Thranduil gestured for them all to remain seated and settled on the bench next to Eilian, his pleasure at having his whole family together plain on his face. “You look more relaxed than you did when I received you in the Great Hall,” he told Eilian.

Eilian grinned. “So do you, Adar.”

Thranduil made a little face. “I have been negotiating with the Men from Dale who have been serving as go-betweens between us and the Dwarves in the Iron Hills. They are supposed to be sending us another shipment of iron for weaponry but the shipment has been delayed and they were hinting today that it might not arrive at all. I expect that Dwarven double-dealing is involved here somewhere, but I suppose it could be the Men who are playing us false. I have not yet been able to make out exactly what is happening.”

“Both the Dwarves and the Men have been reliable so far,” Ithilden said in a carefully neutral tone, although Legolas knew he had to be anxious. He exerted a great deal of effort making sure that the realm’s troops were well armed, and an interruption in the supply of iron would be a problem.

Thranduil shrugged. “We know only what the Men tell us about the Dwarves, and the Man who came today was not the one we usually deal with. Gwelid has apparently grown too old for the task.”

Legolas thought about that for a moment. What would it be like to have your elders age and grow feeble, so that you had to undertake their duties? How would it feel to have to care for them and then watch them die? He shuddered slightly. He could not imagine how Men tolerated it.

“Sinnarn, I am sure your grandfather would appreciate a cup of wine too,” said Alfirin, who disliked it when talk about the day’s problems interrupted scarce family time.

Sinnarn jumped up and fetched the wine for Thranduil, who smiled affectionately at him and said, “Thank you, child.” Sinnarn glowed under his grandfather’s warmth, and Legolas marveled as he always did at how indulgent his father was with his grandson compared to his treatment of his sons. Legolas supposed that Thranduil had decided that Ithilden and Alfirin were quite capable of disciplining their son, leaving him free to simply enjoy his grandson’s company. Even more surprising was the fact that Sinnarn placidly accepted being addressed as “child” when Thranduil did it, whereas Legolas was willing to wager any amount that Sinnarn would have protested noisily if either of his parents had called him that.

Sinnarn returned to his place near his mother, and Thranduil, having plainly taken in Alfirin’s unspoken request for a change of subject, turned to Legolas. “Legolas, have you given any more thought to taking the roan back on patrol with you instead of that grey stallion?”

“Are you getting a new horse, brat?” asked Eilian.

“Yes, like the Man from Dale, Vanyo is growing too old,” said Legolas.

“He has been thinking of taking a grey stallion that the horse master recently acquired,” Thranduil said, “but if he considers the matter further, I think he will see that it is too wild.” He leaned forward on the bench to see more easily around Eilian. “You have a history of choosing undisciplined horses, Legolas, and you must know that that has created problems for you.”

Legolas tried to control his irritation at his father’s interference. “I like the grey. He is an extraordinarily beautiful animal, and I think he and I would get along well.”

“I understand why the grey has struck your fancy,” Thranduil persisted, “but this is not just a matter of what you might like. You need to think about which horse would be more useful on patrol.”

Legolas’s annoyance increased at being admonished in much the same way Ithilden had admonished Sinnarn over his unfinished lessons, and he had to bite his tongue to keep from saying something that would certainly have caused trouble. Did his father think he had no judgment at all? “I have thought about that, Adar, and I am sure I can make good use of the grey.” The look on Thranduil’s face said that he plainly still thought that Legolas was being stubbornly foolish.

“I think our meal is ready,” said Alfirin, rising and nodding to a servant who was approaching.

“Good,” said Eilian, standing and offering her his arm. “You cannot know how much I have looked forward to this, Alfirin.” With Thranduil in the lead, he escorted her toward the garden gate. As they reached it, he looked back and grinned at Legolas, who made a rueful face in response. Eilian knew perfectly well what Legolas was feeling. Legolas suspected that he often felt the same way himself.

***

Eilian leaned comfortably back in his chair and toyed with his wine goblet as he watched Sinnarn and Legolas eat their way through second helpings of excellent apple tart. Legolas was filling out a little, he thought. The muscles in his chest and back were gradually catching up with the width of his shoulders, although he was always going to be lean like Eilian himself rather than broad like Thranduil and Ithilden both were. He thought briefly about Legolas’s suggestion that he be transferred to one of the more active patrols. One of these days, Ithilden was going to have to give in, Eilian thought regretfully, but surely not yet. His little brother was not even fully grown.

Apparently, Thranduil was thinking along the same lines. He smiled at Alfirin. “You are going to have to ask Cook to provide larger portions for these two younglings,” he said. Legolas rolled his eyes a little and looked at Eilian, who could only grin at his brother’s dismay at being classified with their nephew.

Sinnarn finally scraped up the last bit of pasty. “Shall we move to the sitting room?” Alfirin asked.

“This has been wonderful, Alfirin,” Eilian said as he rose, “but I am going out tonight, so with Adar’s permission, I will be on my way now.”

“If you do not mind,” Legolas said, “I will join you.”

Eilian glanced at him, catching the frown on Thranduil’s face as he did so. Quickly, Eilian considered his plans for the evening and decided that while Legolas’s presence might mean he would have to be a little more circumspect, it would not be a problem. Indeed, his company might be pleasant. “Of course. You are more than welcome to come.”

“Where are you going?” Thranduil asked to Eilian’s surprise. His father had stopped asking about his plans years ago. He saw Legolas’s mouth tighten and realized, as Legolas obviously had too, that it was Legolas about whom Thranduil was concerned.

“Just along the river to sing and see friends,” Eilian answered, and Thranduil relaxed a little.

“May I go too?” Sinnarn asked eagerly.

“No,” said Ithilden immediately, much to Eilian’s relief. He was fond of his nephew, but Sinnarn was really still a child, and Eilian would feel obligated to keep an eye on him. He was a little insulted by the speed of Ithilden’s refusal, however.

“You let me go to the river with my friends,” Sinnarn protested.

“Eilian and Legolas will be with their friends tonight,” said Ithilden. He placed what was undoubtedly meant to be a comforting hand on his son’s shoulder, but Sinnarn shrugged it off, looking irritated.

Eilian saw Thranduil watching Ithilden and Sinnarn with a small ironic smile playing about his mouth. Thranduil doted on Sinnarn, but he was not blind to how difficult he could be at this age. Moreover, Eilian had cause to know that Thranduil had sometimes found fatherhood to be an exasperating experience, so he suspected that Thranduil occasionally enjoyed seeing Ithilden suffer the same way. Not that Eilian imagined that Ithilden had ever been difficult. Legolas had slipped out of the palace at night on a regular basis when he was Sinnarn’s age though, and Eilian knew that he, himself, had frequently been a thorn in his father’s side and, in some ways, still was.

Thranduil shifted his gaze to Eilian. “Have a good time,” he said, and Eilian had to give him credit. He and Legolas went down the corridor toward their chambers, while the rest of the family went to the sitting room.

“How much will you wager that Adar will still be up when we get home,” Legolas murmured, “or rather, I suppose, when I get home?”

Eilian laughed. “I try not make wagers I am sure to lose. I will fetch some wine and some cups and meet you at the Great Doors in a few minutes.” Legolas nodded and went off to his own chamber while Eilian made his way to the stairs descending to the kitchen.

“Good evening, my lord,” said the cook. “It is good to see you home. Did you enjoy the meal?”

“’Enjoy’ is a weak word for how I felt about it,” Eilian told him with a grin. “I may have to take you with me when I go back to my patrol.”

Cook laughed. “I believe Lady Alfirin would have something to say about that. I suppose you are after wine now.”

“Yes, I am, and Legolas is going out too, so if you would give me enough wine and a cup for him too, that would be welcome.”

“And enough to share with a maiden or two, I suppose,” Cook smiled. He gestured to his smiling assistant who hastened down the stairs to the storeroom and quickly returned with a skin of wine and a leather bag that Eilian knew held several carefully wrapped cups.

“Thank you. I will think of you every time I take a drink,” Eilian told the assistant, who laughed.

“Somehow I doubt that,” he said.

“Try to stay out of trouble, my lord,” said Cook fondly, “and if you know what is good for you, you will bring Lord Legolas safely home too. The king is still a bit protective of him, I think.”

“So am I,” Eilian admitted. “Thank you for the wine.” Cook and his assistant smiled benignly, as Eilian took his leave. He went up the stairs two at a time, stopped in his chamber for the cloak he might need later when the night grew cool, and then went to meet Legolas, whom he found waiting for him. The two of them descended the stairs, crossed the bridge, and then took the path that would lead them to the part of the river bank where people gathered on fine evenings to visit and make music.

Legolas had obviously been itching to complain about their father. “I swear Adar thinks I am still Sinnarn’s age.”

Eilian smiled sympathetically. “He knows you are of age, Legolas. You will notice that he made no move to prevent you from coming with me. He just cannot stop himself from checking to be certain that you are all right.”

They sauntered along without speaking for a while, listening to the music of the river and the trees and the Elves who were gathered. Eilian scanned the groups along the river bank, looking for a particular group of friends he knew was likely to be there. He had hesitated only briefly about joining them when he realized he would have Legolas with him, but quick consideration had told him that these Elves would be what he considered acceptable company for his younger brother. At one time, Eilian had spent his time with Elves who gambled for high stakes, raced through the treetops too recklessly, and drank too much, but he had grown bored with them in recent years, and his friends would have met with even Thranduil’s approval. For the most part, anyway.

“Eilian!” called a voice from the shadows under an oak, and he turned toward it with a smile.

“Mae govannen, Calólas,” he said, leading Legolas toward the grassy spot where a little knot of young Elves was gathered. To Eilian’s delight, Thriwien was among them. He had caught a glimpse of her as he arrived home that afternoon and had wondered if she would be here tonight. During a few months shortly after he came of age, he had spent a great deal of time with Thriwien, and his brief glimpse of her that day had reminded him of what a graceful figure she had. He gave her his most charming smile, and she smiled back, making the corners of her grey eyes tip up very attractively.

“When did you get home?” Calólas asked.

“Today.” Eilian indicated Legolas. “You know my brother, of course.” They all nodded at Legolas, and Eilian seated himself next to Thriwien. To his amusement, Legolas hesitated for only a second before taking a place at the side of a quiet maiden, whose name Eilian had to search for. Elethiel: that was it. He had seen her at the river often. She was pretty in a soft kind of way, but Eilian had never spoken much to her because he had always thought she was interested in the music rather than the company of young males. She and Legolas evidently knew one another, however, for she greeted him by name.

Eilian poured more wine into the cup Thriwien already held and offered it to the others in the group, but they all had their own. He took some for himself and then leaned forward, tapped Legolas on the shoulder, and passed the wineskin to him. He turned to Thriwien. “How have you been, beautiful?”

She laughed and then cocked her head at him. “What is Celuwen doing these days, my lord?” Her tone was friendly enough, but there was an edge of caution in it.

Eilian flinched inwardly but managed to shrug. “I believe she is still living with her parents in their settlement. I have not heard from her of late.” He had not heard from her because Celuwen was returning his letters unopened, having apparently decided that loving Eilian was too great a risk. As far as he was concerned, Celuwen was welcome to live in her settlement forever and marry some Elf whose idea of excitement was painting the cottage a different color. Eilian did not care. He took a long drink of his wine.

Thriwien gave him a considered look and then smiled slowly. “I am sorry to hear that, but I cannot say I am surprised. Celuwen never did appreciate you sufficiently, Eilian.” He returned her slow smile, and in his belly, he felt a pleasant warmth that had nothing to do with the wine.

One of the other Elves in the group began plucking at his harp, and Eilian leaned back on his elbow to enjoy the music and the stars and the company of a pretty maiden. Occasionally, if he did not hear Legolas singing, he looked toward him, but he always found him speaking quietly with Elethiel. His little brother drank more wine than was probably good for him, but then so did Eilian, and neither one of them was really drunk. At length, Eilian bent to whisper an invitation in Thriwien’s ear. “Shall we go for a walk?”

She turned her face to his. Their lips were within an inch of one another. “That sounds like a fine idea,” she said, and the two of them rose. Suddenly, he caught sight of Legolas and hesitated. Should he perhaps stay with his younger brother?  Thriwien followed the direction of his gaze. “He looks to me as if he is of age,” she said dryly. “He can probably take care of himself.”

Eilian drew a deep breath. She was right. Legolas was an adult and had the right to be trusted and to have some privacy, just as Eilian did. He stopped to speak to his brother. “Will you take the wine skin and cups home, Legolas?”

Legolas nodded, looking appraisingly at Thriwien. He shot Eilian a look that verged on disapproving.

Eilian decided that Legolas needed to be reminded who was older and wiser. He grinned at him. “Do not stay out too late, brat. Adar will be worried.” Legolas narrowed his eyes but said nothing, and Eilian went happily on his way.

***

Legolas watched Eilian depart with his arm around Thriwien’s waist. He glanced at Elethiel, who was smiling slightly. She looked at him. “I have an older brother too,” she said. He laughed and relaxed. A song drifted their way from closer toward the river, and they both fell silent to hear it.

Legolas’s mind kept drifting to Eilian, however, and he marveled again at how unguarded his brother was in his relations with others. He envied Eilian that. Legolas knew that he himself was always careful around people who were not either part of his extended family or long time friends. He was only too aware that he always represented his father, even when he was simply sitting on a river bank listening to music.

But Eilian was easy in his affection with his friends and particularly with maidens. He flirted as naturally as he breathed, buzzing around pretty maids like a bee exploring a garden. And surprisingly enough, most maidens seemed to enjoy his light charm, welcome his company, and remain friends with him when he moved on to someone else.

Legolas did not think he could ever be so casual with maidens. He liked having female friends, Elethiel for instance, who always knew where the best music was to be had. But he felt no overwhelming attraction to her and felt no desire to flirt with her as Eilian would have been doing. What he would have liked was to feel about a maiden as Ithilden obviously felt about Alfirin, and, he added to himself, as Eilian felt about Celuwen, a fact that made Eilian’s flirting doubly incomprehensible. Of course, if Legolas did love someone enough to want to bond with her, there would still be complications, because he took his obligations as a warrior with single-minded seriousness.

He gave up thinking about it. For now, the music and the wine and the starry night were enough.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

*******

2. Other People’s Lives

Legolas slid his knife into the fish and efficiently cleaned out its stomach cavity, letting the guts fall into the waiting bucket so that they could be used later to fertilize Annael’s garden. “Did I tell you I decided to take the grey stallion?” Legolas asked. “He is faster than the roan, and I think he will tolerate tack if I need it.”

His friend looked at him in amusement. “You ‘think’ he will tolerate tack? Is this going to be another in your long line of half-wild horses?”

“My horses are not ‘half-wild,’” Legolas said with dignity. “They are spirited.”

Annael laughed. “The only well-trained horse you have ever owned was Sadron, and as I recall your adar picked him out and had him trained because you were still too young to teach him yourself. You simply cannot bear to ask them to bend their will to yours when you need to.” He finished with the fish he was cleaning and tossed it into the basket on top of several others that he had Legolas had already prepared. “Do you remember when my adar taught us to clean fish?” he asked.

“I do,” Legolas said. “He was amazingly patient.”

“That he was,” Annael agreed, looking off into the trees with a small smile.

Legolas watched him for a moment and then bent over the next fish, pleased by the fact that Annael was able to talk about his father again. For a long time after his father’s death, Annael had been so deep in grief that he had avoided all mention of him.

“I hear that the Western Border Patrol has seen an unusually large number of spiders,” Legolas said. “Has the Home Guard run into them too?”

Annael shook his head. “The border patrols are doing a good job of keeping them away from us.” He threw the last fish into the basket. “I am still relishing the taste of fresh fish again. I dried enough to last us through the winter, and we were happy to have it, but it just cannot compare with the taste of something taken out of a stream the same day.”

Legolas carried the bucket of offal to its temporary place at the end of the garden and then rejoined Annael to clean his knife and wash his hands in the basin of water that Annael’s mother had set out for them. Annael picked up the basket of fish and they went through the back door of the cottage into the kitchen, where Elowen was taking bread out of the oven and setting it on the table to cool. As it always had, this cottage smelled wonderful to Legolas.

“Fish for mid-day meal, Naneth,” Annael announced, holding up the basket.

“Good,” she said and then turned to Legolas, who had approached to kiss her forehead. “Good day, Legolas. Will you eat with us?”

“I would enjoy that.”

“Annael, while I cook the fish, why do you not ask Legolas what he thinks about your plan to add another sleeping chamber to the cottage?” Elowen suggested.

Annael beckoned Legolas out of the kitchen and led him outside again and around to the side of the cottage. “I was thinking about cutting a doorway here and building a sleeping chamber for Beliniel and me. We sleep on a flet during nice weather, but we have been using my old room during the winter, and, as you know, it is quite small.”

Legolas inspected construction of the wall in front of him and then looked at the space the new room would take. “If you make the new room long instead of square, you could do it without disturbing any trees.”

Annael nodded. “That is what I thought too.”

Legolas looked at him and smiled slowly. “Is there any particular reason that you might need more room in the cottage?”

Annael laughed a little self-consciously. “No. It is only that we are quite cramped in that small room. I would have built a new one before, but I did not like to make changes while my naneth was still mourning my adar.” He started back into the cottage, and Legolas followed to find that, while they had been outside, Annael’s wife had returned from her morning work tutoring a group of three elflings.  Annael’s face lit up at the sight of her, and he kissed her cheek. “Did you have a good morning?”

She put her hand on his chest. “I did,” she smiled. “Celerith read a whole story to the rest of us.”

“Good for her,” Annael approved, slipping his arm around her waist. “I knew you would be able to help her.” He looked at Legolas. “If you ever have a daughter, Legolas, this is the person you want to teach her.”

Legolas laughed. “We would not know what to do with a daughter in my family.”

“I suspect the king would have wonderful time with her,” Elowen said. “Grandchildren seem to me to be a pure joy.”

Legolas saw Annael and Beliniel exchange a private smile. There might not be an elfling on the way now, Legolas thought, but it would not be long. For their sake and for Elowen’s, he was glad.

“Come and eat,” Elowen invited, and they all took their places at the table, where Elowen dished up the fried fish and spring greens, while Beliniel sliced the still-warm bread.

Suddenly, with an almost shameful force, Legolas envied his friend this home, where he bore responsibilities that Legolas did not have, but also was so clearly loved and valued. Had he really been wishing to be assigned to a more dangerous duty only the day before? Annael was happy in the Home Guard, and for a moment, Legolas wondered if he could be contented in that posting too. He could find someone like Beliniel and bond with her and be a husband and father, not just Thranduil’s son. But even as he thought this, he knew it was not the path for him. For the time being, at least, he needed to serve his father’s realm by keeping evil away from the doorsteps of cottages like this one.

***

Eilian knocked on the door of the cottage, waited a moment, and then inclined his head politely to the Elf-woman who opened it. “Good afternoon, mistress. I understand Galelas is home, and I wonder if he is well enough to see me. I was his captain when he served in the Northern Border Patrol.”

She flushed pink. “Of course I know who you are, my lord. Come in. Galelas is certainly well enough to speak to you.”

Eilian followed her down the narrow hallway and through the door to the sitting room, where Galelas sat with a book in his lap and his right arm supported by a sling. His face was pale but he brightened visibly at the sight of Eilian. “Captain!” he cried and tried to struggle to his feet.

“Stay there,” Eilian said hastily.

Galelas’s mother hurriedly tugged a chair forward. “Do sit, my lord. I will make tea for us.”

“Do not trouble yourself,” Eilian said, accepting the chair.

“It is no trouble. With the feast tonight, I do not have to cook an evening meal, and I am ready for a bit of tea myself.” She bustled out of the room.

Eilian turned to Galelas. “How are you feeling?”

Galelas shrugged and then winced at whatever the movement did to his arm. “Well enough.”

“I was surprised to hear how active things have been along the western border. That area is usually rather quiet.”

Galelas smiled ruefully. “We were surprised too.”

“How did you get that?” Eilian gestured at his arm.

As Galelas hesitated, faint color rose into his cheeks. “We were in a battle with a good sized group of Orcs, and I am afraid I was too hasty and charged before the warrior I was paired with was ready.

Eilian blinked at the blunt confession. “That often leads to unfortunate consequences,” he finally said.

“I know. I remember you telling me that when I served under you, and truly, this was the first time I have been so foolish in a long time. But we had not seen Orcs for a while, and I just did not think.”

Eilian nodded gravely. When he had been Galelas’s captain, he had spent a fair amount of energy trying to curb the young warrior’s competitiveness and overconfidence in his own skills. Galelas was good with weapons, but waging battle was not a solo activity. Fortunately, Galelas had seemed open to correction, unlike his older brother, Tinár, whom Eilian had also commanded at one point. Tinár was incorrigibly arrogant and occasionally even endangered other warriors by his rashness. Galelas, on the other hand, was educable. The very fact that he had acknowledged his error to Eilian was a good sign, but he still needed to learn from his blunder, so it would not do for Eilian to be too sympathetic. Galelas had survived this mistake, but if he thought he could treat it lightly, he might not be so fortunate the next time.

“Here we are.” Galelas’s mother came back into the room with a large tray of tea and small cakes. Eilian jumped up to take it from her and place it on the table. Rather fussily, she waved him back to his chair and then brought him tea and one of the cakes. “Would you like tea, Galelas?” she asked.

“Yes, but no cake, please.”

Galelas was more or less Legolas’s age, so if he was turning down food, Eilian suspected that his arm hurt more than he admitted.

Galelas’s mother seated herself. “It is very kind of you to come and visit, my lord. Of course, I know you officers like to show respect to warriors who have been as brave as Galelas has.”

Eilian took a quick glance at Galelas, who had turned scarlet, and then hastily turned his eyes to his tea.

“It is nice to have him home, of course,” Galelas’s mother prattled on. “We are really looking forward to Tinár’s leave too, although we know how valuable he is to his patrol so I suppose that is selfish of us.”

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and a younger Elf-woman came into the room. Her brown hair was pulled severely back and braided away from her thin face. “I have finished hanging the laundry, Naneth, but I think someone else should have to bring it in.”

Galelas’s mother pressed her mouth shut, probably to avoid a sharp reply. “Lord Eilian is here, Gewiel. Do you know my daughter-in-law, my lord? This is Tinár’s wife, Gewiel.”

Eilian managed to overcome his astonishment that someone would marry Tinár and stood and bowed. Gewiel bobbed a little curtsy. “I am honored, my lord.” She came into the room and sat down, keeping her gaze on Eilian, who resumed his own chair.

“I was just telling Lord Eilian how much we are looking forward to Tinár’s leave,” Galelas’s mother said.

“Yes, Tinár has been so tireless in his devotion to the realm that he delayed his leave because he did not believe he could be spared,” said Gewiel.

Eilian did not know what to reply. If Tinár had delayed his leave, his fellow warriors had undoubtedly been most dismayed.

Eilian heard the front door of the cottage open and shut, and Galelas’s father came in. Eilian knew him because he was one of the armorers for the troops, making extremely fine arrows. He rose again. “Good day, Corfildor. I have been checking on Galelas here. I was sorry to hear he had been wounded.” He smiled at Galelas, who had shrunk back in his chair and lapsed into silence as his family appeared.

“Yes. It appears to be only a flesh wound though,” Corfildor said. “Galelas is lucky. Tinár once took an arrow so deeply in his side that he was bedridden for two weeks.”

Gewiel sniffed. “He was very irritable too, quite difficult to care for.”

“Nonsense,” said Galelas’s mother vigorously. “There is no one sweeter tempered than Tinár.”

Corfildor ignored them, took a chair across from Eilian, and leaned toward him. “I am sure Legolas has told you how greatly Tinár is valued in the Eastern Border Patrol.” He snapped his fingers. “But I forgot! You have been his captain, so you know first hand what a dab hand he is with weapons.”

He paused, evidently expecting Eilian to say something. “Tinár is very quick with a bow,” he allowed. Tinár was also wasteful with arrows and thus frequently had to leave the shelter of the trees and use his sword sooner than anyone else did, thus forcing one of his fellow warriors to take to the ground to guard his back, an unnecessary exposure to danger for both of them.

“And given that,” said Corfildor, “I wonder why Tinár is still waiting for promotion when warriors with far weaker skills have become officers.” Corfildor, his wife, and Gewiel all looked at Eilian expectantly.

“Adar, the captain is not the one who makes those decisions, and we should not be asking him about this,” said Galelas. Eilian glanced at him. His face was red but determined.

Corfildor turned to him with a frown. “Surely we are allowed to look out for your brother’s interests. We are only asking a question.”

Galelas opened his mouth to retort, but Eilian decided to save him the trouble. “The one you should ask about this is Ithilden,” he said wickedly, picturing his brother’s reaction if any of Tinár’s family should ever be so bold. He rose and set his teacup on a table. “Thank you for the tea. I fear I must be going now. Galelas, I hope to see you again while I am home on leave.”

Galelas gave him a grateful look, and Eilian strode toward the front door with Tinár’s parents and Gewiel all following him. “Good day to you,” he said and was out the door, shaking them off like burs he had picked up in the woods.

Poor Galelas, he thought. His own father often made it clear that Eilian’s behavior was not what Thranduil would have approved of, but at least he paid attention. It was nearly unheard of for a Wood-elf to leave his family’s house. One’s house was one’s identity and was even the means by which political order was created. The king ruled the realm, and each oldest male ruled his household. To Eilian, Galelas’s family was only a slightly-comic annoyance, but to Galelas, they were a permanent source of pain.

***

“One! Two! Three!” chanted Sinnarn and Mewyn together, and Calylad ran toward the gorge and leapt across, with one leg trailing, to land on the very edge of the opposite bank and scramble to safety, crowing with glee at his accomplishment. Sinnarn turned to grin at Mewyn, who made a face. Calylad had made good on his challenge. Now Sinnarn, too, would have to take the leap across the river. To refuse did not bear thinking about. In truth, Sinnarn did not want to refuse anyway. If Calylad had not issued the challenge this time, Sinnarn would have done it himself. Already, his heart was speeding up in pleasant anticipation.

But he suspected that Mewyn was less enthusiastic about how far their game had gone today and might even be about to decline the jump. That would leave only Calylad for Sinnarn to beat. He watched as Mewyn ventured to the edge of the gorge to look down the fifteen-foot drop to where a small river rushed northward to join the Forest River some two leagues away. The banks were close together here, which was why the river flowed so quickly. If Mewyn fell in, he was not likely to be hurt, but the drop was always frightening anyway, which was in truth one of the things Sinnarn liked about this game. Mewyn sighed. “I pass,” he said gloomily.

“Yes,” cried Calylad. “How about you, Sinnarn? Will you admit your complete and utter defeat?”

“Not likely,” Sinnarn snorted. Without waiting for them to count, he ran toward the bank and jumped. In an exhilarating rush, he sailed through the air, his arms extended to his sides, feeling like a great bird, and then he was reaching with his toes for the riverbank. To his dismay, his foot slipped, and for an appalling moment, he thought he was going to fall. He exerted every bit of muscle control he had to fling his weight forward, instead of back, and landed on his hands and knees in the grass on the bank.

Calylad was by his side immediately. “Are you all right?”

Sinnarn turned his head to grin at him and then sprang to his feet. “I am excellent!” he proclaimed and then had to duck away as Calylad laughed and slapped at the side of his head. In truth, Sinnarn’s heart was pounding wildly, letting him know how good it was to be alive and intact on the river bank.

“The wind must have blown you to safety at the last minute,” Calylad proclaimed. “I was certain you were going down that time.”

“Not likely,” Sinnarn boasted.

“Are you two finished, or are you going to jump again?” Mewyn called from the other bank.

“Jump again, of course,” Sinnarn cried. “No one has won yet.” Calylad rolled his eyes but did not protest. As Sinnarn knew quite well, his friend would never admit defeat until he had to. “It is my turn to set the challenge,” Sinnarn said. He eyed the river banks and then moved a yard to his left where the gap between them was a foot or so wider than the distance he and Calylad had just jumped.

Calylad raised an eyebrow. “Eager to take a swim, are you?” he taunted.

Sinnarn laughed, focused his gaze on the spot where he intended to land, and ran forward to launch himself into the air. Again, for too brief a second, he felt the exhilaration of flight, and then as he stretched out his leg, he suddenly realized that he was not going to reach the other edge. Given the nature of the game and his friends, this would not be the first time Sinnarn had missed a jump, and he wasted no time in twisting himself away from the rocky edge. Before he even had time to regret his failure, he felt the shock of cold, fast-running water closing over his head.

As he kicked his way to the surface, he was startled to see several large rocks buried in the water next to him, and he barely stopped himself from inhaling sharply. He and his friends had been sure there were no concealed rocks here. They had played this game here before and never seen them. I have been swept downstream, he thought. Surely we were not jumping over these!

His head broke clear of the water, and he shook strands of hair out of his eyes. He could hear his friends whooping with laughter and looked up to see them running along either bank above him. “Are you all right?” Mewyn gasped through his guffaws.

“Of course,” Sinnarn said. “I will meet you downstream.” He began swimming with the current, moving himself toward the eastern bank.

“The winner!” cried Calylad, waving his arms in the air. Then he turned and ran back upstream to where the gorge narrowed and he would be able to leap back across.

Sinnarn swam for a distance, until the river bank on his right lowered and he was able to pull himself out to rest on the grass. With the help of the river’s flow, he had beaten both of his friends to their meeting place. He emptied water from his shoes and then stripped off his tunic and wrung it out. He was pulling his tunic back over his head when a still-laughing Mewyn appeared. “Very graceful,” Mewyn sputtered, handing Sinnarn his belt and dagger.

Sinnarn grimaced good-naturedly but made no reply as he checked to make sure his knife was still securely attached to the belt and slipped his dagger into the built-in sheath in his shoe. Just then, a grinning Calylad trotted into sight. “Do not say anything,” Sinnarn warned, and Calylad held up his hands and laughed.

“Of course not,” he protested.  Then he laughed again. Sinnarn rolled his eyes.

“We really should be heading home,” Mewyn interposed happily. “The hour grows late, and I do not want to miss any of tonight’s feast.”

In sudden alarm, Sinnarn glanced at the westering sun and knew that Mewyn was right. He groaned. He was supposed to be home early so that he had time to don formal dress and walk to the Green in a formal procession with the rest of the royal family. “I need to hurry,” he moaned and yanked his shoes back on.

“Can you sit with us tonight?” Calylad asked.

“No,” Sinnarn said. “Not while we eat. Maybe afterwards.” He wished he could sit with his friends, but his father had recently begun requiring him to sit with the family on formal occasions. One of the ‘privileges’ of growing up, Ithilden had called it when Sinnarn protested. He felt a flare of irritation. His father had been making a point about adult responsibilities, of course, and Sinnarn hated being lectured on that topic, one that Ithilden seemed to be particularly fond of.

Without further conversation, Sinnarn made his way rapidly into the trees and then began leaping through the branches, with his two friends close behind. They reached home quickly, but probably not quickly enough, Sinnarn realized as they neared the Green. He could hear people chattering to one another and music was already playing. He groaned. He was going to be late. He waved to his friends and then made his way through the trees around the Green, staying out of sight as much as possible until he reached a side path that took him toward the stables and then allowed him to slip into the palace gardens and reach the bridge largely through shelter. He tore up the steps, through the antechamber, and down the hall that housed the family quarters, already pulling off wet clothes as he ran. The hall was empty and quiet. That was not a good sign, he thought apprehensively. Thranduil must have already led them all to the Green.

He dropped his wet things in a heap on the floor and yanked on the clothes that he found laid out on his bed, blessing his mother for saving him time as he did so. He clapped his circlet onto his head and was back out of his room within three minutes of having entered it. His hair was still wet, but it was braided and he did not think anyone would notice, and even if they did, they would probably assume he had just bathed. His stomach muscles contracted a little as he approached the Green and saw his family arrayed at the head table, with the king in their center. His parents were not going to be at all pleased with him. He stiffened his resolve, circled around behind the head table, and slid into the empty chair next to his mother just as the servants were began placing food on the table.

His mother turned her head sharply toward him and visibly relaxed. “There you are! I was worried,” she reproached him.

“I am sorry I am late,” he apologized.

From his mother’s other side, his father frowned at him but said nothing. Sinnarn looked gloomily down at his plate, which a servant was currently filling with roast venison. Ithilden would not scold him in public, but that did not mean he would refrain from speaking his mind once they were home again. Ah, well. There was nothing he could do about it now.

He ate a mouthful of the venison, knowing it was excellent but finding that he was less hungry than he had expected to be. He glanced up and saw Calylad wave to him from where he and Mewyn sat on the right side of the Green. Sinnarn returned the wave. His friends seemed to have no trouble savoring their meals, he noticed. Of course, their parents had allowed them to sit among a group of other Elves their age, and they were laughing and talking, not sitting silently at the end of a row of adults, listening to a conversation about how the fences in the upper pastures needed to be repaired.

A minstrel approached the table, harp in hand, and Sinnarn brightened. This minstrel had a sense of humor that Sinnarn liked. The minstrel bowed to Thranduil. “My lord, I have composed a small song in honor of your sons being home. With your permission?”

Looking pleased, Thranduil nodded, and the minstrel began plucking at his harp strings. Sinnarn missed the first few words of the song, however, because he was stealing looks down the table toward his uncles, feeling even guiltier about being late to a feast in their honor. They were both watching the minstrel and seemed to take no notice of him. He turned his attention to the music.

The minstrel was evidently just finishing a verse in honor of Legolas, who was laughing even as he blushed. “…and terror strikes the foe,” sang the minstrel, “but the ladies his softer side know.” Everyone laughed and clapped and the minstrel moved on to Eilian. “As bold as a boar in a battle, as merry as otters at play, Lord Eilian pleases the maidens, who admire him whichever way.” Eilian laughed and the minstrel went on, but Sinnarn’s attention was caught by the sight of people at the other end of the Green moving tables out of the way in preparation for dancing. Once the meal was over and the dancing started, his father usually allowed him to go to his friends.

He looked hopefully across his mother to his father. “Do not even ask,” said Ithilden grimly.

“Why not?” Sinnarn cried.

“Because you took your time with your friends already.”

Sinnarn pressed his mouth shut. Arguing would do no good whatever. His mother patted his hand sympathetically, but even that irritated him. Sometimes she treated him as if he were an elfling. The minstrel was done now, and both of his uncles got up to join the dance. Sinnarn slumped back in his chair. It was going to be a long evening. He looked to where Calylad and Mewyn had joined in a circle of dancing elves and wished with all his heart that his life were like theirs.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

*******

3. The Warrior’s Lot

Legolas entered his chamber, intending to scan it one last time for anything he might have forgotten to pack. The surfaces of his chest and bookcases were clear, and he started toward the bathing chamber to make certain he had not forgotten anything there. A knock sounded at his door, and he paused and turned. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Sinnarn came into the room, having evidently followed Legolas from the dining room where they had all just eaten their morning meal. Legolas wondered what he wanted that required this special visit but said only, “Just a minute.” He checked in the bathing chamber, retrieved the brush he found on the counter, and came back out to find Sinnarn standing near the chest, fingering the engraving on the hilt of Legolas’s sword. “Bring me that, will you?” Legolas said, shoving the brush into the pack on his bed and holding out his hand for the sword.

Sinnarn picked up the sheathed sword and brought it across the room to him. “Your sword is really beautiful.”

“Thank you. Your grandfather gave it to me on the day I came of age.” He buckled the sword to his belt and turned to close up his pack.

“I wish I were of age,” said Sinnarn gloomily. “I would love to be going with you this morning, setting off to have adventures rather than to training and then lessons.”

Legolas grimaced. “You will be a warrior soon enough.” Too soon to suit the rest of them.

Sinnarn sighed and then seemed to brace himself for something. “I came to apologize, Uncle. It was disrespectful of me to be late for the feast in your honor last night.”

Legolas hid his smile as he walked across the room to fetch his unstrung bow. He could almost hear Ithilden speaking, even though the voice was Sinnarn’s. “Apology accepted,” he said lightly. In truth, he had not been offended by Sinnarn’s tardiness the previous evening, but he did not suppose it would be good for Sinnarn to believe he could continue to come and go as he liked. He was getting to an age where the obligations of his position were going to become more and more obvious, and Legolas knew from personal experience that fighting the situation only made things worse. He picked up his bow and turned to Sinnarn. “How is training going?”

Sinnarn made a face. “All right. The masters are awfully strict sometimes though.”

Legolas raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were just wishing that you were a warrior. The masters become even stricter once you join the novices,” he warned, crossing to the bed again.

Sinnarn sighed. “I know. My adar tells me that too.” Legolas had to suppress a grimace at the idea that he sounded like Ithilden. “I like learning to use weapons, and I do want to be a warrior, but sometimes I feel like every minute of my life is ruled by someone else.”

Legolas smiled and put a sympathetic hand on Sinnarn’s shoulder. “I am afraid that is a warrior’s lot.” Sinnarn smiled weakly back, and Legolas handed one of his packs to him and picked up the other. “Shall we go?” Legolas led the way from his own room and then paused at the open door to the dining room. Thranduil, Ithilden, Alfirin, and Eilian all rose when they saw him. “I am ready to go now.”

Eilian took the pack he was still carrying, and Thranduil rested his hand on Legolas’s shoulder as they all walked out of the palace and along the path through the gardens that was the shortest way to the stables. “Is Beliond meeting you at the stables?” Thranduil asked.

“I assume so. I have not heard from him, but that is where he usually turns up.” Legolas’s bodyguard spent his leaves alone in the forest, but inevitably appeared at the moment Legolas was ready to return to his patrol again.

They entered the stable yard to find that the stable master had led Legolas’s new stallion out into the morning air and was trying to settle him down. The grey horse was prancing and snorting nervously, while Beliond stood to one side near his own well-behaved mount, with a disapproving look on his face. He turned as they all trooped out of the garden. He bowed to Thranduil, saluted Ithilden, and then looked at Legolas. “This is your new horse,” he declared. “I knew it the minute I saw him.” His tone of voice left no doubt as to his opinion of the grey.

“He is fast and, as you can see, quite beautiful,” Legolas protested. Beliond harrumphed but said nothing more. Legolas approached the horse, speaking softly. The animal’s ears twitched toward him, and he seemed to relax a little as Legolas stroked his neck. Legolas noted with some gratitude that Thranduil kept his opinion of the horse to himself, although Legolas knew what it was well enough.

“Have you named him yet?” Eilian asked, taking Legolas’s second pack from Sinnarn and approaching to drape both over the back of the stallion. The horse’s eyes widened as the packs went on, but he did not protest.

“His name is Tavor,” Legolas said with satisfaction. “He is so fast that he flies like a bird.” He turned to his father and felt the familiar tug of regret at leave taking as Thranduil drew him into an embrace.

“Take care, Legolas,” Thranduil said and kissed him on the forehead.

“I will be careful, Adar,” Legolas promised and moved on to exchange embraces with the rest of his family too. He mounted his horse easily, feeling the grey accept his presence with skittish satisfaction, and turned to scan the loved faces one last time. He looked at his father. “By your leave, Adar.”

“Go.” Thranduil raised his hand in blessing and farewell, and Legolas rode out of his father’s stronghold, with Beliond close behind. By that night, they would be back on duty with the Eastern Border Patrol.

***

Thranduil watched until he could see Legolas no more. Sending his sons off on patrol had become routine by now, but it never seemed to become any easier. At the last moment, Beliond looked back and lifted a hand to wave at Thranduil. Thranduil found himself smiling slightly at what he was sure was intended to be reassurance. And he was reassured. Beliond would protect Legolas with his life if he had to.

“You should be on your way, Sinnarn,” said Ithilden, and Thranduil turned to see his grandson tear his own gaze away from the place where Legolas had disappeared.

Thranduil smiled at the youth. “Are you sparring today, Sinnarn?”

“Yes.” Sinnarn brightened slightly. Sparring was the part of training that he enjoyed most.

“Then you would not want to be late,” Thranduil said, gesturing his permission for Sinnarn to leave. His grandson grinned at him and trotted off toward the training fields.

The rest of them started to drift back through the garden. “Are you still angry at my grandson?” Thranduil asked Ithilden, who was walking arm-in-arm with Alfirin.

Ithilden raised an eyebrow. “Are you suggesting I had no right to be angry last night?” His voice was cool. He and Alfirin both welcomed Thranduil’s close relationship with Sinnarn, but they had made it clear from the day their son was born that they would be the ones to raise him.

Thranduil smiled slightly. “I would never say that. I know I would have been very angry if any of you had been late for a feast in someone’s honor when you were Sinnarn’s age. But then I have the advantage of knowing that you all did such things and still turned out to be fine adults, so I suppose I am less worried.”

“We all did?” Eilian asked with a grin. “Even Ithilden? Tell me about it!” His older brother threw him a forbidding glance.

Thranduil laughed. “I think not. He is your commanding officer, so it is better you see him in his current fearsome form and believe he has always been like that.”

They were all smiling now and had reached the other end of the garden, where the gate opened near the bridge leading to the Great Doors. “Are you coming in, Eilian?” Thranduil asked. He knew that Ithilden had to go to his office near the training fields, but he did not know what Eilian’s plans were. Indeed, he rather often did not know what Eilian’s plans were, he thought dryly.

“No,” said Eilian vaguely. “I am going to see friends. By your leave, Adar?”

Thranduil nodded and watched his second son strike out on a path that led to a small group of cottages. Thranduil would have wagered his best dagger that the “friend” Eilian was going to see was female. He felt a brief stab of worry but shoved it firmly aside. Eilian simply enjoyed female company, something Thranduil understood.

Alfirin kissed Ithilden goodbye, and he too took his leave. Thranduil offered her his arm and they stood for a moment watching Ithilden’s tall, elegant form and then turned toward the bridge. “Will you tell me about how Ithilden misbehaved as a youth?” Alfirin asked.

Thranduil smiled at her. “Some time, perhaps,” he said. “I fear I am too busy now.”

She laughed. “You males all stick together.”

He laughed too. “We have to. We have assessed our strengths and know that we must support one another or we will all be lost.” He left her to go to her morning meeting with the palace steward while he went to his office and sat down behind his desk. He had told Alfirin the truth when he said he was busy, but he found he could not settle easily to work. He kept picturing his oldest son as he had looked when he was Sinnarn’s age: taller than any of his age mates and already broad through the chest, but thin yet, with his wrists seemingly always poking out of the sleeves of his tunics, no matter how frequently Lorellin made him new ones. How eager he had been to become a novice, to take up the task that he thought of himself as born to do! Thranduil’s mind drifted back to one of a countless string of arguments they had had that year when Ithilden had been the same age that Sinnarn was now.

~*~*~

“But, Adar, I need to become a novice this year, not next!” Ithilden argued as he lifted cushions off the bench and searched beneath them.

Where in Arda was his glove? Thranduil wondered, trying to ignore his insistent son. They had had this argument before, and he had thought he settled it the last time. An escort of guards was awaiting him to ride south and see what his warriors had observed of the situation there. He did not have time to have this disagreement again now.

“Surely there is no hurry, sweetheart,” Lorellin said, trying to move a large chair so she could check the shadowy space behind it. “You will be a warrior for a long time, but you will be young only once. You should seize each day to enjoy yourself in the woods, not rush into training with Elves who are older than you.”  She tugged fruitlessly at the chair, and Thranduil crossed the room to help her.

Ithilden threw them both a withering look. “Adar, you have told me yourself that I need to be serious about training because I am very likely to be an officer quite young. And people start the training at different ages. You are underestimating what I can do!”

“Aha!” cried Lorellin and dove behind the chair to retrieve the lost glove. She held it out to Thranduil triumphantly.

Thranduil took it from her and then bent to kiss her brow. “Try not to worry, love. I will be back before you know it.”

She smoothed the tunic over his chest. “I know.” She would worry despite what he told her, but she would never admit it.

He turned to his son, startled yet again at how tall he had become. He is going to be built like me, Thranduil thought, with a flash of unreasonable pride. “Stop arguing, Ithilden,” he said firmly. “I said ‘no’ before and I meant it. People may start the training at different ages, but they do not start it at the age you are now.”

Ithilden opened his mouth and then wisely shut it again.

“Take care of your naneth while I am gone,” Thranduil directed, embracing Ithilden too. The youth nodded but said nothing. He was clearly annoyed at both of his parents. Thranduil shrugged. He was learning to live with his son’s annoyance. As long as Ithilden obeyed, he could be as annoyed as he liked. Thranduil scooped up his cloak and pulled it around his shoulders as he started for the door. He needed to be under way.

~*~*~

Thranduil smiled at the memory. Ithilden had always been stubborn. In some ways, even Eilian had been easier to deal with. Thranduil should have known that Ithilden might have given up arguing but he had not given up his belief that he was ready to become a novice. Thranduil looked at the long petition on his desk and sighed. He needed to sort through the details of this complicated case before he held court that afternoon. Thoughts of his oldest son’s youth would have to be set aside for now.

***

With practiced skill, Legolas scanned the ground and the underbrush around him, looking for any signs that someone had passed through the eastern edge of the Woodland Realm in this area north of the Forest River. It was nearly mid-day, and he was half listening for Galorion, the patrol’s lieutenant, to signal them to halt, gather to eat, and then turn to start the day-and-a-half trek south again to the Eastern Border Patrol’s current camping place. As usual, the patrol had found nothing out of the ordinary on this scouting trip, the first that Legolas had taken since he returned from his leave. When they scouted south, they occasionally ran into spiders or a stray Orc or two, but when they scouted north, they were usually in for a peaceful walk among the trees.

Not that Legolas objected to a walk among the trees. It was good to be back on patrol, among friends, doing something important, even if they were unlikely to run into trouble in a patrol that was safer than any other except the Home Guard. Still, Legolas would not have minded an opportunity to demonstrate his worth as a warrior, to do something that would impress even Ithilden and convince him that Legolas was ready to face more serious challenges in other patrols. Legolas had come to the Eastern Border Patrol immediately upon completing his novice training, and at the time, he had known he had much to learn and had welcomed the opportunity to learn it. But now he could not help but feel that he had mastered what this patrol had to teach him. He would never develop further as a warrior if Ithilden did not give him the chance, he thought. Ithilden was simply going to have to recognize that Legolas was an adult and a warrior, not a small brother in need of protection.

With a guilty start, he suddenly realized that he had been paying more attention to his musings than to the task at hand. He had resolutely returned to looking for any sign of intruders when a signal came from his left. To his surprise, it was not the signal for mid-day break, but rather the one that meant that a patrol member had found something suspicious. Legolas thought it sounded like Tynd who had signaled but he was not sure. He snatched his bow from his back and set off toward the place from which the signal had come, with Beliond appearing almost instantly at his side, an arrow fitted to his bowstring, scanning the trees around them for threats to Legolas’s safety. Legolas ignored him, another skill he had developed over the last years.

They had been the farthest from the source of the signal and arrived to find the other four patrol members already inspecting some faint marks on the ground. Legolas and Beliond joined them. Galorion glanced up at them and then poked at a slight indentation in the layer formed by last year’s fallen leaves. “Does that look like a Man’s track to you two?”

Legolas crouched to get a better view, but Beliond needed only a quick glance. “Yes, it does,” he said, “and it also looks as if the Man was trying to conceal his passage.”

Legolas frowned. His keeper was right. The track did look as if it had been left by a Man who was trying to move surreptitiously, and that was worrisome. It was not unusual for the patrol to meet Men in this area; Dale lay only a day or so to the east, and Men from Esgaroth or even the Wood-men who lived along the forest’s edges could sometimes be found here. Legolas always enjoyed meeting these Men. He was curious about them and rejoiced at every opportunity he had to visit Esgaroth, although he had not yet been to Dale. But these Men concealed their movements only when they were engaged in something that they knew Thranduil would not approve.

“It does look that way,” Galorion agreed slowly. He rose. “Fan out and search the area,” he ordered. “See what direction this one took and if he was alone.” Obediently, they scattered, moving cautiously so as not to obscure any tracks the Man might have left. They all still had their bows in hand, for they had no idea what intentions this Man might have. Legolas was aware of Beliond, not far away on his right, and of Tinár, a short distance to his left, muttering to Fóril, the unfortunate Elf with whom he was partnered on this trip.

“I am certain I spotted those tracks before Tynd did,” Tinár sniffed, “but Tynd is quick to send a signal so he can let Galorion know what he has accomplished. Galorion plainly favors him. That is why he takes Tynd as his partner on these missions.”

“He takes Tynd because Tynd is young and he is training him,” Fóril answered wearily.

“Then why does he not take Legolas?” Tinár asked in the tone of an Elf pointing out the obvious.

“Because Legolas has Beliond,” Fóril said. Their soft voices faded out of hearing range. Legolas suspected that Galorion took Tynd with him not only to train him, but also to avoid having Tinár on his hands. That lot almost always fell to the unusually good-natured Fóril, but even he was beginning to sound strained by the arrangement.

Legolas thought about what Fóril had said. It was certainly true that he had Beliond, sometimes far more than he wanted of him. Beliond knew what he was doing though. He had been with Thranduil at Dagorlad, and until he had been assigned to the role of Legolas’s bodyguard, he had carried out what were delicately referred to as “special missions” for the king. Legolas assumed that meant he had been one of Thranduil’s spies, although Beliond never talked about those missions. So in some ways, Legolas could not have had a better teacher. Still he would have liked to work with Galorion and see what the lieutenant had to teach too.

Suddenly, Legolas’s breath caught. In the soft dirt behind a large rock, he saw the unmistakable signs of two different footprints. He whistled a signal and waited, his eyes sweeping the ground around the area for more marks. Beliond arrived, followed closely by Galorion and the others. Legolas pointed to the marks.

“Two of them,” Galorion breathed. He looked around. “Has anyone seen signs of more than two?” They all shook their heads. He pursed his lips. “Tynd and I found a trail leading northwest,” he said. “It is very recent. I think we will have to pay a visit to these Men and find out what they are doing in our woods.”

He led them northwest and then waved Tynd into the lead to follow the trail, with the rest of them moving silently behind him. They had traveled only a league or so before Tynd raised his arm to signal a halt and Galorion gestured them into the trees. Legolas leapt into the branches and then crept ahead until he could hear and then see two Men walking silently through the trees, with heavily laden packs on their backs. As soon as he saw them, Legolas relaxed slightly. He had been worried that these Men might be from the east or south and thus truly enemies of Thranduil’s people, but it was obvious immediately that these two were from Esgaroth or, more likely, Dale. Their belt buckles were of the Dwarvish work that Legolas had seen on Men of Dale who had come to Thranduil’s palace to act as agents for the Dwarves of Erebor or the Iron Hills.

Galorion had moved through the branches to be ahead of the Men, and now, with a suddenness that sent them both reaching for their bows, he dropped to the ground in front of them, with Tynd next to him, his own bow fitted with an arrow that he aimed at the first of the two Men. Both Elves were stony-faced, and hidden in the trees, Legolas grinned at the effect on the Men. They both froze, their hands still reaching over their shoulders without quite touching their bows.

“Good morning,” Galorion said coolly.

The Men blinked, and Legolas could see the one in the lead swallowing hard before he drew a deep breath and answered. “Good morning.” He lowered his hand away from his bow, and after a second his companion followed suit. Galorion made a minute gesture, and Tynd lowered his bow, although he did not remove the arrow from the string.

“May I ask what you are doing here in the realm of the Elvenking?” Galorion asked.

Both Men regarded him warily. “We are traders,” the first Man finally said, “carrying goods to markets on the other side of the forest. Has the Elvenking forbidden such travel now?” His tone was defiant, and Legolas frowned. The Man made Thranduil sound like a tyrant.

Galorion gazed at the Man until he dropped his eyes. “The king has given no order to stop Men from traveling through his realm,” Galorion said, his voice mild, “but he has a right to know when such travelers enter it.” Without glancing up, he called, “Legolas! Beliond! Come down and search their packs.”

Pleased by the opportunity for closer contact with the Men, Legolas lost no time in following the order. The Men spun toward him and Beliond in alarm, reaching again for their bows, and again stopping when they saw that the Elves in front of them already held their own weapons. Legolas moved toward the Man closest to him and gestured for him to turn so he could look into the Man’s pack. Seemingly frightened by Legolas’s approach, the Man went white-faced and rigid, but he obeyed. Keeping his bow in his left hand, Legolas used his right to open the Man’s pack and then rifle through it. On the top was a single set of clean clothing, but under that Legolas felt tightly packed, oddly shaped wooden objects. He pulled one out and found himself looking at an exquisitely carved toy horse and cart, with wheels that turned. He looked over to see Beliond holding a wooden soldier from the other Man’s pack.

He turned toward Galorion and held the cart up. “They are carrying toys, lieutenant.”

Galorion smiled slightly. “I had heard that the craftsmen of Dale make toys that are much coveted. Make certain that is all they have.”

Legolas nodded and shoved his hand into the Man’s pack, probing throughout to make sure he had not missed anything. Finally satisfied, he removed his hand and replaced the cart as carefully as he could. “I find only toys,” he told Galorion, who looked at Beliond to see him nod his confirmation.

Galorion regarded the Men again. “It is customary for Mannish travelers to seek out the camp of the border patrol and tell our captain when a journey is being undertaken. That way we can offer travelers safe passage rather than shooting them because we have mistaken them for intruders.” Both Men looked at Galorion in alarm, but the lieutenant’s face must have been unreadable to them, for they evidently could not see the sardonic amusement that was evident to Legolas. Galorion finally took pity and spoke again: “Perhaps you did not know this custom.”

The Men exchanged a quick glance. “We knew,” the first Man said slowly, “but we had heard that the Elvenking was no longer allowing Men to cross his realm.”

Galorion raised an eyebrow. “You heard incorrectly,” he said. Legolas silently willed him to ask where the Men had heard such a thing, but Galorion did not do so, and, with difficulty, Legolas maintained his well-disciplined silence. Finally, the lieutenant stepped out the Men’s way. “You may go on your way. I will see to it that our other patrols are alerted so that they can watch the progress of your journey.”

Both Men sagged visibly in relief, making Legolas stir uneasily. He was accustomed to Men being nervous around Elves, but these Men had actually seemed afraid, despite their innocuous reason for crossing Thranduil’s realm. The Men edged their way past Galorion and Tynd and then, with gathering speed, took their way west.

Legolas held his tongue until the Men were well out of earshot. Then he turned to Galorion, who was gesturing for Tinár and Fóril to join them on the ground. “Did they seem unusually frightened to you, lieutenant?” Legolas asked. “They did to me. I wonder what could have alarmed them so.”

“I do not know, and I doubt if they would have told us,” Galorion said. “You and Beliond go on ahead and tell Todith what we found so he can send word to the other patrols and to Ithilden. Mention how afraid they were. We will let the troop commander sort this out. Tell Todith that the four of us will finish out this mission and be back in camp tomorrow as we had planned.”

“I wish I could go back to camp early,” Tinár muttered under his breath.

Unfortunately for him, Galorion had sharp ears. “Hold your tongue until you have something useful to say, Tinár,” he snapped and then jerked his head for Legolas and Beliond to be on their way.

Leaving the rest of the patrol to scout along the ground, Legolas leapt eagerly into the trees to take the much swifter route home through their branches. He could hear Beliond right behind him, and for a time, the two of them traveled without speaking, listening to the song of the trees and the noises of the woodland animals. After a while, Legolas heard Beliond call for a halt. He came to a stop in an oak and waited for Beliond to move up beside him.

“We should take a rest and eat our mid-day meal,” Beliond said.

Legolas nodded, slid his pack off, and settled himself on the branch, leaning back against the tree’s trunk. He was hungry and had been even before they met the Men. Beliond slid into a comfortable position along the branch and reached for his own pack. They usually ate waybread while on patrol and that was all they had with them, but they would be back in camp tonight and would probably dine on some sort of fish or game. Legolas’s stomach rumbled at the thought. He had not yet outgrown the almost constant hunger of youth.

He munched on the waybread and then took a swallow of water. “I wonder why the Men thought the king had barred them from traveling here,” he said.

Beliond shrugged. “Who knows? Men are irrational creatures.”

Legolas frowned. “I suspect they would seem rational enough if we could look at things from their point of view. The ones who visit my adar do not seem particularly foolish.”

Beliond shook his head. “You do not know them as I do, and you allow your ignorance to make you judge them too charitably. They are swayed by emotions to a degree that would appall most Elves. You will make my lot easier if you stay away from them.”

Legolas could feel his temper rising. “Off course, I am ignorant,” he snapped. “I have not yet had a chance to learn about them, and if I do as you say, I never will.”

Beliond snorted. “It is my job to insure your safety, and I will do that whether you like it or not. What has gotten into you anyway? You know I will not prevent you from carrying out your duties as a warrior. What is this sudden longing to mingle with Men?”

Legolas scowled at the piece of waybread in his hand while he struggled to answer reasonably. “You know that I have always enjoyed our meetings with Men.” He let it go at that. It was too difficult to explain that he had begun to notice that with Beliond around, he decided his own actions even less than most warriors following orders did. No wonder Thranduil and Ithilden doubted if his judgment was good; he had never had a chance to prove it to them. For that matter, how did he know his judgment was sound? He had had very little opportunity to trust it.

Beliond sighed. “All I am asking is that you keep your guard up, and, of course, make sure that I am right behind you.”

Legolas laughed. “That would certainly make for a relaxed visit,” he teased. “Men loosen right up when they see you.”

Beliond smiled in response and then stood and stretched. “Are you ready to move again? I for one am looking forward to an evening in camp, thinking about Tinár still on the trail.”

Legolas laughed again and stowed away the remains of his waybread.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

*******

4. Taking on Responsibilities

“In consideration of the risks I will need to take and the effort I will need to make, I believe we will have to renegotiate the arrangements,” said Educ.

Thranduil gave a small snort. “Perhaps you should simply tell us what it is you want?” he snapped. Ithilden hid a grimace. He had known that his father’s patience, never very plentiful, was wearing thin. Indeed that was why he had suggested that he and Thranduil meet with the new representative from Dale privately, without the other members of Thranduil’s council in attendance. Ithilden had guessed that the representative was intimidated by the presence of so many Elves at one time and that his nervousness was causing the delays that were so trying Thranduil’s patience.

Educ drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. His face was pale, but he was plainly determined to elicit some sort of concession from Thranduil before he would agree to go back to the Dwarves and arrange for the next shipment of iron. He had been dancing around his concerns for several days now, but from the way he was bracing himself, Ithilden judged that in this more private setting, he had finally decided to speak up. “I believe that I deserve a larger commission than the previous representative received,” Educ said and then snapped his mouth closed and sat tensely waiting for Thranduil’s reaction.

He did not have to wait long. Thranduil stared at him for an incredulous second, with color creeping up his neck. “That is out of the question,” he said, slicing his hand through the air. “The percentage we have always paid will compensate you well for your efforts.”

Educ’s mouth tightened. “I grant you that if the past arrangement were to continue, then my return would be sufficient, but under the current circumstances, King Bram is unlikely to allow me to continue to serve as a go-between for you and the Dwarves, and I must earn my reward while I can.”

Ithilden’s attention suddenly sharpened. What was Educ talking about?

“What circumstances?” Thranduil asked scornfully. “Bram and I are on good terms. You cannot use that as an excuse for your greed.”

Educ blinked and then looked uncertainly from Thranduil to Ithilden and back again. “Everyone has heard the rumors, my lord,” he said cautiously.

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed as it apparently dawned on him that Educ might be speaking the truth as he knew it. “What rumors?” he demanded.

Educ swallowed. “That you are preparing to break off relations with the Men of Dale and Esgaroth.”

“Where have you heard that? From whom?” Thranduil asked.

Educ shrugged helplessly. “Everywhere from everyone, my lord. It is in the air in Dale.”

Ithilden stared at the Man, trying to decide if he was serious. Thranduil sat back in his chair and regarded the Man too. Under their combined gaze, Educ dropped his eyes. “The rumors are untrue,” Thranduil said flatly. Then he added, “You may go.”

Educ’s eyes came up with a snap. “But what about our arrangements, my lord?”

“I will send word to you,” Thranduil said, waving his hand to summon the guard who stood in the doorway, his eyes discreetly fixed straight ahead. The guard hurried to Educ’s side. “See that our guest’s horse and escort are made ready for him immediately,” Thranduil instructed, and the guard placed a hand under Educ’s elbow and helped him to his feet. Educ pulled his arm from the guard’s grasp and, with a clutch at his dignity, bowed to Thranduil and walked from the room.

For a moment, Ithilden and Thranduil sat in silence. “What was that all about?” Ithilden wondered.

Thranduil frowned. “I am still not convinced that he was doing anything other than angling for a larger payment, but I confess that his manner was genuine enough to make me uneasy. I fear we will need to send someone to talk to King Bram and sound him out.” He tapped his fingers on the table and thought for a moment while Ithilden considered which of Thranduil’s advisors might be best to send. “Send for Eilian,” Thranduil finally said.

Ithilden blinked but rose to obey, finding another guard in the hall and sending word to summon his brother to the small council chamber. He returned to his seat. “You intend to send Eilian?”

“Yes,” Thranduil said. “Rash as he can sometimes be, he has dealt well with Men before, and Bram would be likely to receive him because he is my son. Moreover, as you know, he is a good judge of people. He might be able to tell if Bram lies to him.”

“He is on leave,” Ithilden ventured. “I would not like to see him go back to the Southern Patrol without a rest.”  The effects of the Shadow hung heavily on the warriors of the Southern Patrol, and all of them needed time away. Eilian tended to think of himself as immune to shadow sickness, but bitter past experience had taught them all that he was wrong.

Thranduil grimaced. “Extend his leave if you can. This is important, Ithilden.”

“I know.” Ithilden ran his hand over his hair. A disruption in their supply of iron would be dangerous. He would see to it that Eilian had time to himself before he had to go back to his patrol, but he would have to do it without delaying someone else’s leave. He would have to work out the details later.

A single knock sounded at the door, and Eilian entered the room. “The guard said you wanted to see me, Adar.” He looked a little apprehensive, and Ithilden had to stop himself from smiling. Sometimes Eilian reminded him quite strongly of Sinnarn.

“I have a task for you, Eilian,” Thranduil said and then outlined the vague information that Educ had given them.

As Thranduil spoke, Eilian’s face brightened. “You want me to go to Dale?” He was obviously delighted by the idea.

“I want you to find out if King Bram is aware of these rumors, and if he is, I want you to set his mind at rest,” Thranduil said. “Do not ask him directly, Eilian. You might put ideas in his head. Treat this as a courtesy visit and see what you can find out about his attitude toward us. You might also see if you hear any rumors in the town. If they are indeed worried about Elves, they should react to your presence.”

Eilian grinned. “I will be diplomacy incarnate, Adar.”

“This is not a pleasure trip, Eilian,” Thranduil said sharply.

“Of course not.” Eilian obediently sobered, but Ithilden could see his eyes dancing and their father undoubtedly could too.

Thranduil sighed. “Be careful. If Educ was telling us the truth, you could meet some hostility. Perhaps the Dwarves are poisoning the Men against us. Keep an eye out for any sort of trouble. You will take Maltanaur, of course, and when you get to the eastern border, get Todith to give you two of his warriors as a guard. Having an escort will make you look more like my representative any way.”

“Yes, Adar.” Eilian had not sat down during this discussion and now he was edging toward the door. “I assume you want me to leave at once?” he asked hopefully.

Thranduil leveled his gaze at Eilian and waited until he was at last serious. Then he said, “Yes, you should leave as soon as you and Maltanaur can get ready. And I repeat: take care.”

“I will,” Eilian pledged and left the room.

Thranduil sighed. “Tell me I have not just committed a grave error.”

Ithilden could not help laughing. “Eilian will do this task well, Adar. He will simply enjoy himself while he is doing it.”

Thranduil smiled ruefully. “I trust you are right.”

***

Ithilden let his book drop into his lap and stretched out his stockinged feet to the fire. In the chair across from him, Alfirin looked up from her embroidery. “Did you have a long day?” she asked.

“Long enough.”

“You should not worry about Eilian,” she said, knowing as always exactly what was weighing on him the most heavily. “By the time he is finished, everyone in Dale will be his friend.”

Ithilden smiled at her, amazed yet again at the degree to which the Valar had smiled on him by making this slender, deceptively fragile-looking Elf-woman love him. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”

She smiled back, but before she could answer, Ithilden heard the door to Sinnarn’s room open and shut, and their son came down the short hallway to the apartment’s sitting room. He plopped down to lie on the rug in front of the fire. “I finally finished,” he moaned. “I cannot believe how much work my tutor gave me.”

Ithilden exchanged a look with Alfirin but said nothing. He thought he could predict the way the next few minutes of conversation would go and Alfirin probably could too. Sinnarn blew out his breath and sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Adar,” he began, “when I become a novice in June, I will stop having lessons.”

Ithilden sighed. “Sinnarn, are we going to have this discussion again?”

“I do not understand why you are so stubborn about it!” Sinnarn exclaimed. “Why can I not stop having lessons now? What difference will a few more months make?”

“They will make whatever difference you let them make,” Ithilden said sharply. “If you refuse to let the time make a dent in your ignorance, then they will make no difference at all, but you will still have lessons until you become a novice, so you might just as well try to learn something.”

Sinnarn looked at his drawn up knees and bit his lip. Then he jumped to his feet, strode off down the hall, went into his room, and slammed the door.

Alfirin sighed. “At least he did not say anything rude.”

Ithilden laughed. “I suppose that is progress toward self-control.” He stood and stretched. “It has been a long day. I, for one, am ready for bed.”

Her eyes met his, and she slowly smiled. “I believe I am too.”

A pleasant warmth spread through his belly. “I will take care of the fire. You go on.” She set her embroidery aside and, touching his arm as she passed him, she went down the hall to their room. He banked the fire, set the screen carefully around it, and then followed her to their sleeping chamber to find her already in her dressing gown, much to his disappointment. He had been looking forward to helping her out of her clothes.

She was sitting in front of her mirror, untying the ribbon from the end of her long braid. She folded it carefully and put it in the carved wooden box that Sinnarn had made as a begetting day gift for her three years ago. She began unraveling the braid. Alfirin had the most beautiful hair Ithilden had ever seen. When she loosened it from its usual confinement, it fell in long thick waves to her hips. He crossed the room to pick up the brush from the table and began to run it through the dark mass.

She met his eyes in the mirror, and he felt a little thrill to see the mischief in them. “Tell me a story,” she smiled.

He laughed. “What kind of story?”

“One about the youth of a serious, self-controlled troop commander, one that perhaps even his adar has not heard.”

He laughed again and worked the brush gently through a knot in her hair. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes. I want to know where Sinnarn gets the difficult parts of his character because I assure you they do not come from my side of the family.”

He smiled a little ruefully. “Then I do not know where they come from. I was a problem for my parents, but a very different kind of problem than Sinnarn is. He wants to enjoy himself; I wanted to take on as much responsibility as I could get. I think I believed it would give me the respect of those I cared about. I was younger than Sinnarn is when I decided I was ready to be a novice, but I could not convince my parents that I was old enough.”

~*~*~

Ithilden strode angrily across the bridge, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tunic. His father had ridden away without having conceded Ithilden’s readiness to become a novice, and all that his mother would say was, “Go outside and enjoy yourself.” Enjoy himself! He had responsibilities to his father’s realm and would soon have more, and she wanted him to enjoy himself. Sometimes he thought she had no sense at all, although he had kept that opinion to himself since the one time he had voiced it in his father’s presence.

Without thinking, he turned onto a path that led to Anin’s cottage. His friend would be there by now, probably finishing the kite he had been building the previous day. Ithilden scowled at the forget-me-nots poking through the previous autumn’s fallen leaves. Anin would be there today, but in another month he would have joined the novices and left Ithilden behind. Anin was only a year older than Ithilden, and Ithilden was taller and at least as good as Anin was with a bow and a sword. It was not fair that Anin could move to the next step in the training while Ithilden was held back by his benighted parents, especially when it was Ithilden, not Anin, who was going to have to lead the troops some day.

He rounded the bend and came in sight of Anin’s cottage to find his friend crouched over the bright form of a kite with Celedë standing next to him. Ithilden’s mood lightened a little. He had not seen Celedë in at least a month, for she had been visiting her married sister. “Mae govannen,” he greeted them both with a smile. “When did you get back, Celedë?”

“Yesterday.” She returned his smile.

Anin stood up, looking eager. “We have been waiting for you. I think the kite is ready to fly.”

Ithilden looked at the kite spread on the ground before them. It was one of Anin’s best efforts, he thought. It was shaped like a large bird, and Anin had painted its body gold and its wide wings with detailed feathers of purple, green, orange, and grey. The bird was a good four feet long and three feet wide from wing tip to wing tip. Anin had just been securing string to the wooden strips that formed its framework. Ithilden looked up to see the wind bending the treetops and grinned. “The day is perfect for it.”

Anin grinned back and carefully picked up the kite. The three of them started off toward the hill that was used for sledding in the winter and formed a perfect place to launch a kite in the spring. It was one of the few large spaces near Thranduil’s stronghold that were clear of trees. Ithilden followed his friends to emerge from the trees and begin climbing the hill. Celedë looked back over her shoulder at Ithilden. “Do you remember when we were elflings sledding on this hill, and I tried to stand up on my sled and fell and broke my wrist?”

Ithilden grimaced slightly. “I do. That was my fault. I was the one who suggested that we try to jump our sleds over the snow hills and stand up while doing it.”

Celedë laughed. “My adar always said it was your fault and I was happy enough to let him think so, but you could not have stopped me from standing up once I saw you do it. You can very provoking sometimes, Ithilden.”

He laughed. “And that is what my adar says.” It really was nice to have Celedë back. He had missed her good humored ease with life. He did not have so many friends that he could happily tolerate any of them being away.

They had reached the top of the hill, and Ithilden’s hair whipped around his face. It was a good day to fly the kite, he thought. Anin handed the kite to Ithilden. “Will you hold it?” he asked and then backed into the wind, playing out the string. Ithilden could already feel the tug of the wind on the kite, and when Anin suddenly jerked the string, the painted bird lifted out of Ithilden’s hands and edged tentatively up into the sky.

Ithilden backed to one side, craning his neck to see the kite. Beside him, Celedë clapped her hands, and he glanced at her. The wind was blowing her light brown hair in a cloud to one side of her head and bringing high color to her cheeks. Why, she is beautiful! Ithilden thought in surprise.

“What a wonderful kite, Anin!” Celedë cried. “It looks like some sort of exotic bird that has sailed into our skies by mistake.” She tore her eyes from the kite, looked at Anin, and grinned. Ithilden felt his chest tighten. The kite was just a toy, a childish pastime! Anin’s kites were beautiful, true, but surely that did not entitle him to Celedë’s wholehearted admiration.

Anin’s usually serious face broke into a slow smile as he watched the glorious kite, letting out more string so that it could climb higher. Suddenly, Ithilden realized that the wind was pushing the kite toward a tall stand of beech trees along one edge of the hill. “Watch out!” he called, but Anin had already seen the danger and was tugging on the string, trying to draw the kite away from the trees’ outstretched arms. For a moment, Ithilden thought the peril had passed, but then, at the last possible second, the kite snagged on the topmost branch of a tree.

“No,” groaned Celedë. “We will never get it down from there.”

Ithilden ran toward the tree, hearing Anin’s steps a short distance behind him. He knew what Celedë meant. The kite had caught in branches too slender to support any of them. Anin ran up to stand on one side of him and Celedë trotted up on the other. They all stood looking up. “It is lost,” Celedë mourned. “Oh, Anin, I am so sorry.”

Ithilden glanced at Anin. “It does not matter,” Anin said. “I can always make another.” His face was impassive but Ithilden heard the unhappiness in his voice and, judging from the look on her face, so did Celedë.

“In another month, you will be in training all day,” Celedë mourned, “and you will have no time for kites or for us either.”

Ithilden’s mouth tightened. He would be sorry to lose Anin’s company, but even more, he wished he too would be leaving the world of childhood and entering into the real responsibilities of his life. And most of all at this moment, he longed for Celedë to wish for his company rather than Anin’s, to admire him rather than his friend. Suddenly, he found himself moving toward the beech. “I think I can reach it,” he said and started up the tree.

“Are you sure?” Anin asked doubtfully, but Ithilden ignored him and kept climbing skyward. Under his not-inconsiderable weight, the branches gradually bent further and further, and the humming that the tree had begun when he entered it took on a concerned note.

Do not worry, Ithilden reassured it, but his heart beat quickly as the branch on which he stood bent dangerously far, threatening to slide him off or perhaps even break. Ithilden grasped the trunk, trying to take some of his weight from the branch beneath his feet. He looked up. The kite was slightly above him and further out toward the end of the branch in which it was caught. He considered his options. If he edged out along the branch on which he stood, he would be able to reach the kite and work it free of the tree’s clutches, but he was not certain the branch would hold him. Indeed, he was almost certain it would not.

Looking down, he saw Anin and Celedë, with concern-filled faces turned up toward him. “Be careful!” Celedë called, and he waved at them as coolly as he could before turning his attention back to his problem.

Perhaps if he distributed his weight over several branches, he might be able to maneuver into position. Still holding onto the trunk, he moved one foot to a nearby branch. Then he reached up and grasped the branch that held the kite, using his handhold to take some of his weight off the branches under his feet. Slowly, he inched his way toward the kite. The branches under him bent further and further until he was afraid he would slip off them, and they were gradually diverging, leaving him stretched awkwardly across them. He could go no further; he would have to act now.

He flung one arm over the upper branch, supporting himself on it as much as he could, and leaned out to try to dislodge the kite. The branch holding the kite bent, but his finger tips were now brushing along the kite’s surface. Carefully, he prodded it, and he could see the string tightening and assumed that Anin was pulling gently from below, although he did not dare to shift his weight enough to look down.

He could see now that the kite was almost free. His prodding and the flexing of the branches had helped to loosen it, but the tip of one wing was snagged on a spray of twigs at the very end of the branch. He leaned out just a bit farther and pushed at the kite with the tip of his index finger.

And then two things happened at once: The kite slid free from the upper branch, and the lower branch on which he had most of his weight gave way, pulling him off the other low branch. For a second, too surprised to be afraid, he hung from the upper branch, with his feet swinging in the air fifty feet above the ground. Then he heard a cracking sound and felt the branch from which he hung start to drop. With a desperate agility, he flung himself forward and down, reaching for a slightly sturdier branch lower on the tree. His toes scrambled for a foothold and then the branch to which he clung also bent under his weight, and he swiftly left it for a still lower one. In what was more or less a controlled fall, he rapidly descended a third of the way down the tree before he felt solid wood beneath his feet. With his heart pounding wildly, he stood on one tree limb clinging to another at chest level.

“Are you all right, Ithilden?” cried Anin, and Ithilden looked down at his friends.

“I am fine,” he forced out and then began to edge his way toward the trunk and make his way to the ground. His hands shook, and he drew in deep gulps of air to try to steady himself. He had never taken a chance like that before! What in Arda had possessed him to do it now?

At Thranduil’s insistence, Ithilden had been trained from childhood to be honest with everyone, even himself, and now he had to admit that he knew why he had been so daring in the beech tree: He had been showing off for Celedë, trying to prove that he was every bit as grown up and capable as Anin. And even though he was ashamed of his jealousy of his friend, he could not help still being resentful that Anin was to be allowed to move into the world of adulthood, while he was not.

He jumped the last five feet to the ground, and Celedë ran toward him. “Thank the Valar you are not hurt!” she cried.

Anin approached, holding the kite. “You should not have taken such a chance, Ithilden. It is only a kite, and even after I am a novice, I will always have time to build kites and fly them with you two.”

Celedë turned and flashed him a glorious smile, and Ithilden felt a sudden, horrible desire to cry. “I have to go now,” he said stiffly and walked away from them, heading toward home, where if he could dodge his mother, he could at least be alone with his anger and pain.

~*~*~

Alfirin nestled her head in the hollow of Ithilden’s shoulder, and he turned his face to inhale the scent of her. As he had told his story, he had undressed and she had shed her dressing gown, and they had climbed into bed, where they now lay with his arm around her. She sighed. “I wish I had known you then. You needed someone to appreciate you.”

He laughed quietly. “If you had known me then, you would have run a mile in the other direction.”

She laughed too, but she rubbed her cheek against his bare chest. “I do not know Anin or Celedë. What happened to them?”

“They bonded. Even that day with the kite, I knew they would.” He hesitated before soberly adding, “Anin was one of the warriors who were with my naneth when she was attacked.”

Alfirin gave a soft cry and propped herself on her elbow to look at him. “I am so sorry.”

He stroked her hair away from her face. “We had grown a bit apart by then. I was the troop commander and could not afford to have close friendships with those under me, but I still felt the loss.”

“What happened to Celedë?”

“She sailed west. She wanted to be in Valinor when he was released from the Halls of Waiting.”

Alfirin bit her lip. “I can understand that,” she finally said. “If I were in her shoes, I might do the same thing.” She regarded him for a moment with serious eyes, and then she leaned down and kissed him, sliding her tongue tantalizingly along between his parted lips. He moaned, feeling the swift swell of arousal. And then he was fully in the present moment, with no more inclination to think about their son or his own youthful troubles. He took his wife in his arms and began the serious, joyful business of making love to her.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this story for me.

*******

5. Trust

Legolas focused his eyes to see shafts of green-tinged sunlight penetrating the leaves overhead and falling almost straight down onto the flet. From somewhere nearby, a robin warbled a three part song. A real robin, Legolas thought, automatically checking for a signal from one of his fellow warriors. From a distance beneath him, he heard someone laugh and then caught the scent of roasting venison. It must be nearly time to eat.

Pushing the blanket off him, he rolled over and was not surprised to see that Beliond had already risen and left the flet. His pallet was neatly rolled and stowed against one of the two small chests. After a stint of night guard duty like the one they had stood the previous night, Beliond always fell asleep quickly but not for long. Legolas seemed to require more sleep, a need that probably arose from the fact that he was still growing, although he rolled his eyes in annoyance whenever Beliond smugly pointed that out.

Legolas got to his feet, took a towel and jar of soap from his chest, and clad only in his leggings, he descended to the ground, calling greetings to his companions as he made his way to the part of the nearby stream that had been set aside for bathing. He stripped and waded in, flinching slightly at the temperature of the water, still frigid from the spring melt of snow in the mountains of Mirkwood. As quickly as he could, he washed and then toweled himself dry and drew on his leggings again. He was still rubbing the towel through his hair when he reached the campsite again and saw that the patrol had visitors. To Legolas’s delight, Eilian stood talking to Todith, with Maltanaur at his side.

He gave a small exclamation and started toward them, and Eilian turned and saw him. Eilian’s face split into a wide grin. “Are you just getting up?” he demanded, coming forward to embrace Legolas. “I had not realized just how easy a life you border patrol warriors have!”

“I was up keeping the realm safe all night,” Legolas grinned back. “What are you doing here?”

“I am on a mission for Adar, and I need to speak to your captain about it.”

“Our mid-day meal is almost ready,” Todith put in. “Come and eat with me, Eilian, and you can tell me what brings you here.”

“Gladly,” Eilian agreed. He patted Legolas’s shoulder one last time. “I will see you later, brat.” He turned to speak to Maltanaur, who nodded to Legolas and then led their horses off to where the patrol kept its mounts. Then Eilian walked off to join Todith.

Legolas stood looking after him for a moment and then hastened back to his flet to dress. He had parted from Eilian only a few days earlier, but it was still good to see him again. He wondered what mission Eilian might be on.

By the time he was dressed, the patrol was gathering to eat, and he went to join them, sitting between Tynd and Fóril, and listening to them talk but really watching Eilian talking with Todith. Maltanaur had returned from caring for their horses and sat down with Beliond, who, as usual, was sitting a bit apart from the others. Tinár came to sit on Tynd’s other side. “What is Eilian doing here, Legolas?” he asked.

Legolas stiffened slightly. Tinár’s curiosity was natural enough, but it felt intrusive. “I do not know.” He took a small satisfaction in keeping from Tinár even the information that Eilian was on a mission for Thranduil.

Across the campsite, the conversation between Eilian and Todith seemed to be drawing to a close. Todith nodded and then looked up and scanned the group of warriors seated around the fire. Most of the patrol was away, searching the forest to the north and south of their campsite. Legolas and Beliond had returned late two days ago to tell Todith about finding the toy merchants in the forest, and the rest of their small group had returned yesterday. Todith’s eyes settled on Legolas, and he raised his hand and beckoned and then turned to gesture to Beliond too.

Surprised, Legolas set aside his plate and rose to obey the summons. “Yes, Captain?” Next to Todith, Eilian was looking bemused.

“Eilian needs an escort for a trip to Dale. You were enthusiastic about meeting the Men a couple of days ago. Here is a chance for you to see more of them.”

Standing at Legolas’s side, Beliond made a soft sound, but said nothing. Legolas ignored him. Serving as an escort was a simple enough warrior’s task, and if Beliond meant to imply that Legolas was not up to it, then he was mistaken. Besides, Todith was right: Legolas would enjoy a chance to go to Dale, especially in his brother’s company. “When do you want us to be ready?” he asked Eilian.

Eilian’s eyes slid from Legolas to Beliond and back again, and he smiled faintly. “As soon as possible. I would like to get most of the way there today.”

Legolas nodded. “I can be ready almost immediately. I just have to get my gear.”

“Good,” said Todith. “You are both under Eilian’s command for this mission.” He waved Legolas and Beliond on their way and leaned back to talk to Eilian again. “I hear you talked Elorfin into wagering on an archery contest and wound up regretting it,” he grinned. Eilian laughed but glanced at Legolas and said nothing.

Legolas raised an eyebrow at him and then turned and trotted toward his and Beliond’s flet, keeping a careful distance from where Tinár still sat with Tynd and Fóril. He would not have minded telling his friends about the trip, but he did not want to have to listen to Tinár moaning about people who got special treatment. Besides, he enjoyed the thought of keeping Tinár in the dark.

Beliond climbed onto the flet right behind him and began to gather his gear. Legolas shoved a set of clean clothes into his pack where his emergency healing kit, spare bowstrings, and whetstone already waited. He turned to leave and found Beliond blocking his way. “Do not say that I should not be going on this trip,” Legolas warned him. “If I cannot serve as a simple guard, then I am useless as a warrior.”

“Of course you can act as a guard,” Beliond said impatiently. “I simply want to remind you not to let your enthusiasm for meeting Men lead you into being careless.”

“When was the last time I was careless?” Legolas challenged him.

“I grant you it has been a while,” Beliond said with a faint smile. “Let us keep it that way.”

Legolas shook his head in exasperation, slid past Beliond, and made his way to where the patrol’s horses were kept. He found Maltanaur there, apparently fetching his and Eilian’s horses. Maltanaur smiled at him. “So Todith is sending you and Beliond with us. Eilian will be glad, although I suspect that your adar would be less than pleased if he knew that both of his younger sons were on their way to Dale.”

Legolas grinned. “I suspect you are right.”

“Judging from what I have seen, Eilian could not have a more protective guard,” Maltanaur said, “although I assume you have learned some things since the last time I saw you trying to protect your brother.”

Legolas blushed slightly. As a youth trying to help Eilian, he had once blundered into an encounter between Eilian and some dangerous Men and had wound up face down on the ground with Maltanaur’s knee in his back. “I hope I have learned enough to be useful to Eilian.” He whistled for the grey stallion, who came trotting toward him. “What do you think, Tavor?” he murmured, rubbing the horse’s muzzle. “Would you like to visit a town of Men?”

“Has he ever been in a town?” Beliond asked, coming into the clearing and summoning his own horse.

“I do not think so,” Legolas said. He raised his eyebrow at Beliond. So far as Legolas knew, Beliond never went near Men if he could help it. “Has your horse been in one, Nana?” he asked, knowing that the nickname with which Fóril had saddled him would irritate his keeper.

Beliond threw him a repressive look. “He will be fine. And watch your mouth.”

Legolas could hear Maltanaur chuckling softly as he started back to meet Eilian, leading their two horses. Clamping his mouth shut to avoid saying something he would regret, Legolas threw his pack across Tavor’s back and started after Maltanaur.

***

Sinnarn came to a halt on the broad branch of a maple. As he waited for Mewyn and Calylad to catch up to him, he leapt to a higher branch and scanned the sky. They had been making their way north for an hour or so now, and if they did not spot the eagle soon, they would soon have to turn around and start home. They were all beyond the boundaries their parents had set for them, so it would not do to be late and have to answer awkward questions.

His two friends arrived together. They had been dawdling, and Sinnarn thought they were losing their enthusiasm for the expedition. “Sinnarn, are you sure this is where Aniond says he saw the eagle?” Mewyn asked, confirming Sinnarn’s suspicion.

“Yes. And it makes sense really. The mountains around the stronghold are high enough that eagles could live here.”

Calylad blew out his breath. “Yes, but are you certain Aniond was not tricking you? He would be greatly amused if he thought he had sent us all this way on a wild goose chase.”

Sinnarn looked at the sky again and grimaced. In truth, he was not certain that Aniond had been being truthful with the story about the eagle. Sinnarn had wondered when Aniond told him about it just what Aniond had been doing this far north of home, but Aniond had claimed he was hunting with his father, which was possible, although scrambling over the low-lying mountains around the stronghold made this direction the least desirable one for hunting.

A sudden sound caught his ear, and he turned his head sharply to look down through the branches to the east. Beneath his feet, he could see Mewyn and Calylad both looking in the same direction. Again, he heard it: the sound of voices. Someone was coming. With his heart beating a little faster, he dropped silently to the branch next to his friends, where the leaves were thicker. It was probably just a Home Guard patrol, he assured himself, but it would not do to be seen by them anyway. They would almost certainly guess that the three youths were farther north than they should have been and might feel obligated to take them home and tell their parents where they had been.

But almost immediately, Sinnarn knew that his comforting theory was wrong. Whoever was walking through the forest had stopped talking, but they were much too heavy-footed to be Elves. He dug his fingernails into the bark of the maple and waited. Between the branches below him, he caught a glimpse of movement, and then, clearly, he saw them: two people carrying large packs. Men, he suddenly realized in excitement. He had seen Men coming and going from his grandfather’s court and had heard his father talking about them, but he had never had an opportunity to talk to any of them. The Men passed under the tree in which the three of them sheltered, moving west. Without thinking, Sinnarn leapt to the next tree, following after the Men. He heard Mewyn hiss in surprise, but he ignored him.

A sudden thought occurred to him. Aniond had almost certainly deceived them about the eagles and was probably laughing at them right now, but he would have to take a different tone if they went home with a story about meeting two Men. Ithilden seemed to find Men interesting; Sinnarn thought that there was no time like the present to test out his father’s judgment. With a flourish, he jumped to the ground, landing just in front of the two Men.

Their reaction was instantaneous and terrifying: As one, they seized the bows from their backs. Sinnarn froze, but before either Man had time to fit an arrow to his bowstring, three Elven warriors had leapt from the trees and stood with drawn bows and arrows pointing at the Men. For a second, no one moved. Then the warrior who was evidently in charge spoke: “Take your hands away from your quivers.” Both Men let go of the arrows they had seized and slowly lowered their hands.

Sinnarn breathed again and was suddenly aware that his knees were trembling. Where had the Elven warriors come from? He had had no idea they were there.

The warrior let out what sounded like a sigh and glanced upwards. “You other two, come down.” Amid a rustling of leaves, Mewyn and Calylad slid to the ground, both of them looking distinctly pale. The warrior looked at the two Men. “I am sorry the younglings disturbed you. They are going home now, and Tarion and I will escort you on your way west.” The two Men stared at him uncertainly, as he lowered his bow and glanced at the warrior to his right. “Nilas, see to it that these three are returned to their parents’ loving arms.”

Nilas grinned. “Yes, Lieutenant.” He shouldered his bow and beckoned to Sinnarn, who still stood in the spot where he had landed, immobilized by the terror he had felt when the Men had reached for their weapons. He swallowed hard and obeyed Nilas’s summons. Mewyn and Calylad too moved in response to the warrior’s gesture, and almost before Sinnarn had had time to realize what had happened, he was on his way home.

None of them spoke until they drew near Thranduil’s stronghold, by which time Sinnarn had regained his wits. “You do not have to escort us all the way to our doors,” he told Nilas, as they crossed a bridge over the Forest River and started along one of the paths that led toward the clusters of cottages in which Thranduil’s people dwelt. “You must have things to do.”

“Ah, but my lieutenant told me to return you to your families, so I think I had better do it,” said Nilas cheerfully. He evidently recognized all of them, because he stopped and knocked at the door of Mewyn’s cottage without being told which one it was. He stood on the doorstep to talk to Mewyn’s mother, speaking quietly enough that Sinnarn could not hear him, but still keeping an eye on Sinnarn and Calylad. Mewyn’s mother frowned and spoke to him, and he ducked into the house with his head lowered.

The unpleasant scene was repeated at Calylad’s cottage, and then Nilas led Sinnarn across the bridge and up the stairs into the palace. Sinnarn had assumed that Ithilden would still be in his office and that Nilas would deliver his news to Alfirin, a situation that he had counted as one small blessing, but to his dismay, as he and Nilas entered the antechamber, Ithilden came out of the Great Hall. He stopped short, with his eyes flicking from Sinnarn to Nilas.

“My lord.” Nilas saluted, and Ithilden focused on him.

“Yes, Nilas?”

Nilas launched into the tale of having found Sinnarn and his friends to the north of the stronghold and of Sinnarn’s attempt to speak to the Men. “As you ordered, we had been following the Men since this morning, my lord, and the lieutenant was planning to escort them until they were well west of here.  They were a bit shaken when we showed ourselves with our bows drawn, but we had no choice once they were going to point an arrow at your son.” He sounded apologetic.

From under lowered lashes, Sinnarn regarded his father. Ithilden’s face had gone white and rigid, and Sinnarn flinched. He recognized the signs; his father was furious.

“Thank you, Nilas,” said Ithilden. “You may go.” The warrior saluted again, and with a nod at Sinnarn, he went out through the Great Doors. Ithilden stood for a second looking steadily at Sinnarn, and then said, “We will take this up in private.” He gestured for Sinnarn to precede him into the family quarters, and Sinnarn glumly led the way to the sitting room of his parents’ apartment. His mother sat at her loom at one end of the room, but she looked up and smiled when they entered.

“You are home early, Ithilden!” Her smile faded abruptly as she looked at them. “What is the matter?”

His father’s voice was tight. “Our son was a good bit further north of the stronghold than he is allowed to be. Moreover, while he was there, he startled some passing Men so greatly that they might have shot him had there not been Home Guard warriors watching them.”

Alfirin’s face paled and she put her hand to her throat. “Are you all right, Sinnarn?”

“Yes,” he said impatiently, “and I did not mean to startle them. I just wanted to talk to them. You are always saying how interesting Men are, Adar.”

Ithilden rounded on him. “Sinnarn, your grandfather has been told that the Men of Dale have heard rumors about Elves that frightened them. The two you surprised had already encountered the Eastern Border Patrol and were obviously afraid despite the fact that our warriors assured them that the rumors were false. Your actions – which, by the way, I am going to have to explain to your grandfather – might very well make it harder for Men to trust us.”

Sinnarn blinked. “I had no way to know that,” he protested.

“No, but you knew better than to be where you were. There are reasons for the boundaries we set for you.” His father’s voice had begun to rise, and he stopped and drew a deep breath. “I do not know with certainty that you have affected the Men’s ability to trust, but you have affected mine. Except for training and lessons, you are confined to your chamber for a month. And when that time is up, you and I will discuss whether you need to be supervised more closely than you have been.”

“A month!” Sinnarn was appalled. He turned to his mother in appeal, but her mouth was pressed in a thin line. No help was forthcoming there, he saw. He turned back to his father, desperate to explain. “Adar, we only wanted to see eagles that we had heard were in that part of the forest.”

“You could have asked me or your naneth for permission to go. You knew you were doing something wrong, and I am not going to argue about it. Go to your chamber now.”

Sinnarn bit his lower lip and obeyed. He knew from unhappy experience that arguing would do no good when his father was in this kind of temper. He flung himself on his bed, and for a while, heard only the sound of his own angry breathing. Gradually he calmed. He could hear the rise and fall of his parents’ voices in the sitting room. His mother sounded upset, and Sinnarn found he regretted that. And then, quite clearly, he heard his father say, “I do not want him to be a self-indulgent adult!” Sinnarn rolled over onto his side with his arms wrapped around his middle. He was not self-indulgent, he thought indignantly. His father was wrong. He grabbed his pillow and put it over his ears. He did not want to hear anything more.

***

Eilian raised his hand to bring them to a halt. “We will camp here for the night.”

Legolas looked contentedly around at the proposed campsite and slid to the ground. He had ridden at Eilian’s side for most of the afternoon, with Beliond and Maltanaur behind them, and could not remember when he had passed a more pleasant few hours. “I will take care of our horses,” he offered, and the others nodded their acceptance. The four of them set about making camp, and when Legolas returned from seeing to their mounts, he found Maltanaur prodding a fire into life, while Beliond emerged from the woods with a pot of water he had fetched from a nearby stream.

Eilian took his pack from Legolas. “The water will be good for tea, but we do not have to stew any of the dried food. We still have bread, cheese, and fruit that we brought from home.” He pulled two carefully wrapped loaves from the pack and looked at Maltanaur. “Do you have the rest?” Maltanaur was already digging out the cheese and fruit. He spread it on a clean cloth on the ground; Eilian added the bread, and they all settled in to eat.

“I have already explained our mission to Maltanaur,” Eilian said, adding a slice of cheese to the chunk of bread he held. “But I need to fill you two in too because the nature of it requires you to keep your eyes and ears open while we are in Dale.” He took a bite of his bread and cheese, and Legolas waited impatiently for him to swallow it, marveling at how serious his brother had become when he started talking about their mission. “The king has received word that Dale is full of rumors that he intends to break off relations with both that town and Esgaroth. The Men apparently fear that the Woodland Realm is becoming hostile to them.”

Legolas blinked. “Our patrol met two Men in the woods a few days ago who said something similar. I think Todith sent word to Ithilden.”

Eilian looked interested. “I had not heard that. The information I was given evidently came from the Man who was acting as the Dwarves’ agent for the sale of iron. At any rate, our task is to find out if such rumors exist. If they do, I am to try to find their source, but even if I cannot do that, I am to try to convince King Bram that the tales are false.”

“Surely the fact that Legolas and Beliond met Men with the same fears means that the rumors really do exist,” put in Maltanaur.

Eilian nodded. “That is true.” He grimaced. “Then we will have to be careful in Dale. If Men think we are hostile, they may be skittish around us.”

Legolas saw Eilian’s eyes flick quickly to him and then away, but his brother said nothing. “I am one of the guards here,” Legolas said dryly. “I am supposed to be insuring your safety, not the other way around.”

Eilian laughed. “Old habits die hard.” He looked thoughtful “I had planned to take a quick look at the town as we rode through but to go straight to Bram. I thought he might be insulted if we did otherwise. Do any of you see any reason to alter that plan?”

The rest of them shook their heads. “You are good at this sort of thing, Eilian,” Maltanaur said, his attention on the apple he was slicing. “We will take our cue from you.” He looked at Beliond and to Legolas’s surprise said, “I know you have gathered information about Men, Beliond. Have you ever been to Dale?”

Beliond shook his head and dropped a handful of herbs into the boiling water. Legolas watched him remove the pot from the fire and set it aside for the tea to steep. Legolas had always assumed that Beliond had been one of Thranduil’s spies before he became his bodyguard, but he had not given much thought to just who Beliond might have spied upon. Beliond had never made any secret of his disdain for Men. It was difficult to picture him moving unobtrusively among them.

“I have been there several times, although it has been a while,” Maltanaur said. “Once I took you on, Eilian, I had less time for anyone else’s foolishness.”

Eilian laughed, apparently quite unoffended. “I seem to recall you telling me a story about your own foolishness in Dale, but I will not shock Legolas’s tender ears by repeating it now.” Maltanaur laughed and got up to pour the tea. “Tell me about the layout of the town,” Eilian invited, wiping his knife on his leggings and sheathing it.

Legolas listened attentively as Maltanaur described Dale, but part of his mind was busy noticing the easy relationship between Eilian and his keeper. Beliond had told Legolas almost nothing about himself, and Legolas could not imagine his keeper saying he would take his cue from Legolas. He wondered how long it had taken before Maltanaur began treating Eilian as a friend, as an equal. And he wondered if he would ever be able to get Beliond to do that.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

*******

6. Dale

Maltanaur made his silent way around the edge of the campsite, extending his senses looking for something unexpected and not finding anything. He heard only the usual nighttime noises: the rustling of small animals, the hoot of an owl, the sleepy night song of the trees. He hoisted himself up onto a branch and leaned back against the tree trunk, with one leg dangling and the other drawn up against his chest. These woods were so full of life and peaceful compared to the trees to the south where he spent most of his time as Eilian’s bodyguard. He could feel his body responding to life around him, relaxing and sliding into harmony with it. He was almost sorry that his watch would end soon. Sleeping seemed a waste of time when he could be in this part of the forest.

On the ground beneath him, Beliond stirred and then pushed aside his blanket and sat up and glanced at him. Maltanaur lifted his hand in silent acknowledgment and then waited patiently while Beliond, rose, stretched, and disappeared in the direction of the stream. He came back with water still dripping from the strands of hair around his face. He strapped on his quiver and sword, picked up his bow, and then leapt to settle on the branch next to Maltanaur.

“I have found nothing amiss,” Maltanaur murmured, and Beliond nodded and then turned his face up to the stars. Maltanaur studied him. He had known Beliond a long time but did not often have a chance to see him. He was willing to forgo a little sleep in favor of a few moments of talk with someone who was not only an old friend, but also one of the few people in Arda who would understand what it was like to watch over one of the king’s sons. “How are you?” Maltanaur asked, keeping his voice low.

Beliond smiled slightly but kept his eyes on the stars. “Bored for most of my time and terrified for the rest.”

Maltanaur laughed. “I understand. The Eastern Border Patrol must be a good deal tamer than what you are used to, and minding Legolas is probably a good deal more exciting, at least if he is anything like his brother. Eilian takes it into his head to do things that I would never have predicted. Or rather I suppose I might be able to predict them now, but it has taken me a good many years to get to this point.”

“Legolas does well enough,” Beliond said gruffly. “He is good with a bow, and he is willing to learn.”

Maltanaur looked down to hide his smile. He had watched Beliond and Legolas together that day, and while he had seen how Legolas chafed under Beliond’s urging of a caution that seemed excessive even to Maltanaur, he had also been quietly amused at the obvious affection Beliond felt for Eilian’s younger brother. And now he could hear the pride Beliond took in his charge.

“Anyone can see that Legolas is serious about being a warrior,” Maltanaur agreed. “And he has far more sense that Eilian had at that age, although Eilian settled down once he was promoted.”

“From what I have heard, there was a great deal of settling down to do,” Beliond said dryly.

Maltanaur tried not to take offense on Eilian’s behalf. What Beliond said was true enough, after all. “I know Ithilden hesitated to do it,” he said. “He talked to me about it because he was worried that he might be burdening Eilian too young. But being made captain was good for Eilian. That promotion showed him that Ithilden believed he could rely on him. Now Legolas seems cut from a different cloth. Todith appears to trust him implicitly, even though he is young.”

Beliond frowned. “Legolas is trustworthy with what he knows, but he lacks experience, and the young tend to be overconfident and to rush into danger they do not even know is there.”

Maltanaur thought fleetingly about Beliond’s son, who had joined whole-heartedly in Oropher’s wild charge at Dagorlad and died before he had time to bloody his sword. “Legolas seems level-headed to me,” he observed mildly.

Beliond grimaced and slid to the ground. “I should make a round of the campsite.”

Maltanaur climbed down next to him. He looked up at the thick spangling of stars. “The day will be fair,” he said. He smiled to himself. “I think I will get another hour or two of sleep before we have to escort the two young ones to Dale. I quite look forward to it.” He started toward his bed roll, hearing Beliond snort softly behind him.

***

At the edge of the trees, Legolas halted his horse next to Eilian’s. Ahead lay a patchwork of fields, green with the new growth of spring. They stretched toward the lone mountain, whose arms reached to either side, covered in the deep green of pine trees. And at the mountain’s foot, in the embrace of a bend in the River Celduin, lay the town of Dale. Its gates stood open, and on foot or in carts, a steady trickle of people passed through them on a road that ran some distance to their right. As Legolas sat with Tavor prancing eagerly beneath him, he heard the silvery sound of a bell drifting toward him, joined almost immediately by the deeper note of a second bell, then a third, and finally a whole chorus.

“What is it?” he demanded, edging his hand toward his bow. “Are they sounding an alarm?”

“Be easy,” said Maltanaur from Eilian’s other side. “They use the bells to tell everyone when an hour has come. It is a custom of many Men.”

Legolas blinked. He had never heard bells on his visits to Esgaroth. “They cannot tell time on their own?” he asked uncertainly. He did not want to sound insulting.

Maltanaur grinned. “It would seem not.”

“The noise is a nuisance when you are trying to sleep,” growled Beliond. “But then Men do not seem particularly sensitive to noise.” Legolas glanced at him. Beliond must have been in other Men’s towns then.

“It must be a market day,” Eilian observed, regarding the people moving in and out of the gates. Legolas nodded his agreement, reassured by the realization that he had seen the busy marketplace of Esgaroth and, now that Eilian mentioned it, recognized the scene. “We should skirt these fields and take the road,” Eilian said, and they nudged their horses into motion again.

Perhaps because it was market day, the fields were empty for the most part. One Man, who was working his way down a row of plants with a hoe, stopped to watch them pass, but they saw no houses. Legolas assumed that the farmers who worked these fields lived inside the protection of the town walls. When they reached the road, though, they encountered a number of people, almost all of whom stepped aside to give them a wide berth. Legolas had found that Men tended to be nervous around Elves, and he could not tell if these folk were more uneasy than those he had encountered in Esgaroth. Eilian ignored any signs of discomfort from the Men, lifting a hand and calling a greeting as they passed each small knot of people.

The guards at the gate watched their approach with wide eyes but said nothing as Eilian led the little group into the town. Immediately, Legolas was struck by a wave of noise and smells that seemed trapped inside the city walls. The market was spread before them just inside the gates. Stalls were set up along the street, and some goods were being sold from the windows of more permanent looking buildings. Some of those who had brought goods to market in carts had simply parked them in the street and were calling out descriptions of their wares from the carts’ lowered back gates. People’s voices seemed very loud to Legolas and the odor of unwashed Men, overripe vegetables, and manure clogged his nose. Once they were through the gates, the dirt road had changed to cobblestones and the noise of their own horses’ hooves added to the din. Tavor snorted and tossed his head, and Legolas patted his neck reassuringly.

They slowed their horses to a walk amid the crowd in the marketplace, and before many minutes had passed, Eilian dismounted. “Lead them,” he instructed, and the rest of them slid to the ground too. Legolas could see the wisdom in that course of action. They were less conspicuous and, more to the point, less threatening on foot.

Eilian stopped to speak to a merchant with an array of leather goods spread out on a table before him. Legolas watched with interest as his brother ignored the very pretty girl who stood next to the Man, despite the way she stared at him. “Can you tell us the way to the palace, good sir?” Eilian asked with a pleasant smile. Legolas raised an eyebrow. He had thought that Maltanaur’s description of the town was clear and was certain that if they kept on the street they were on, they would eventually see the palace down a road to their left.

The Man hesitated for only a second before he stepped out from behind his goods and pointed down the road. “You cannot miss it if you continue this way until you see the fountain and then look to your left.”

“Thank you,” Eilian said, still smiling, and probably much to his own surprise, the Man smiled back. Legolas suppressed a grin. Very few people could resist his brother when he was at his most charming. They started down the street again. “He was willing enough to be friendly given only a small push,” Eilian murmured under his breath to Legolas. “And she was pretty.”

Legolas laughed. “You really are behaving yourself admirably. I am impressed.”

Eilian grinned. “She was looking at you.”

Legolas could feel himself blushing a little. “Not when I saw her.”

Eilian laughed and patted him on the shoulder. “I see I have been neglecting your education.”

Legolas smiled but determinedly went back to examining the people around them. Although he would never have admitted it to Beliond, he found himself hard put to think like a warrior and keep on his guard. Anywhere he looked, something caught his attention. He saw a stall with carved toys similar to those he had found in the pack of the Man his patrol had encountered. Bright fabric hung from hooks and spilled over the counter of one stall, while baked goods sent a tempting aroma into the air from another.

Suddenly he stiffened, for the next stall sold metal ornaments, and behind the counter, selling the goods they had probably made, were two Dwarves. The Dwarves watched the Elves pass with a steady and not altogether friendly gaze. Legolas knew that his father had been trading with the Dwarves for a number of years now, but he also knew that Thranduil had never fully trusted them. He had expected to find few Dwarves in Dale because most of them had moved to the Grey Mountains, leaving only a small number living in the mountain that loomed over the town. And his expectations had been carried out. These were the first Dwarves he had seen, and he supposed he should not be surprised by their wariness. They trusted the Elves no more than Thranduil trusted them.

And the Dwarves were not the only people in the marketplace who were watching the Elves. As they continued through the market, every head turned and conversations flagged, leaving them in a small moving bubble of less noise. Eilian nodded in friendly greeting to those whose eye he caught, but his overtures were returned only cautiously.

Legolas scanned to either side of him more carefully now, aware that the town’s Mannish inhabitants were leery of his gaze. The unexpected sight of something green caught his attention, and he glanced at a shop that seemed to be selling herbs and spices. Bunches of herbs were suspended from the top of the window or lay on the ledge that had been created when the horizontal shutter had been let down. The shop’s owner leaned against the window’s edge with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed. Legolas was seized with a wave of instant dislike so strong that his skin crawled.

With a self-awareness that had become automatic under years of his father’s discipline, he immediately groped for a reason for his gut reaction, and almost as immediately, he knew what it was. The shop owner was swarthy and broadly built. In fact, he looked much like an Easterling who had once held Legolas captive in an attempt to force Thranduil into an agreement to allow Men of the east to establish a foothold in Esgaroth. The Easterling had taken a whip to Legolas’s back, and even now, his mouth grew dry at the thought of the hours he had spent in that tent. Stop it, he told himself. This Man is not Karik. To judge him by a resemblance he cannot help is to let prejudice overcome your good sense. As he wrestled his gaze away from the herb shop, his eye was caught by Beliond, who strode at the front of the group of Elves.

When they had entered the town, Beliond had moved forward to be in the lead, while Maltanaur had dropped back a few feet, leaving Legolas to walk at Eilian’s side between the two keepers. And now Legolas saw that Beliond too was looking at the herb merchant. Legolas could see his keeper only in profile, but it seemed to Legolas that his gaze was sharp, and Legolas tensed.

Whether he sensed Legolas’s discomfort or was disturbed by the commotion of the marketplace, Tavor chose that moment to prance nervously to one side, forcing an older couple to dodge out of his way. “I beg your pardon,” he cried to the couple, and Beliond looked around and frowned at him. Legolas soothed the animal, coaxing him back next to Eilian, who raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. His face flaming, Legolas went back to scanning the crowd in the marketplace.

Following the Man’s directions and the description of the town that Maltanaur had given the previous evening, they made their way to the end of the market and turned up the street to the palace. Legolas eyed the large stone building, whose tiled roof distinguished it from its thatch-roofed neighbors. As they led their horses toward it, the bells in the tower that crowned it rang again, making Tavor jump but lifting Legolas’s heart. The sound was merry, he decided and could not help smiling.

One of the door guards stepped forward to meet them, his face wary. “I am Eilian Thranduilion,” Eilian greeted him, “come from the Elvenking to wait upon King Bram.”

The Man blinked, glanced at the rest of them, and then seemed to brace himself. He stepped aside. “If you will wait in the hall, my lord, I will send word to see if the king is within. My companion will see to your horses.” The other guard moved toward the horses and then abruptly stopped, apparently realizing that they had no reins.

“The horses will wait in the courtyard if they are left undisturbed,” Eilian told him. “See to it, Legolas.”

Legolas grimaced. He assumed Eilian had set him this task because of the problems Tavor had caused. Over the years, Legolas had occasionally seen his brother slip into his role as captain, and Eilian was plainly in it now, even with Legolas. It vexed him to be making such a poor showing. As the guard led Eilian and Maltanaur into the palace, Legolas swiftly gathered the four horses and led them into the small space Eilian had indicated. A water trough stood there, and the horses willingly trotted up to it and began to drink. “Wait here,” he murmured to them and gave Tavor a reassuring pat. He would work with the horse more once he had returned to his patrol, he vowed.

He turned to find Beliond lingering near the front door, waiting for him, while exchanging suspicious glances with the second guard. Legolas hastened to join his keeper, and the two of them entered the palace to see Eilian and Maltanaur standing in a large, square hallway, marked off from what lay beyond by an elaborately carved wooden screen.

As Legolas and Beliond entered, the guard came around the screen. “The king will see you now, my lord.” He gestured toward the screen, and Legolas was following Eilian toward it, when the guard stepped in front of him. “Your guards can wait here.”

Eilian exchanged a look with Maltanaur, whose face was impassive. “My attendant comes with me,” Eilian said, indicating Maltanaur. His eyes went beyond Legolas to Belond and then came back to settle on Legolas’s face. “You and Beliond go and enjoy the market. Come back in an hour.” Legolas choked back a protest. He did not like leaving Eilian here, but he had to admit that Maltanaur had kept his brother safe for many years now and was likely to be able to do it here too, particularly when the Men knew who Eilian was and knew that Legolas and Beliond would be back. Besides, he recognized what he was being asked to do: Eilian wanted him and Beliond to continue assessing the temper of the town.

He drew a deep breath. “Yes, my lord,” he said. Eilian smiled slightly and then turned and walked away, with Maltanaur close behind, ignoring the Mannish guard’s faint protests. Using every bit of self-discipline he possessed, Legolas walked out of the door and into the afternoon sunshine.

“Maltanaur will keep him safe,” murmured Beliond in his ear, and Legolas looked to find him next to him.

“I know,” he said stiffly. His keeper did not often offer comfort, and Legolas was always surprised and sometimes resentful when he did. He was, after all, not a child. But I am being childish, he though. He looked ruefully at Beliond and relaxed a little. “Thank you.”

With a faint smile on his face, Beliond looked down the street toward the market. “Let us see what we can learn about the Men of Dale,” he said. “Stay close to me.”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “Yes, Nana.” Beliond made a low growling noise, but, with the palace guards watching them, he merely strode off down the street. Suppressing a grin, Legolas followed.

As they made their way down the street, three Men rode into the courtyard of a large building on their left, and a boy came running out to take charge of their horses, while they pulled packs from the animals’ backs and made their noisy way inside. Legolas turned his head to keep watching even after he and Beliond had passed the building. “Is that an inn?” he asked. He had heard of such buildings and knew there was one in Esgaroth, but he had never seen it and certainly never been inside one. When he and the Elves he knew traveled, they either camped in the woods or stayed as guests in the homes of other Elves. The idea of sleeping in a public building seemed odd and vaguely exciting to him.

“Yes, it is,” Beliond said. “Stay out of it.”

Legolas snapped his head around and frowned at him. “I do not recall suggesting that we enter it, although it would probably be an excellent place to learn the mood of the town’s inhabitants.”

“If you want to see Men at their worst, an inn is a good place to do that,” Beliond said. “But I would prefer not to have to try to keep an eye on you in one.”

Legolas blew out an exasperated breath. Beliond made him sound like a troublesome elfling. He was strongly tempted to turn back and enter the inn, but Eilian had told them to spend this hour in the marketplace, and Legolas reluctantly concluded that that was what he should probably do.

They reentered the marketplace, strolling along trying to look casual while observing the actions of those around them. Legolas was careful not to look for too long at anyone so he would not increase their discomfort, and he smiled when he caught people’s eyes, sometimes surprising them into smiling back. He glanced at Beliond, who had drawn them toward the edge of the road and was walking in the shadow of the wall there. “Are you going to make no effort at all to be agreeable?” he asked in disgust.

Beliond lifted an eyebrow. “It would probably be best if we did not make ourselves too conspicuous,” he observed.

Legolas gave a short snort of laughter. “How do you propose we do that? We are the only Elves in the marketplace.” Beliond ignored him in favor of scanning the marketplace. A sudden burst of applause made him turn his head sharply, and Legolas swung around to see what had caused it. A short distance ahead of them, a small crowd was gathered. Although he was taller than most of the Men, Legolas could not see what they were looking at. Then, as he and Beliond drifted toward the little group, a bright red ball arced through the air, followed rapidly by another and then another.

Curious, Legolas peered between two Men to see a brightly dressed young Man in the center of the crowd. He was tossing three balls in the air and then from hand to hand. As Legolas watched, he lifted his right knee and shifted his hands so that the balls now passed underneath his leg. For a moment, all went well, and then he dropped one of the balls. He caught the other two and scooped up the dropped one as the people in the crowd applauded.

Legolas glanced at Beliond, trying to see if his keeper understood what was going on here. Why were the people applauding? Beliond smiled a little sarcastically and leaned close to whisper in Legolas’s ear. “Men call it juggling. They find it difficult to do.”

Legolas blinked. Any elfling over the age of ten could do what the juggler had just done. He turned back to find that the juggler had apparently noticed them, and the people in the crowd had now become aware of them too and were edging slightly away from them. The juggler took in the look on Beliond’s face, smiled, and reached into the bag that lay at his feet to produced three knives. The crowd drew a delighted collective breath and returned its attention to him.

With a flourish, the juggler spread the knives out to show them to his audience and then tossed them one by one into the air. They whirled and flashed in the sunshine as they spun into the air and back to the juggler’s hands. The eyes of the Men across from Legolas grew huge and round, and their mouths dropped open in obvious awe. Slowly and with infinite care, the juggler began inching his way toward Beliond, who stood with no one in front of him now. Legolas had to smother a laugh as he glanced from Beliond’s annoyed looking face to the juggler’s triumphant one.

Suddenly, to the astonishment of both Legolas and the juggler, Beliond snatched at a knife as it passed within a foot of his face, plucking it and then both of its fellows out of the air. Without missing a beat, he tossed all three into the air again and then unsheathed his own knife and added it to the arc of flashing blades.

Legolas had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the looks on the faces of the crowd. Beliond could probably keep five knives in the air at once; Legolas could do that, and he had once seen Eilian toss six of them, although that little performance had taken place well out of sight of their father. Tossing too many knives occasionally led to injuries that were hard to explain to parents or officers.

With a flick of his wrist, Beliond gathered in the knives, sheathed his own, and held the other three out to the juggler. The people in the crowd burst into applause, and after a moment’s hesitation, the juggler bowed and took back his knives. Beliond fished a small coin out of his belt pouch, tossed it onto the blanket at the juggler’s feet, seized Legolas’s arm, and drew him down the street, with the laughter of the audience trailing after them.

“It would probably be best if we did not make ourselves too conspicuous,” Legolas repeated dryly.

Beliond shrugged. “I thought you wanted me to be agreeable. Besides,” he added with a straight face, “we are the only Elves in the marketplace.”

Legolas laughed at the gleam in his keeper’s eyes. He could not remember the last time he had seen Beliond so obviously enjoying himself. In companionable silence, the two of them made their way through the market. Suddenly, Legolas realized that they were once again near the herb shop whose owner had made him so uneasy when they passed it earlier. To his surprise, Beliond led the way to the window in which the herb seller still stood, his hooded eyes upon them. Reluctantly, Legolas followed.

“Good day,” Beliond greeted the Man and began poking through the small packets of herbs and spices on display. “The market is lively. Is it always so crowded?” Legolas stared at him. Beliond never engaged in small talk, and that he would do so with a Man startled Legolas.

“The market is usually a popular one,” the Man answered after a moment. His eyes flicked from Beliond to Legolas, paused, and then went back to Beliond again.

Suddenly, Legolas was aware of Beliond tensing slightly, so slightly that the Man probably did not notice. Beliond was fingering a piece of brown bark that he had picked up out of a little box. He studied it for a moment and then scanned the shelves behind the Man too. He looked down at the display again and dropped the bark. “I will take a handful of thyme,” he said, indicating a heap of leaves in a basket at his elbow. Legolas blinked and wondered what he was up to.

The merchant took the coin Beliond offered, wrapped the thyme in a twist of paper, and handed the packet to Beliond, who took it and then pointed to a jar of what looked liked small black pits. “You have pepper,” he observed casually. “I cannot afford to buy any today, but we may be back. Do you always have it?”

The merchant’s eyes narrowed. “Usually.”

Beliond nodded and turned away, jerking his head for Legolas to follow. “What was that all about?” Legolas asked as soon as they were out of earshot. “I am sure the thyme will come in handy if you want to cook for us all, but that cannot be why you bought it.”

Beliond hesitated and then grimaced. “He reminds me of the Balchoth. He looks like them, and he has spices that come from the east.”

Startled, Legolas turned his head to look at him. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Have you ever gone among the Easterlings? When you were working for my adar, I mean.”

Beliond gave him a wry smile. “I spent far more time among them than I like to think about.”

Not for the first time, Legolas thought that Beliond must find it tedious to guard him after the wide-ranging life he had led. He thought about the merchant again. “We should investigate the herb seller,” he said.

“What do you mean, ‘investigate’?” Beliond asked acerbically. “And what do you mean, ‘we’?” We will tell Eilian about what we have seen, and someone may be sent to check on the Man, but you will stay away from him.”

Legolas struggled for self-control. “We are the ones who have been sent to Dale to find out what is happening here,” he said sharply. “I am as capable of searching the Man’s shop, for instance, as anyone else is.”

“He is probably just a reasonably honest merchant trying to earn a living,” Beliond snapped. “He looks foul, but then many Men do. And we will do nothing until Eilian has had a chance to talk to King Bram. Searching the shop of one of Bram’s people is not likely to endear us to him.” Legolas opened his mouth to protest but was forestalled when the town’s bells began to ring again. “We need to go back to meet Eilian and Maltanaur,” Beliond announced, and Legolas realized he was right. He would hold his tongue until he had had a chance to tell Eilian what they had found. With his mouth clamped tightly shut, he followed Beliond back toward the palace.

As always, thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me. Thanks to French Pony for suggesting the sword drill shown in the last part of this chapter and for checking on how well I was showing it despite my ignorance. Her suggestions were very helpful.

*******

7. Thranduilions

Eilian walked steadily toward the other end of the hall, his eyes on the Man in the carved wooden chair on the dais. Bram was dark haired and rather grim looking, despite the deep scarlet robe he wore. Guards stood on either side of his chair, and from the corner of his eye, Eilian could see two older Men standing to one side watching him. Advisors, he assumed, probably sizing him up so as to advise Bram on whether to trust him.

Eilian stopped about ten feet from Bram and dropped to one knee, as he would have done in his father’s Great Hall. He heard Maltanaur follow suit behind him.

Bram kept them there for a moment and then signaled them to rise. “Welcome, son of Thranduil,” he said in a deep voice. “It has been long since we had a visitor from the Elvenking’s realm.”

“The time does not seem long to Elves,” Eilian answered carefully, “but eventually we found that we longed to see our neighbors again and find how they were faring.” Bram studied him from under half lowered lids. Eilian could sense his wariness and concentrated on looking as open as he could. He wanted Bram to trust him. Thranduil had shown an unexpected faith in him when he sent him on this mission, and Eilian knew that much depended on his success.

“King Thranduil sent you to me?” Bram asked.

“He did. He bade me to assure you of his respect and brotherly affection as a leader of one people to a leader of a friendly neighbor.”

Bram cocked his head skeptically to one side. “It would seem our ‘brother’ Thranduil has been able to survive quite happily without seeing the Men of Dale for some time now.”

“We have seen them, my lord, when they come to assist us in our dealings with the Dwarves of the Iron Hills. They have been invaluable to us, and we are deeply grateful to them.”

Bram lifted one eyebrow, reminding Eilian of his father. “They have helped you to arm yourselves. I find that worries me.”

Eilian found himself breathing a little quickly. Surely Bram should not be worried by the strength of the Elves. What could have alarmed Bram to such an extent? Eilian had a horrifying vision of what life would be like in this part of Arda if the fragile alliance between Elves and Men and Dwarves was broken, and then spoke with the utmost caution. “We live in a dangerous age, my lord, in which we face a common enemy. Surely our strength should comfort rather than worry you.”

Bram paused, tapping one finger on the arm of his chair, and studying Eilian’s face. Eilian met his gaze steadily for a long moment. Abruptly Bram rose. “Son of Thranduil, I beg that you will join me in a cup of wine.”

“My lord,” said one of Bram’s advisors, stepping forward hastily, “would you like me to accompany you and your guest?”

Bram smiled blandly at him. “I do not think that will be necessary. Lord Eilian and I will be able to manage on our own.”

Eilian had to hide a smile. He could hear Maltanaur shifting uneasily behind him and knew that he was just as dismayed as Bram’s advisor was. That Bram did not seem to care amused Eilian. With both of Bram’s guards and Maltanaur following behind, Bram led him through a narrow archway and down a short hall to what appeared to be a private study. A heavy desk stood under a window, and two large chairs were drawn up before a fireplace. Eilian glanced over his shoulder to see Maltanaur scanning the room from the hallway before Bram shut the door in his face.

Bram turned to Eilian, and unexpectedly, they shared a smile. Bram gestured to one of the chairs and went to a side table to pour them each some wine. Eilian carefully waited until Bram sat before he took his own chair. “How go things with the Woodland Realm?” Bram asked, taking a sip of the deep red wine.

Eilian thought quickly but could see no reason not to tell the truth. Besides, he wanted Bram to trust him, and if Bram was like Thranduil, the best way to do that was to be honest. “Much the same as they have,” he said. “We battle Orcs and spiders. We do not seem to be losing ground at the moment but we are never at a loss for a target for our weapons. How go things with the Men of Dale?”

Bram ran a finger around rim of his cup. “We see an occasional Orc raiding party, but for the most part, we have been at peace since the Easterlings were driven out of the land south of us fifty years or so ago.”

Eilian sipped his own wine. It was not as good as his father’s, he noted automatically, but it was still worth drinking. “Your people seem to be thriving. We passed through the market on our way here.”

“Goods come up the river, and the Dwarves of the Iron Hills come here to trade too. As you know,” Bram added.

“We do know, and as I said, we are grateful for your people’s help in getting us the iron we need.” Eilian hesitated. “I do not like to think that our being well armed would worry you, my lord. Elves and Men have long been allies in this part of Arda.”

Bram leaned back in his chair. “We have heard that Thranduil has little respect for men.”

Eilian froze. The problem with that statement was that it was true. Then, suddenly, he thought about Bram’s words: “we have heard,” he had said. Rumors must indeed be afloat in Dale, he thought. Not that he had doubted it after hearing about the toymakers that Legolas and Beliond had found in the woods. He brought himself back to immediate problem of telling Bram about Thranduil’s attitude toward Men. He had to be very careful in speaking for his father. Thranduil would not look kindly on Eilian making promises in his behalf. “Thranduil values his alliance with Men,” he finally said. “He has no wish to interfere in their affairs, any more than he would welcome their interference in those of the Woodland Realm, but he has fought alongside Men against the forces of darkness, and he knows that the Men of Dale have been steadfast in their hatred of the Shadow.”

That much was true. Of course, it was also true that Thranduil had seen Men serve Sauron and would probably not be surprised if even the Men of Dale were tempted into doing it.

Bram looked at him and smiled slightly. Eilian had the distinct impression that Bram knew how carefully he was picking his words. “I am happy to hear of the value that King Thranduil places on his friendship with us. As I said earlier, my people have been helping his warriors to arm themselves. If I thought that the Elves of the Woodland Realm wished us ill, then it would be foolish of me to allow that to continue, and I would not like to think I have been foolish.”

Eilian scarcely dared breathe. “I am sure you have not been foolish, my lord.” He looked straight into Bram’s dark eyes, willing him to see that he was telling the truth.

After a moment, Bram set his cup of wine aside and rose, drawing Eilian to his feet too. “We should talk more, and perhaps get to know one another better so that we may each know how to value the other. Be my guest for dinner and sleep beneath my roof this night.”

“With pleasure, my lord,” Eilian said. This invitation seemed to him to be a good sign.

“A servant will show you to a guest room.” Bram opened the door to reveal Maltanaur, looking deceptively calm. Eilian saw his keeper’s eyes sweep over him and then saw the set of his shoulders ease slightly. Bram turned to Eilian, looking amused. “Your attendant is also welcome of course. I assume he would be happiest in the room next to yours?”

Eilian grinned. “I believe he would.”

Bram beckoned to the servant. “Show our guests to room in the east hallway.” He turned to Eilian. “Where are your belongings?”

“With our horses. My attendant will fetch them.” Bram nodded and went back toward the reception room, where presumably he had other business to attend to including conferring with his advisors about Eilian’s truthfulness. The servant led Eilian and Maltanaur around a corner and down a hall to two rooms, each with a comfortable looking bed, chest, and washstand. Maltanaur went into Eilian’s room first and checked the window to see if it fastened properly. The servant who was escorting them raised an eyebrow. Eilian grinned, thanked him, and sent him on his way.

He turned back to Maltanaur. “What did you think?”

Maltanaur shrugged. “Bram is worried about something. Did he tell you anything when he had you alone?”

“Not really. I would say that he has heard rumors that we are becoming hostile to him and his people. I tried to set his mind at ease, but I believe he is still wary.” He rubbed the back of his neck, considering what Bram’s manner said more than his words. Then he raised his eyes to Maltanaur’s and smiled faintly. “I will have to see if I can charm him at dinner.”

Maltanaur laughed. “I have faith in you. Shall I go and get our packs?”

“Yes. You should probably wait to speak to Legolas and Beliond too if they are not back yet. Tell them we will be staying the night. They will have to find lodgings somewhere.” He grimaced. “Remind them that the townspeople may not all be friendly. I wish Todith had sent someone other than Legolas with us.”

Maltanaur lifted an eyebrow. “Todith must think that Legolas is up to the task or he would not have sent him. You need to show a little faith in your brother.”

“You are probably right,” Eilian said ruefully. A comforting thought struck him. “And besides, Beliond will watch him like a hawk.”

Maltanaur laughed. “That he will.” And he started back along the hallway toward the entrance to the palace.

***

Legolas settled onto the bench in the shade of the stunted maple tree near the water trough. If he had learned one thing during his years as a warrior, it was to relax when he had the chance. Beliond sat down next to him, and they watched the horses peacefully browsing through the grass at the edge of the courtyard.

Legolas thought about the merchant he and Beliond had seen in the market. He really would like a chance to investigate the Man further, but Beliond was unlikely to allow it. He frowned to himself. It was true that Beliond had more experience than he did, but surely he should have some say in how they went about their task.

“What do you really think about the spice merchant?” he asked abruptly. “Do you honestly think he is harmless?”

Beliond sighed. For a moment, Legolas thought he was not going to answer. Then he said, “In truth, I could not say. If it does turn out that someone is poisoning the Men’s minds against us, a spice merchant would have the perfect excuse to go back and forth to the lands that are under the sway of the enemy and carry news.”

“What is it like there?” Legolas asked. Rather to his surprise, he realized he had never before asked Beliond about his experiences as a spy.

Beliond made a face. “Like everywhere else where Men dwell under stupid and selfish rulers who keep them in line through cruelty.”

Legolas had opened his mouth to ask exactly where Beliond had been when the door opened and Maltanaur came out alone. Legolas jumped to his feet, immediately worried about Eilian. But Maltanaur’s face was placid enough. He came over to them. “We will be spending the night here. Eilian and I are staying in the palace. You two will need to make other arrangements.”

“We will camp in the woods outside of town,” Beliond said promptly.

“No! The woods are too far away,” Legolas protested. “We should stay close. What if Eilian needs us?” A thought struck him, and he could not help grinning. “We can stay in the inn that is just down the street.”

Beliond turned to him sharply. “That is a bad idea,” he declared flatly.

Legolas set his mouth determinedly. “We will be close by if we are needed and we will be able to continue taking the measure of the town’s mood,” he declared. “I am staying there. You are welcome to do likewise or not, just as you choose.”

He turned resolutely to Maltanaur, not wanting to see the outrage on Beliond’s face. Maltanaur was watching them both. Now he looked sideways at Beliond and said a little apologetically, “The inn sounds like a good idea. I would be happy to have you on hand if we need you.” Legolas grinned at him, enjoying the sound of Beliond sputtering. “Eilian and I are staying in two rooms on the ground floor,” Maltanaur went on. “They are in the back of the east wing. My window is the third from the end, and Eilian’s is the fourth. You should also be able to recognize it from the water barrel that is directly across from it against the wall of the building opposite.”

Legolas nodded. He was a little worried about leaving Eilian in the palace, but at least he would know where to find him if he had to. “We have something to tell you before we go,” he added, and he launched into a description of the herb seller. “Beliond says he has spices that are from the east,” he finished, and looked at his keeper, who in the face of the need to report what they had learned had stopped protesting about the inn and now nodded his confirmation of Legolas’s account.

Maltanaur had listened intently. “I will tell Eilian,” he said. “You two be careful.” He smiled blandly at Beliond. “Do not get raucous in the inn’s common room.” Beliond snorted and Maltanaur turned to take his and Eilian’s packs from their horses’ backs. “The guard tells me they will care for all of our horses in the king’s stables,” he said over his shoulder, “so you can leave them here.”

Legolas started forward to get his own pack, excited by the thought of a night in the inn. Beliond looked much less enthusiastic.

***

“He will be fine,” said the novice master, “but he will be laid up for a while. I wanted you to hear it from me.”

“Have you spoken to his parents?” Ithilden asked.

“Yes,” said Lomilad with a faint smile. “His naneth is happily fussing over him.”

Ithilden laughed. “Good. He will be glad to come back to training. Was there anything else?”

Lomilad shook his head and rose. “No. The exercise went well. We should have several good new warriors for you next month.”

“As always, I am grateful for the training that you and the weapons masters provide.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Lomilad saluted and left the office, and Ithilden’s aide came in and handed him a sheaf of reports.

“Thank you, Calith,” Ithilden said.

“The paper on top gives you the names of two Home Guard warriors who have asked for transfers, my lord,” the aide told him. “You could send either of them south more or less immediately and thus extend Lord Eilian’s leave.”

“Good.” Ithilden reached for the paper, and the aide withdrew. Ithilden looked at the names and immediately rejected the first one because the warrior was too young and inexperienced for the Southern Patrol, but the other was a possibility. He would send the young warrior elsewhere. He thought fleetingly of Legolas, who had also asked for a transfer. Perhaps he should consider sending his youngest brother north. That was also a relatively safe posting, but it would at least give Legolas some different experience under a different captain.

He wished that Legolas were not so eager for a more exciting posting. He sat for a moment looking out his window, watching Lomilad disappear in the direction of the novice training fields, and unbidden, a memory of his own youthful eagerness came back to him. He had told Alfirin about his desire to become a novice when his friend Anin did, but not about how he had tried to force the issue. Even now, that memory was painful, but he had thought of it several times in the last few days while he was trying to decide what to do with Sinnarn.

~*~*~

Ithilden paused and drew a deep breath. It was now or never. His father was due home any day, and if Ithilden was going to prove himself ready for novice training, he had better do it while Thranduil was away. He took one more breath and then walked the rest of the way to the field where a group of novices was assembling for a blade lesson. “Good morning, master,” he greeted Lomilad, who served as blade master as well as head novice master.

Lomilad looked up from his inspection of the practice swords. “Good morning, Ithilden. What can I do for you? Your class has an archery lesson this morning, does it not?”

“Yes,” Ithilden agreed. He steeled himself. “Did no one tell you that you were to evaluate my blade work to see if I should be admitted as a novice this year rather than next?” His heart beat so loudly he feared Lomilad might hear it.

“No,” Lomilad said, looking startled. “No one has.” He looked at Ithilden thoughtfully for a long moment, while Ithilden held his breath. “Very well,” Lomilad said slowly, and Ithilden nearly sagged with relief. He had warmed up thoroughly on his own, and he knew he was ready to give the master the best performance of which he was capable. He was sure that would be very good indeed.

Lomilad turned and called to two of the novices who were gathered nearby. Ithilden knew their names – Tarion and Elondel – but he did not know either Elf very well. They were both several years older than he was, although he was pleased to note that he was taller than either of them.

“We will do a three-person drill,” he told them and then turned to Ithilden. “Get protective gear and a practice sword.” He gestured to the equipment, and Ithilden hastened to do as he had been told and find leather armor and a helmet that fit and a sword whose balance he liked. He was so elated that his hands shook when he tried to buckle on his chestplate. He could not believe that Lomilad had agreed to test him. With what seemed like a heroic effort, he forced himself to settle down and concentrate.

The two novices were both strapping on gear too. “Do you need help with the buckle?” Tarion asked pleasantly.

“No, thank you.” Ithilden felt his face grow warm. He yanked at the strap and finally succeeded in fastening it. He picked up the sword he had chosen and walked back to Lomilad. He was unfamiliar with the drill Lomilad had named, so he assumed it was one that the novices did even though the younger students in the weapons training did not. He had thought Lomilad might ask him to battle a capable novice, but he had no idea what he would be expected to do against two of them. I am ready, he thought with determination. I can do this.

“Take your places,” Lomilad told Tarion and Elondel, and they trotted out onto the field to stand about forty feet apart, facing one another. “Stand halfway between them,” Lomilad ordered Ithilden, and, a little uncertainly, Ithilden obeyed. “When I tell you to begin, attack and hit Tarion. All hits have to be to the torso in this drill. When you have hit Tarion, immediately turn around and attack Elondel. They will parry your attacks, so you will have that to deal with.”

Ithilden nodded. That seemed simple enough.

Lomilad eyed him appraisingly. “You are competent enough with a sword that you will find this easy at first,” he said, “but as you tire, you will breathe harder and move more slowly. Your legs will burn, and your form will become sloppier.”

Ithilden stifled an impulse to protest. He knew his form was excellent, and he intended to keep it that way. He would pass this test if it took every bit of strength he had.

“No matter how tired you get, you will not stop until I tell you to,” Lomilad finished, his voice hard. “Do you understand?” Ithilden felt a little qualm but nodded. “Good.” Lomilad backed away. “Begin!” he called.

Ithilden turned and leapt toward Tarion, sweeping Tarion’s sword aside and allowing his own sword to slide along Tarion’s until it touched home. Tarion blinked. He had obviously not been expecting such an aggressive attack, and Ithilden gleefully turned to move toward Elondel. He hoped Lomilad had seen that, he thought triumphantly. The move was a flashy one, and Ithilden was proud of the speed and control that had allowed him to carry it off against the novice Tarion.

Elondel had seen what happened to Tarion and had set himself on guard, his sword raised to protect the middle of his body and his feet widely planted. Ithilden lunged at him, darting just into range, and recovering rapidly when Elondel knocked his sword aside and thrust his sword toward Ithilden’s belly. Ithilden twisted and then drove his own sword into Elondel’s ribs. Immediately, he swung back toward Tarion again.

His concentration was absolute now, and his world narrowed to the space between Tarion and Elondel. For what seemed a boundless time, he shuffled back and forth between them, breathing harder and harder and becoming more and more aware of the muscles in his legs, trembling on the edge of cramping beneath him and finally beginning to spasm. Sweat stung his eyes, but he had no time to wipe it away. And then, to his horror, even he could see that his attack was degrading. His legs were so shaky and tired that they could scarcely support him and his lunges were becoming shorter. Elondel parried his attack easily, and Ithilden found he was lucky to remember what to do to fight of the counterstrike that Elondel launched against him.

“Attack twenty more times,” called Lomilad, and to his shame, Ithilden felt a flash of relief. Doggedly, he started after Tarion, who looked so relaxed and fresh that Ithilden hated the sight of him. He tried to count to twenty in his head but lost track and nearly wept with gratitude when Lomilad finally called, “Stop.”

For a moment, he stood where he was, with sweat running down his face and his breath coming in pants. How could he have done so badly? he wondered in despair. Then he forced himself to walk on trembling legs to stand in front of the novice master. Lomilad regarded him calmly, and Ithilden dragged his sleeve across his forehead once, and then drew himself to stand erect and miserable and face the master’s judgment.

“This was an endurance drill, Ithilden,” Lomilad said after a moment. “The point of it is not to show off one’s flashy swordwork. The point is to learn to fight through your fatigue, as you might have to do in a battle. Novice training is serious business. Your own life and those of other people will depend on how well you learn your lessons here.”

Ithilden bit his lip to control his impulse to ask how he had done. If the point of the drill was to fight to exhaustion, then perhaps he had not disgraced himself so badly after all. The novice master smiled slightly. “You did well. When you fill out just a little more you are going to be unusually strong, and you are quick for someone your size.”

Ithilden let out a breath he had not known he was holding. “Will you recommend that I be admitted as a novice this year?”

“I will talk to the king when he returns,” Lomilad said. Ithilden hesitated. That was not quite what he had wanted to hear, but he suspected that it was all that Lomilad was going to say on the topic, and his suspicion was confirmed when Lomilad said, “Go on to your archery class now. Tell the master that I excused you for being late.”

All Ithilden could do was nod and obey, but he could not help feeling a knot of worry. Unless Lomilad was very certain in his assessment of Ithilden’s readiness, Thranduil was likely to insist he wait the extra year before joining the novices, and he would almost certainly object to Ithilden having maneuvered to get this trial. He went off to his class but had trouble keeping his mind on his lesson.

As it turned out, he had executed his plan just in time, because his father arrived home in time for evening meal that night. His mother was overjoyed, and they had a pleasant family evening, although Ithilden could not help feeling anxious about what Lomilad might say to his father.

The next afternoon, Thranduil summoned him as soon as he had finished his lessons.  The minute Ithilden entered his father’s office, he knew that he was in trouble. Thranduil sat rigidly erect at his desk, leaving Ithilden to stand before it with his heart in his mouth. His father wasted no time in getting to the point.

“Ithilden, did you tell the novice master that I said he was to consider accepting you as a novice this year?”

Ithilden drew a deep breath. “No, Adar. I asked him if anyone had told him he was to assess my potential for becoming a novice and he said they had not, but then he did it anyway.”

Thranduil’s face grew red. “In other words,” he said in a whip-sharp voice, “you deceived him.”

Ithilden bit his lip but judged it best to make no reply. He would wait out his father’s fury and see what Lomilad had decided.

“I am shocked that you would abuse your position as my son like that,” Thranduil hissed, breathing hard. “Never let me hear of you doing such a thing again.”

“Yes, Adar. I am sorry.” Ithilden hesitated but then pressed on. He had to know. “What did Lomilad say about my becoming a novice?”

Thranduil looked at him incredulously. “It does not matter what he said,” he cried. “What matters is what I say, and I say you will wait a year just as anyone else would. If you want extra lessons of any sort I can see to it that you have them. Indeed that is an excellent idea. You will spend an extra hour with your tutor every day for a week.”

Ithilden opened his mouth, shut it, and then could not resist saying, “You treat me like a child!”

“Far from that, I know you are not a child, and therefore you should know better! Tomorrow you will apologize to Lomilad for deceiving him. You may go to your chamber now.”

Ithilden could feel his hands shaking in fury, but he had just enough self-control to hold his tongue. He turned on his heel and fled from his father’s office.

~*~*~

“My lord?”

Ithilden looked up to find his aide in the doorway. “Yes, Calith?”

“Will you need me any more today?”

It dawned on Ithilden that the afternoon was drawing to a close. “No, thank you. We will take care of the rest of this tomorrow.” Calith saluted and withdrew, and Ithilden pushed the papers on his desk aside and rose and stretched. Tomorrow would be soon enough to send another warrior on his way south.

He left his office and walked along the path past the training fields, all of them empty at this hour. He had turned onto the path leading past the king’s stables to the garden when he heard a horse approaching and turned to see his father, mounted on his big stallion, obviously just returning from his afternoon ride. Thranduil turned and wave his two guards off, and they wheeled away while Thranduil slid from his horse and led him toward Ithilden. The two of them walked together toward the stables.

“How was your day?” Thranduil asked.

“One of the novices broke his leg in an accident during the war games exercise, but he will be fine.”

Thranduil’s horse shoved his head between them to nuzzle at Thranduil’s neck, and Thranduil laughed and patted him. He glanced at Ithilden. “Have you decided what to do about Sinnarn?

Ithilden grimaced. “No. He fully expects to become a novice this year, but I really am uneasy about it. He seems so irresponsible.”

Thranduil looked ahead for a moment, saying nothing. Then he said, “What does Alfirin say?”

“She says Sinnarn should not be hurried. She thinks I am demanding too much of him too soon. She says if Sinnarn wants to spend time with his friends, I should let him because he will be grown up forever, and a year or two now will make no difference.”

Thranduil smiled. “She sounds like your naneth.”

Ithilden could not help smiling too. “She does,” he agreed.

Thranduil hesitated and then said, “I kept Legolas back for six months.”

“True,” Ithilden agreed. “But there were other problems there.”

“Yes, but the delay was good for him. It gave him time to decide if he was willing to accept the discipline involved in the training and in being a warrior in general.”

Ithilden sighed. “Sinnarn would see such a delay as a punishment.”

“It would depend on how you approached it.”

Ithilden grimaced. He did not want to have to decide this matter right now. “How was your day?” he asked, changing the topic.

Thranduil shrugged. “I had another message from Educ. He is still asking for a bigger commission on the iron. I will wait to answer him until I hear how Eilian fares.”

Ithilden nodded, although he could not help feeling a bit anxious about the iron. “Eilian will manage,” he said, as much to comfort himself as to reassure his father. “I am sure he has the situation in Dale well in hand.”

“Probably,” Thranduil nodded. “We will have to wait and see.”

Thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this story for me.

*******

8. Dining in Dale

With a silently disapproving Beliond at his back, Legolas pushed the door open and entered what was evidently the common room of the inn. The smell of stale sweat and old dirt that had assaulted him in the marketplace was nearly overpowering inside, mixed as it was with the odors of smoke from the fireplace and onions cooking somewhere nearby.

The room fell suddenly silent, and he was aware of the dozen or so Men who were seated at the scarred wooden tables turning their heads to look at him. As he hesitated, glancing around for some indication of what he should do next, Beliond brushed past him and walked to a high counter behind which a stout Man in an apron stood with his mouth hanging open. “My companion and I would like a room for the night,” Beliond declared.

The Man behind the counter hesitated for a moment, glancing at the other Men in the room. His face impassive, Beliond took a coin out of his belt pouch and tapped it on the counter, and the Man seemed to pull himself together and snapped his mouth shut. “Of course,” he said. “This way.” He put the tankard he had been wiping down on the counter and gestured for them to follow him.

Legolas trailed after Beliond, aware of an itch between his shoulder blades as the Men’s eyes bored into his departing back. They went down a short corridor and then turned to go up a steep flight of stairs. The innkeeper led them down a corridor and flung open a door. “I can let you have this room,” he said. “I’m short on space because the big monthly market is going on.”

Legolas walked into the small room. The sway-backed bed was covered with a coarse but clean blanket. A single straight-backed chair stood next to the washstand. Legolas was determined to see no defect. And in truth, he had slept in rooms as plain as this when he stayed in friends’ cottages around his father’s stronghold. “This will be fine,” he said and flung his pack on the bed, looking defiantly at Beliond, who still stood in the doorway.

The innkeeper nodded. “If you want supper, there’s boiled beef or game pie. I can send it up here if you like.”

“No,” Legolas said quickly, when Beliond opened his mouth to reply. “We will come down.”

The innkeeper hesitated and then shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said and left them.

Beliond closed the door with unnecessary force. “We could at least eat up here,” he snapped. “I do not like the idea of sitting in the common room with Men who are not particularly pleased with Elves just now for reasons that we do not understand.”

“Eating downstairs will give us a better sense of the Men’s mood,” Legolas argued. “Perhaps most of them are willing to be friendly. Besides,” he added with a grin, “I believe you are supposed to be seeing to it that I continue to learn what I need to know as a warrior. Getting to know Men better will further my education.”

Beliond threw his pack on the chair and spat a word that made Legolas’s smile disappear.  “You think this is a joke,” Beliond said. “I tell you it is not, and I doubt if Thranduil would be amused either. You are provoking trouble, Legolas.”

Legolas could feel his temper rising. “I am simply carrying out the task we were assigned to do,” he said through stiff lips. “If you think my eating in an inn is too risky an activity, then you must have small respect for my skills.”

“All young warriors are at risk from unfamiliar dangers!” Beliond cried. “Moreover you know perfectly well that you could be a particularly tempting target if anyone knew who you were, and with that blond hair, you are not difficult to identify.”

“Do not try to tell me that you object to our staying here because I might be identified,” Legolas said heatedly. “What you object to is being anywhere near Men. We are here to find out what is going on in Dale, and I intend to take advantage of this opportunity to learn more about its people’s frame of mind.”

He turned and started for the door, but Beliond grasped his arm and shoved his face close to Legolas’s. “Very well. But if I see you taking a single unnecessary risk, I will drag you out of that common room by the scruff of your neck. And if you doubt I will do it, try me.”

Trembling with barely contained fury, Legolas jerked his arm free. His patience was at an end. He was a warrior and he was going to insist on being treated like one. “You are my bodyguard,” he hissed, “and I will not interfere with your doing your job, but you are supposed to guard me while I am acting as a warrior, not wrap me in lamb's wool. And you are neither my commanding officer nor my adar, so I will not be ordered about like an elfling.”

Beliond went rigid and seemed to be struggling for breath. “I will protect you whether you like it or not,” he finally forced out. Legolas yanked the door open and strode down the hall to the stairway, knowing with a secret satisfaction that Beliond had little choice but to follow him.

He ran lightly down the stairs, entered the common room, and after a second’s hesitation, took a seat at a table next to the wall, aware again of everyone’s eyes upon him. As Legolas had expected, Beliond came in right behind him and sank into the chair across from him, his mouth set in a thin line and his body tense.

Legolas refused to meet his eyes. He was still fuming over Beliond’s highhandedness. He had watched Maltanaur during this trip, and he knew that his brother’s guard did not order him around as Beliond had tried to order Legolas. Instead, Maltanaur let Eilian go about his business, albeit keeping a watchful eye on everyone around them while he did it. Beliond usually did that when Legolas was on patrol too, but this new setting seemed to have rattled him, and Legolas was sick of the resulting fuss.

The innkeeper approached and stood silently next to the table. Legolas looked at him, wondering what he wanted. Beliond sighed. “Some of the game pie,” he said, and the innkeeper nodded and turned to Legolas, with an inquiring look on his face. That was it, Legolas realized, embarrassed at his slowness. The innkeeper was asking what they wanted to be served.

“I will have the game pie too,” Legolas said. “And some wine.”

The innkeeper had started away but now stopped for an uncertain moment. “I have only ale.”

To Legolas’s irritation, he could feel himself flushing a little. “Ale will be fine.” The innkeeper glanced at Beliond, who nodded resignedly.

“That should add to your education,” Beliond muttered and turned in his chair to lean against the wall and survey the room. At least he had relaxed a little, Legolas thought. He hated to admit it, but he already felt a little guilty about speaking so sharply to Beliond. He still thought that the restrictions his keeper had tried to impose were so narrow that they would have kept him from doing his job as a warrior, but he knew that Beliond acted out of genuine concern for him as well as out of an effort to meet his own obligations as a bodyguard.

Legolas too leaned against the wall and skimmed his eyes quickly over the people at the other tables. He was curious, but he thought it would be rude to stare; moreover, he knew that his gaze was likely to make the Men uncomfortable if he left it on any one person for too long. While he and Beliond had been talking to the innkeeper, most of the Men had returned to their conversations, darting only an occasional look toward where Legolas and Beliond sat. The room had become more crowded while they were upstairs, he noted.

As he swept his eyes over the room, he suddenly became aware of a new presence at a table on the other side of the room. Dwarves, he realized in surprise, and had time to notice that they were looking at him in the same way he was looking at them before he quickly turned away.

He found Beliond watching him with a look of sour amusement that brought back all his annoyance. He frowned. “They seem placid enough,” he snapped, “or do you see someone brandishing a weapon in our direction?”

“Watch your mouth,” Beliond growled and then fell silent as the innkeeper returned carrying a tray with two plates of food and two mugs of what was presumably ale. He put the food and drink on the table and walked away.

Feeling Beliond’s eyes upon him, Legolas picked up the mug, sniffed at its contents, and took a cautious swallow. To his dismay, it took all his self-control to keep from spitting it out again. His tongue curled around the bitter liquid, and he knew from the little snort that Beliond gave that he had been unable to keep his reaction from showing in his face. Beliond took a drink. “Ale takes some getting used to.”

Stung, Legolas took another sip. “I think I could acquire a taste for this,” he lied. Beliond smiled slightly and began to eat the game pie. Legolas turned his attention to the food too and found that it was good. That should not have surprised him, he supposed. The common room was now full, and that would presumably not be the case unless the inn had something to offer. Or at least, most of the common room was full. The two tables closest to Legolas and Beliond were still empty, he noted. Whatever was going on in Dale was making the Men leery of Elves, although they were tolerating Legolas’s and Beliond’s presence well enough. They just did not seem to want to sit near them.

The noise in the room had risen as it grew more crowded. Legolas sipped the ale, flinching again at its bitterness. The Men around them were consuming it at a pace Legolas found amazing. At a table halfway across the room sat two Men whose faces were growing red and voices louder as they drank, so he assumed that they were feeling the ale’s effects. Controlling the look on his face as much as he could, he rolled a mouthful of the ale around on his tongue, testing its potency against the wine to which he had been accustomed since childhood. It was stronger, he decided, so perhaps it was best that he felt no desire to drink much of it. Becoming drunk in a public place in Dale would be neither decorous nor safe, and Legolas had no wish to test Beliond’s assertion that he would drag him from the room if he did anything risky.

Suddenly, a hand touched him lightly on the shoulder, making him jump and reach instinctively for the knife at his belt. He snapped his head around to find a woman standing very close to him, the first woman he had seen in the inn. In his seated position, his eyes were even with her breasts, which were startlingly bare. The neckline of her dress scarcely covered her nipples. He tore his eyes away from the expanse of rounded flesh and fastened his gaze on her face, well aware from the heat he felt that his own face must be scarlet. He tried to stand, but she pressed him back into his chair with a smile.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” she drawled. “Would you like to take a little walk with me?”

“No, he would not,” interrupted Beliond. “Find someone else.”

She looked at him and smiled slowly. “Sonny looks old enough to make his own decision.” She trailed her hand around the back of Legolas’s neck to rest it on his other shoulder. Beliond’s face darkened.

Legolas had no idea why Beliond was upset, but he resented the interference. He was here to learn something that might be useful to Thranduil, and he knew better than to be sidetracked into pleasantries with a woman. Before Beliond could say anything more, he spoke. “Thank you for the invitation, mistress, but I fear I cannot accept it.”

She cocked her head, and he found himself watching in fascination as she ran her tongue over her upper lip. “Are you sure?”

He drew his attention sharply back to the task at hand. “Sadly, yes, I am sure.”

“Ah, well,” she said airily. “Later perhaps. I will be back.” She turned to smile at Beliond, and then, to Legolas’s utter astonishment, she tapped Beliond on the nose before she turned and walked away, her hips swaying.

The Men at a nearby table watched her go. “Going to satisfy your curiosity about Elves, Raena?” one of them called with a laugh.

“Later,” she called back over her shoulder. “Are you worried about comparisons?” And she left the inn accompanied by a scowl from the Man and the laughter of his companions.

Beliond ran his hand over his face, as if wiping traces of the woman away. Then he looked at Legolas, and to Legolas’s surprise, the corner of his mouth quirked in amusement. “Legolas,” he began, stopped, and then finally began again. “Legolas, I suspect that when Thranduil asked me to see to your training, he did not have this in mind, but I feel I should tell you that that woman was offering to exchange sex for money.”

Legolas blinked and then, to his deep annoyance, could feel himself blushing. He had heard that such things happened among Men, but it had simply never occurred to him that that was what the woman was suggesting.

“Do you need me to explain further?” Beliond asked, not unkindly.

“No.” Legolas could think of few things that would be worse.

Beliond nodded and leaned back in his chair to return to watching the room. Legolas lowered his eyes to his meal and waited for his embarrassment to fade. He was only glad that Eilian had not been present to see the exchange. His brother would have laughed himself silly and teased Legolas mercilessly for the foreseeable future. He ate another bite of the game pie, watching Beliond as he did so. His keeper had eaten little. Instead, he constantly scanned the room in a manner that Legolas had seen him use when their patrol encountered some danger. Legolas sighed. Beliond was doing his job as he saw fit, and if he put Men in the same category as Orcs and spiders, there was little Legolas could do to change his mind.

Suddenly, Beliond’s attention focused, and he tensed. Legolas turned swiftly and, about halfway across the room, he saw what he immediately knew was the object of Beliond’s concern. The spice merchant now sat between the two drunken Men that Legolas had noticed earlier, their heads bent together in quiet talk. As Legolas looked, the merchant lifted his head and looked straight at him, his eyes narrow and his face grim. He said something, and the other two Men also looked in their direction. There was no mistaking the hostility in their faces.

“What do you think that is about?” Legolas murmured.

“I have no idea,” said Beliond. “But we are leaving.”

He started to rise, but it was immediately obvious that they were too late. The two Men seated with the merchant had both risen and were walking toward them with their hands in their belts and their elbows out in a stance meant to make them look larger and more menacing. Legolas recognized it.  The novice masters had stood in much the same way when they were delivering a scolding meant to pin their charges’ ears back.  The effect was spoiled, however, when the Man on the left stumbled and lurched against a Man at another table.

“Watch what you’re doing!” the seated Man said irritably. The drunken Man swore, righted himself, and started toward Legolas and Beliond again.

Legolas tensed. Unless he and Beliond took to their heels, they were going to have to talk to these Men. He glanced at Beliond and, to his relief, saw that he was tense but once again seated. A hasty retreat would have been ignominious. Besides, assuming they could avoid an actual fight, they might learn something by talking to these Men. The last few minutes had hardened the suspicions that Legolas had felt in the marketplace. Whatever was going on here, the spice merchant was at the center of it, although he was still seated, watching events unfold from a safe distance. The Men at the table the drunken one had bumped were also watching, aware that some sort of trouble was brewing.

The two Men loomed over Beliond and Legolas. Automatically, Legolas noted the knives in their belts, the greater steadiness of the Man on the right, the hard muscles in the arms of the Man on the left. Anxious not to look threatening, he stayed seated but shifted his weight forward a little so that he could be on his feet in a heartbeat. He knew his knife was ready to be drawn because he had touched it when the woman approached, but he did not think he would need to use it: Those confronting them were Men and they were drunk. Still a brawl in the inn would help neither the relationship between Thranduil and Bram, nor Legolas’s argument that Beliond should trust his judgment more. He had time to think fleetingly that Thranduil and Eilian would likely be most unhappy with him too. Throw in Ithilden, and his whole family would be upset with him.

The drunker of the two Men spoke first, bending close to Legolas, so that Legolas had to work hard not to react to the stench of ale on his breath. “Stay away from our women, Elf!”

Legolas blinked. “To what are you referring?” he asked stiffly.

The drunker Man reeled a little, groping for an answer, but his companion leapt to his rescue. “He is talking about you coming here to bed our women. It’s unnatural, it is, and we’re not going to stand for it!” He reached to grab Legolas’s tunic, but Legolas clamped his hand on the Man’s wrist and held it a few inches away from him. From the corner of his eye, he could see Beliond rising and bending the drunker Man’s arm behind him in one smooth movement.

“You’re hurting me,” the Man whined.

“I am just making sure that no one loses their head,” Beliond said pleasantly.

Legolas was aware of the room growing silent, as Men watched in breathless anticipation. The innkeeper hurried toward them.

“We have no intention of bedding your women,” Legolas told the two Men.

“He is lying,” said a voice from some distance away, the spice merchant’s Legolas suddenly realized. “You heard Raena. The blond one is meeting her later.” An uneasy murmur came from the other Men in the room, and several chairs scraped back from tables as people evidently stood and began moving toward them.

“She was teasing,” Legolas said steadily, holding the gaze of the Man whose wrist he gripped. “We have no interest in your women.” His pulse was quickening. Were they really going to have to fight the Men in this room?

“He is probably telling the truth,” said a gruff voice, and Legolas shifted his gaze just enough to see one of the Dwarves standing behind the drunker Man. “Elves have always seemed to me to be uninterested in sex. This one probably could not bed your woman if he wanted to.”

Legolas puzzled over that for a moment. The Dwarf had vouched for his truthfulness, but he felt vaguely and wrongly insulted. If he wanted to bed a woman, of course he would be able to, but the point was that he did not want to.

“Elves do not bed random women,” Beliond said exasperatedly, saving Legolas the trouble of explaining. Beliond glared at the Dwarf, who smiled nastily back.

The innkeeper had reached Beliond’s side. “I’ll have no fighting in my common room,” he declared in a voice that rang with authority.

“We have no desire to fight with your other guests,” Legolas said loudly, trying to salvage the situation. “We think of the Men of Dale as our friends.” He could see several Men hovering close by, their faces avid with excitement or puckered in worry.

The innkeeper snapped his fingers at two of the Men, and a little reluctantly, they answered his summons. “See to it that Laeth and Gwelin get home,” he said, indicating the drunken Men. Immediately, the tension in the room eased. To Legolas, it seemed as if most of those present were relieved.

The more sober of the two Men who had challenged them – Gwelin, evidently – frowned and jerked his wrist from Legolas’s loosened grasp. He must have wanted to stay in the innkeeper’s good graces because he made no argument about leaving. “I can get myself home and Laeth too,” he declared. He reached for his friend’s arm, and Beliond released the Man. Without looking around, Gwelin helped Laeth from the common room. The two Men the innkeeper had summoned looked inquiringly at him, but he shook his head, and they returned to their abandoned mugs of ale. The other Men slowly resumed their seats too, averting their eyes from Legolas and Beliond, but still clearly aware of them. The spice merchant watched them for a moment over the rim of his tankard, then got up and casually moved to sit with a group of three Men at another table.

“I’m sorry,” the innkeeper said, “but I have to ask you two to leave too. You can still stay the night, but I want no trouble, and that means you need to stay out of the common room.”

Legolas stood and glanced at Beliond, expecting he would want to leave immediately, but Beliond paused. “Who is the Man in the blue tunic?” he asked the innkeeper. “The one facing us.”

The innkeeper looked over his shoulder. “His name is Acild. He is a spice merchant.” The innkeeper gestured toward the door, urging them out of the room, but Beliond held his ground.

“Has he lived in Dale long?” asked Beliond.

The innkeeper shrugged. “No. A year or two perhaps, but his brother has lived here much longer. He is an assistant to one of the king’s advisors. And now I must ask you to leave.” He made shooing motions, herding them toward the door, and Beliond gave way, leading Legolas out of the room.

Neither one of them spoke as they made their way down the hall and up the stairs to their room. Beliond stood out of the way to admit Legolas and then shut the door firmly behind him. “Get your pack. We are not staying here. There is a back door at the end of the hallway downstairs. We will leave that way.”

Legolas nodded. Thirty years as a warrior had taught him not to remain in a position that the enemy had discovered. Staying here would be stupid when the spice merchant, not to mention Laeth and Gwelin, knew where they were. “We were fortunate the Dwarf spoke up for our truthfulness,” Legolas said. “I wonder why he decided to help us.” He had inherited a great deal of his father’s suspicion of Dwarves.

Beliond snorted. “I suspect he meant to insult rather than help, but I expect the Dwarves want the iron trade to continue as much as we do.”

They slipped silently down the stairway, turning right rather than left at the bottom. From behind him, Legolas suddenly heard the spice merchant’s voice saying, “But what are they doing here? That’s what I’d like to know.” Ahead of him, he could see Beliond’s head jerk around and caught a glimpse of his keeper’s alert expression.

“We need to tell Eilian about him and his brother,” Beliond murmured. Legolas nodded, and they made their way outside, into what turned out to be the inn’s stable yard. Beliond stopped there. “We could go and find Eilian right now,” he said, considering their options, “but I hate to do that. He is probably at table with the king, and interrupting them would cause a fuss, particularly since all we can offer him is our suspicion.”

“Eilian will need proof,” Legolas worried. An idea struck him. “We should search the spice shop now,” he said excitedly, “while we know the merchant is in the inn.”

Beliond stiffened. “No,” he said immediately.

“Be reasonable,” Legolas cried and then bit his lip when Beliond gestured for him to keep his voice down. “Be reasonable,” Legolas repeated softly. “We came here to find out why the Men of Dale are suspicious of us, and we have a chance to do that. It is our duty to go, and we cannot avoid it just because you are worried that I will be in danger! Are you going to let me be a warrior or not?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, he knew it was one that he had wanted to ask for a long time. He waited to hear the answer.

Beliond stood stock still, breathing heavily. A long moment passed. “Very well,” he finally said. Then, to Legolas’s surprise, he gave a short burst of what sounded like bitter laughter. “It would seem I have no more choice in these things than I have ever had.” He put his hand on Legolas’s shoulder and turned him so that they faced one another squarely. “We will do this my way,” he declared firmly. “I have experience with this sort of mission. You must promise me that you will do as I say.”

Legolas hesitated. “If you will promise that I will be part of the mission, not shoved in some corner to wait it out, then I will promise to follow the plan you devise.”

Beliond drew a deep breath and nodded. “Come,” he said. “We want to do this quickly while the merchant is still safely tucked away.” He moved into the shadows, away from the inn’s windows, and Legolas followed him into the dark street.

***

“I do not believe we have seen you in Dale before, my lord,” said the queen, nibbling daintily at one of the honeyed figs. She had long, graceful fingers, Eilian noted idly, and neat little white teeth.

“Alas, I have never before had the pleasure of visiting your fair town,” he agreed.

“I have heard that Elves find the towns of Men unpleasant, so perhaps it is not surprising that you have chosen to stay away.”

Eilian smiled at her. She was charming, but she was transparent. Like Bram, seated on Eilian’s other side, she was trying to learn what she could about Eilian and his attitude toward Men. “I have not really chosen to stay away. Indeed, I was happy my adar chose me as his representative for this visit, and I have been to Esgaroth occasionally and enjoyed it. But I spend most of my time captaining a patrol in the southern part of my adar’s realm, so I am not home very often. And then when I am on leave, I usually spend my time with my family.”

“I had not realized you were a warrior,” said Bram. “How are things in the south of Mirkwood?”

Eilian turned to him, sobering slightly, and controlling the annoyance he always felt at the name Men had given his home. “The Shadow deepens.  The trees are dying, and spiders and Orcs grow more common.” He hesitated and then decided to take the opportunity to argue the case his father wanted made. “And that is why we need both iron for weapons and Men for our allies. The Shadow threatens us all.”

Looking thoughtful, Bram dipped his little finger into the dish of sauce that stood between him and Eilian and spread it on the roasted meat on his plate. Although everyone at the table had been doing the same thing since the meal began, Eilian still found it startling. He was eating his own meat unsauced.

“You must see the king infrequently,” Bram said. “I am told that your brother attends Thranduil’s council meetings, but I do not believe you do.”

Eilian stored away the realization that Bram knew an unexpected amount about Thranduil’s council meetings. That would make an interesting little tidbit in his report, he thought, picturing with some amusement Thranduil’s and Ithilden’s reaction to the news. “I do not,” he said and then added, “thank the Valar.”

Bram laughed. “Quite,” he agreed.

Eilian wondered what Bram was trying to discover. Did he perhaps doubt that Eilian was fully in his father’s confidence? As it happened, he was not, but while Eilian knew that Thranduil and Ithilden kept information from him, he did not believe they lied to him. “I am just a captain in my adar’s troops,” he said, trying to be reassuring, “so I do not hear the debates in council, only the results. I have always found that to be sufficient. I am fortunate enough to have trustworthy superiors.”

Bram smiled at him slightly and then waved a servant forward to refill Eilian’s wine cup. “I am told that the Elvenking has an excellent cellar. You must tell me what you think of this wine.”

Eilian took a sip. “It is very good.” He looked down at his plate for a moment. “You said you were worried about my adar’s intentions toward Men, my lord. Would you be willing to tell me why?” If Bram could use the occasion to seek information, so could Eilian.

Bram shrugged. “One hears rumors,” he said vaguely. “Let us not spoil our meal by discussing such distasteful matters.”

Eilian decided not to press. He scanned the room. The lower tables were filled with Bram’s courtiers, many of whom darted occasional curious glances at Eilian. Maltanaur sat among them, giving the appearance of listening to the Man next to him, but keeping the high table in sight at all times. Eilian smothered a grin and turned to talk to the queen again. He might as well enjoy himself.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me. This chapter in particular would have been far weaker without her advice.

*******

9. Evening Activities

Sinnarn moved his fingers across the strings of his harp, seeking the notes that would match his mood and singing softly to himself. His friends would now be out under the stars, wandering along the riverbank, listening to the music made by the Elves gathered there, and he was here, confined to his room, missing it. The beauty of the night was going on without him. He needed sad music tonight, music that would give voice to his melancholy.

He played the last, fading note, and then sat for a moment with the harp in his lap, caressing the warm wood. His father had given him this harp on his last begetting day. With a passion that Sinnarn had come to see as more and more unexpected as he grew older, his father loved music and could create songs of heartrending loveliness. Until recently, they had sung together often in the evenings. For just an instant, Sinnarn longed to be sitting cozily with his parents, harmonizing his voice with theirs. Then he recalled how deeply irritating he found them these days and recoiled at the thought.

He set the harp aside and rose to pace the room. His confinement was making him desperate. He really needed to get out.

A knock sounded at his door. Only two possibilities existed as to who might be asking for entrance, and he was not eager to see either of them. He had been lectured quite enough. “Come in,” he said resignedly, and his father entered the room. They stood looking at one another for a moment, and then Sinnarn waved to the chairs in front of his fireplace. “I assume you want to speak to me. You might as well come in and do it.”

“Do not be impertinent,” Ithilden snapped.

Sinnarn bit his lip. There was no sense in picking a fight he would only lose. “I beg your pardon, Adar.”

Ithilden sighed. “As it happens, you are right. I do want to speak to you. Sit with me for a while.” He smiled wryly. “I assume you have no place to go.”

“Very funny,” Sinnarn muttered. He dropped into one of the chairs while his father took the other.

Ithilden hesitated. “Sinnarn, I am worried about you. You seem unhappy with your lessons, although I know you are bright and curious, and even with weapons training, although I know you are doing well at it. I confess that I do not understand you. What is it that you want?”

Sinnarn lowered his gaze to his hands, knotted together in his lap. Of course his father did not understand him. His father was happy to live a life that was so consumed in duty that he did not even notice that anything else existed. If his father wanted to see something that was not understandable, then Sinnarn thought he should take a good look at his own life. Sinnarn would go mad if he had to live the way his father did, and one of his secret fears was that, as his father’s heir, he would be expected to do exactly that. He was ashamed of his reluctance, because he knew he owed service to his grandfather’s realm, but he could not help what he felt.

“Sinnarn?” his father prodded gently.

Still avoiding his father’s eyes, Sinnarn pulled one knee up and clasped his hands around it. How could he explain? He drew in a deep breath. “Sometimes it feels like every minute of my life is ruled by other people. I learn what other people want me to learn, go where they want me to go, do what they want me to do. I feel like I have no time to even breathe on my own.”

He stole a glance at Ithilden, sitting across from him with his brows drawn together. “I understand your feeling, but we can not always see ahead to know what is important for us to learn.”

Sinnarn turned his head impatiently to look at the fire. “I knew you would say that. You say you understand, but you do not.”

“Then help me understand. Explain it to me.”

To Sinnarn’s surprise, his father sounded as if he were pleading. Sinnarn tried again. “I just want--,” he broke off helplessly. “I do not know what I want sometimes. I just want.”

For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire. “When I was year younger that you are now,” Ithilden said slowly, “what I wanted most in all of Arda was to become a novice, even though I was a year under the usual age. A year seemed of no consequence when I thought about my age, but it seemed like forever when I thought about waiting.”

Sinnarn looked at him, startled. He had never heard this story before. But now it was Ithilden who looked into the fire, a faint smile on his face. “I pushed your grandfather hard, trying to make him allow it, but he would not budge. We had quite a ‘discussion’ about the matter. Indeed, we had several ‘discussions’ that grew so heated that I wound up spending extra time with my tutor as a consequence.”

Sinnarn blinked. So far as he had ever been able to tell, his grandfather was occasionally vexed with Eilian and Legolas, but he was invariably pleased with Ithilden, as he nearly always was with Sinnarn himself. Sinnarn had trouble imagining his father and grandfather at odds. “What happened? Did you finally convince grandfather to let you do what you wanted?” That seemed the most likely outcome to Sinnarn. His father nearly always got what he wanted.

Ithilden sighed and turned to smile at him. “What happened was that your grandparents saw to it that I got what I really wanted rather than what I thought I wanted.”

Sinnarn could barely contain his disgust. He might have known that his father would say something like that. The smile on his father’s face faded as he looked at Sinnarn. He frowned and lowered his gaze to the harp, sitting on the table next to the chair. He picked it up and ran his fingers lightly over the strings, sending a trill of liquid beauty dancing through the room. Then he looked up to meet Sinnarn’s eyes. “What I really want to say is that your naneth and I love you, Sinnarn. You are the most precious thing in Arda to us. I know you are not pleased with us right now, but we will still do everything in our power to help you make good decisions about how to get whatever it is you decide you want.” He set the harp down and rose.

Sinnarn stared up at him, astonished by the raw emotion in his usually reserved father’s voice. Ithilden leaned down to kiss his forehead, patted his shoulder, and then left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Sinnarn found himself blinking away tears.

***

Beliond pressed himself into the shadows along the building behind him, gesturing for Legolas to do the same thing. At the end of this little alleyway, Beliond could see the spice shop on the other side of the street into which this one emptied. Next to him, Legolas shifted impatiently. “What are we waiting for?” he muttered. “We need to do this while we know the merchant is in the inn.”

Beliond had to suppress an urge to snap at him. He had promised he would let Legolas be part of this mission, and he would do that, but he knew that Legolas was not going to like the part Beliond planned for him to play, and Beliond was already annoyed by the protests that were yet to come. His annoyance was only increased by the fact that he himself was none too happy about what he planned for Legolas to do. The youngling had no sense of danger, and from stories Beliond had heard about his childhood, he never had had one. Beliond was going to have to inspire what fear he could on his own if he was to be sure that Legolas would do as he was told.

“Hush,” he admonished sharply. “We need to do this carefully. Remember that we may be wrong about the merchant, and relations between Thranduil and Bram will not be improved if we are caught breaking into the shop of one of Bram’s subjects.”

Beliond thought but did not say that they would have trouble enough with Eilian if they were caught. They were on a mission of their own devising here, one they had not cleared with Eilian, who was in command on this trip. Beliond had once been a captain in the realm’s forces, and if any of his warriors had done such a thing, Beliond would have seen to it that he regretted it. Beliond supposed he should have pointed that out to Legolas. After all, he was meant to be furthering Legolas’s warrior training against the day he would have to take command of others himself. But truth be told, Beliond had not been able to resist the idea of searching the spice shop. He did think that something was fishy with the merchant, and besides, the Eastern Border Patrol had had a peaceful spring and Beliond had to admit that he was bored. He was ashamed of himself, but the thought of this unauthorized side trip had made his heart quicken.

He studied the shop for another long moment looking for any sign of life, and to his relief, Legolas settled down to watch it too. The horizontal shutters that had been let down to serve as a counter for the merchant’s wares were now pulled up into place and presumably barred from inside. A door stood to the left of the window, and on the second floor, where the merchant probably lived, was another closely-shuttered window, fitted into a dormer. He and Legolas had already determined that the building backed onto one of the town’s walls, so the front door was the only entrance – or exit. If the merchant returned, anyone inside the shop would have a difficult time leaving without being seen.

He drew a deep breath. It was time to break the bad news to Legolas. He turned to face him. “With so few exits, it would be much too easy to get caught in that shop like a rat in a trap. We cannot take the chance. One of us needs to search the shop while the other keeps watch against the merchant’s return.”

For a long, unbelieving moment, Legolas stared at him. “You cannot be serious,” he hissed.

With a ferocity meant to shock his charge into submission, Beliond seized a fistful of his tunic and pulled Legolas’s face down within an inch of his. ““If Todith or Eilian or anyone else was leading this little foray into crime, would you challenge his right to use his warriors as he thought best?”

Legolas tried to pull free, but Beliond kept a firm hold on him. “No,” Legolas admitted. “But--.”

“Then do not do it with me!”

“You agreed I was to be part of this mission!”

“And you are part of it! One of us needs to go inside. I was searching buildings when your nurse was wiping dribble from your chin with your bib, so do not tell me that should be you. I will go, and I need a lookout, and you are it.”

He could feel Legolas trembling with fury, but he also saw his mouth tighten with reluctant acceptance of the truth. “Very well,” he said stiffly.

Beliond shook him one last time, and then released his tunic, took a step back, and drew a deep breath. “Stay here and keep out of sight. If the merchant comes, sound a warning but leave him alone. Do you understand?”

Legolas’s eyes were narrowed and hostile, but he nodded and then faded back into the shadows next to the wall.

Beliond immediately turned and moved off. He hoped he had been sufficiently intimidating. He hated the idea of leaving the young fool on his own to do anything that popped into his head, but he solaced himself by vowing that he would beat the snot out of Legolas if he violated orders.

At the end of the alleyway, Beliond stepped out of the shadows and walked across the street to the spice shop. He had seen no indication that anyone was in the building, but it was better to be sure. He walked boldly up to the door, knocked, and then waited to see if anyone would answer. After a moment, he casually tried the door. As he had expected, it was locked. He glanced quickly up and down the street, and then pulled the slim dagger from his boot and inserted the tip into the keyhole. He probed delicately, feeling for the mechanism, and was more pleased than he liked to admit when the lock snicked open. After all this time, he had not lost his touch.

The door swung open on a darkened interior, and Beliond stepped through and closed it behind him. Before the door shut out the moonlight, he had seen that he was in a tiny, square hallway with stairs directly ahead of him and a closed door to his right, presumably leading into the shop. Now he waited for a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark so that the stairs and door took shape again. He would never have admitted it to Legolas, but he could feel his blood singing with excitement at the idea of this clandestine search. He had missed this, he thought. Before he did anything else, he relocked the street door. If the merchant came home, the locked door would slow him down and give him no sign that someone had entered.

He tried the door to the shop, and when it clicked open, he slithered through as soon as the space was wide enough, shutting the door silently behind him. From his encounter with the merchant when he and Legolas were in the marketplace, he knew what the shop looked like: The space was small and lined with shelves, but coming at it in the dark from an unfamiliar angle, he was momentarily disoriented. A line of moonlight pierced the space at the top of the shutter and sliced across the bottles and baskets of herbs and spices. The mingled smell of them was nearly overwhelming.

In his earlier look into the shop, he had seen among other things that there was a doorway in its back right hand corner, so the first thing he did now was move swiftly toward it with his sword in his hand. He rounded the doorjamb to see what was obviously a workroom and felt tension in his diaphragm easing. He had evidently not been as purely enthusiastic about this expedition as he thought he was, he realized with a grimace. Sheathing his sword, he set about the familiar task of looking for something he would recognize only when he saw it – any sign that the merchant was not what he seemed.

Aware of the wisdom of speed, he started on the workroom. Bunches of drying herbs hung from the ceiling. A scarred table filled the middle of the room, holding basins, pots, empty bottles and corks, and a brazier stood in one corner, undoubtedly used to boil the various herbal remedies the Man probably made. Beliond moved swiftly around the small space, touching as little as he could but examining everything. He found nothing but familiar herbs and the tools of the merchant’s trade.

He reentered the front room and started methodically checking every container on every shelf, aware of time slipping away, with every passing second increasing the likelihood of the Man returning and Legolas doing something stupid. He paused briefly to consider a shelf containing perhaps a dozen bottles of a dark liquid. Cautiously, he uncorked one and sniffed it. Poppy syrup, he thought. More than he would have expected, but not precisely incriminating for a seller of herbs and spices. He replaced the stopper in the bottle, placed it carefully back on the shelf, and finished working his way around the room.

A bell suddenly began to toll, and to his disgust, he jumped slightly. The dratted thing was quickly joined by others, reminding him mockingly yet again of the night slipping away. He was going to have to go upstairs, into what were probably the merchant’s living quarters, and he had no time to waste in doing it. Leaving the shop, he climbed noiselessly up the stairs to find another closed door. He tried the knob, but the door was locked. Immediately, he stiffened to attention. The door from the entrance hall to the shop had been left unlocked, despite the fact that it held all of the merchant’s stock, but this door was locked. In the dark stairwell, he smiled to himself. What was it the merchant had in there that was so precious? He intended to find out.

Again, he drew his dagger to spend a few seconds probing at the keyhole. Then he pushed the door open. The locksmith who had fitted these doors had really done shamefully poor work, Beliond thought disapprovingly as he relocked the door.

Then he turned around and inspected the room. It was small because the roof slanted back sharply from the wall along the street. The only window was the one he had seen from outside, and he noticed immediately that, unlike the window in the shop which was barred, this one was closed with a padlock threaded through metal loops on each of the vertical shutters. He could scarcely contain his glee. If even the window was locked, there was something here worth finding.

His first action would need to be unlocking that window though. He wanted a clear way out if the merchant came home. He grimaced as he examined the padlock; the keyhole was small and might present problems his dagger, but he set to work on it grimly. With growing urgency, he struggled with it and finally was driven to spit out a word he had learned from Oropher. As if in response, the lock sprang open.

Smiling in satisfaction, Beliond pulled one shutter back far enough to allow him to peer out and check on Legolas.  He had to search for a moment before he spotted the darker shape among the shadows against the wall opposite. Good, he thought. Perhaps Legolas had some sense after all. He glanced down at the cobblestones and hoped he would not have to jump out onto them. Paved streets were a menace. An Elf on a mission could break something much too easily.

He pushed the shutter closed again, hung the lock through one of the loops, and pushed it closed. Then he began working his way around the room. Aware of time slipping away, he glanced at a table with three straight backed chairs around it, decided it was unlikely to conceal anything and started with the bed. He ran his hands under the bedding and the mattress, then moved on to poke carefully through the folded clothes in the chest, and lift the cushions on the chair near the fireplace. The only other item of furniture in the room was a promising-looking desk, which, feeling like an elfling with a treat, he had saved for last.

The top of the desk was bare. Beliond pulled out the drawer and drew out what looked like an account book. He rifled quickly through the pages, found nothing interesting, and set it aside to turn back to the drawer. A visceral thrill ran through him as he saw the small metal box that had been under the account book. He pulled it out, set it on the desk, and, as a matter of form tried the catch before reaching for his dagger again. To his surprise, the box opened easily, and he found himself staring at a pile of small coins. He prodded them with his fingertip but already knew that they concealed nothing.

Beliond blew out an exasperated breath. He found it impossible to believe that the merchant was innocent. The Man gave off waves of evil in the same way the drunken Man in the inn had given off the stench of ale. But what was he to do? There was no place left to look here.

Suddenly, a sound came from outside, and he jerked around to stare at the window. The signal! Legolas was telling him that someone was coming. Hastily, he pulled the drawer out all the way so that he could replace the box, and then suddenly he straightened, with all his attention on the shape of the drawer.

“I wonder,” he murmured to himself and then grasped the drawer and pulled it completely out of its hollow. With mounting excitement, he set it on the floor and crouched to shove his hand into the opening, feeling along the back of the space where the drawer had been until his fingers encountered what he had decided had to be there: a small shelf that held what felt like papers. Feeling immensely pleased with himself, he grasped the papers and pulled them out.

In the dim light, he hastily examined them. The handwriting in the letters looked to him to be the same as that in the account book, but he could not be sure. Swiftly, he scanned the first letter. And then he heard Legolas again, sounding the signal more sharply this time. His time was gone. Indeed, he had pushed his luck beyond what was reasonable. If Legolas had done the same thing, Beliond would have smacked him.

He shoved a sheet of paper inside his tunic, hastily crammed the rest back where he had found them, and jammed the drawer into place. The merchant could not suspect that anyone had been here, or he would be on his way before any of Bram’s soldiers could take him.

Then he was in motion toward the window. He pulled the shutter open, hoping that in the dark, the Man would not see him crawling out onto the roof. He tugged the shutter shut behind him, trusting that the padlock, fastened to one shutter instead of two, would look normal enough to attract no attention. It occurred to him that he still had not heard the front door opening below him, and he looked down into the street to see what was going on. Had Legolas been mistaken in sounding the warning? Or worse, had the Man spotted him on the roof?

Suddenly, he froze. There at the end of the alley stood Legolas talking to two Men. And although the Men’s backs were toward Beliond, he knew at once that one of them was the spice merchant. He nearly moaned. The fool had let himself be caught! Beliond had to get down there, and he had to do it now. Nearly panting with fear, he slid to the edge of the roof, looking for hand and footholds that would let him make his way to the street.

Then, bizarrely, he heard Legolas’s voice raised in what sounded almost like a whine. “But where would she be?” he bleated. “You know Raena. You called her by name in the inn. Where should I go to look for her?”

Beliond’s mouth fell open in shock, and then he snapped it shut again. The idiot was playacting, of course. Legolas had disobeyed Beliond’s instructions and accosted the Men, probably trying to keep them from noticing Beliond. Even in his fury, Beliond noted with approval that Legolas had maneuvered the Men to have their backs to the shop. With grim haste, he made his way to the ground and all but ran across the street.

“I have no idea where the whore is,” the merchant said. “Let go of me!” He yanked his tunic free of Legolas’s grasping hand.

Beliond circled around the Men and descended on Legolas like a vengeful Dwarf. With the strongest grip he could muster, he seized him by the upper arm. “What do you think you are doing?” he hissed and gave Legolas a shake that rattled his teeth. Legolas blinked in astonishment but was at least temporarily rendered silent. Beliond turned to the two Men, noting immediately how much the second Man resembled the merchant. The brother, he thought, the one who works for one of Bram’s advisors. “I apologize if my son has been bothering you,” he said and dragged Legolas down the street and around a corner.

There he stopped, released a still reeling Legolas, and edged back to the corner to see what the Men were doing. He was just in time to see them disappear into the shop. He turned back to Legolas, who was rubbing his arm where Beliond had gripped it. Legolas grimaced. “You certainly reacted quickly,” he said. “And you were a very convincing angry adar. At first, I was not entirely sure you were acting.”

Beliond glared at him. “I was not entirely acting! I told you to stay away from the Men!”

Legolas frowned. “You were right that we needed a lookout, but I would have been useless if I had let them see you.” He rubbed his arm again. “And that hurt for real!”

“A reminder never to do something so stupid again!” Beliond snarled, and then, with a struggle, he got hold of himself. In truth, Legolas had thought quickly and had kept the Men from seeing him. He was a young fool, but he was a capable young fool. “You did well as lookout,” he admitted stiffly.

Legolas stared at him and then, to Beliond’s surprise, suddenly laughed. “Beliond, you are outrageous. Do you know that?” Before Beliond could reply, Legolas asked, “Did you find anything?”

Trying to repress a smile that he knew must look self-satisfied, Beliond pulled the sheet of paper out of his tunic and held it up for Legolas to see. Legolas frowned. “I do not recognize the language.”

Beliond grinned at him.

Legolas blinked. “You can read it,” he said, in what sounded like a statement rather than a question.

In answer, Beliond read out loud: “The time to move is not yet. But before another year passes, the situation will have changed. Bram is on the verge of stopping the shipments of Dwarven iron, and when he finally does do it, Thranduil will find it hard to forgive.” He looked up. “There is more, but that is the gist of it.”

Legolas let out a soft whistle. “We need to get that to Bram.”

“To Eilian first,” Beliond said, tucking the page away. He turned and started toward the palace at a trot with Legolas right at his heels.

“You picked the lock on the front door,” Legolas said. “Can you teach me to do that?”

Beliond turned his head to glare at him. “No.” He shuddered to think of what Thranduil’s reaction would be if he taught his youngest son to pick locks. As a matter of fact, it would undoubtedly be best if Thranduil never learned about tonight’s venture at all. Even telling Eilian was not going to be all that pleasant, but that was nonetheless what they needed to do next. He sped along, wondering if Eilian and Bram would still be at the table. But with one part of his mind, he was also feeling a small glow of pride at how well Legolas had done at a task he had been angry at being assigned. The youngling might be turning into a warrior after all.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

10. Telling Bram

“Would you like a berry tart, my lord?” the queen asked, offering him the small plate that had been set between them.

Eilian bent his head toward her and smiled. “I would like anything you have to offer me,” he told her. She giggled. He strongly suspected she had had too much wine, but since she was a cheerful, dignified drunk, he did not much mind.

He took a sip of his own wine, running his eyes over the lower tables as he did so. The Men in attendance here seemed peaceful enough, but Eilian had been in his father’s court long enough to know that people who were dining and drinking around a well-filled table in the evening were quite capable of strapping on swords and armor the next morning. Indeed the headaches they sometimes had from too much wine made them all the more willing to do something violent the next day.

Maltanaur was glaring at him, he saw. He grinned at his keeper as provocatively as he could. Maltanaur undoubtedly disapproved of Eilian flirting with the queen, but Eilian could not see what the fuss was about. He was just playing a little, enjoying himself while he could. Bram was occupied in talking with the advisor seated on his other side, and anyway, Bram surely could not take offense. He had lived near elves long enough to know that they took marriage – their own and others’—seriously. Eilian knew he craved the company of females he had no intention of bonding with more than most young Elves did, but his parents had made very sure he understood the limits of honor, and he had always managed to live within those limits. Not without a struggle sometimes, of course, but he had always managed to do so in the end.

For a moment, a picture of Celuwen’s mobile face flitted through his head, and he was struck with a fierce pang of longing. Perhaps he would ignore her request to stay away and try to visit her on his way back to his patrol. Surely she would not turn him away, he thought wistfully.

A movement in the Hall brought him to attention: A servant had approached Maltanaur, who had risen and was leaving the room. Eilian tensed slightly. What could that be about? He thought instantly of Legolas. What could Todith have been thinking in sending his little brother along on this mission? Eilian knew it was irrational, but there were times when he actually woke up in a sweat, alarmed over the simple fact that Legolas was serving with the relatively safe Eastern Border Patrol. Having him along on this trip out of their father’s realm made Eilian very uneasy. His head told him that Legolas was more or less an adult, but his heart still longed to protect the elfling who had loved Eilian uncritically at a time when he needed it most.

“How long will you be staying in Dale?” the queen asked him, and he turned to answer her.

“I do not know. No more than a few days. I am afraid I have obligations elsewhere.” Ithilden had promised to extend Eilian’s leave, but he did not like to leave his patrol in the hands of others for too long. He did not want Ithilden to get the idea that the patrol could function well without him.

“You must allow me to show you some of the beauties of the town,” the queen told him with another giggle.

Eilian smiled. He would have to see if the queen remembered making this offer in the morning. He had a sudden sense of eyes upon him and turned to see Maltanaur standing in the doorway, looking straight at him. His face was impassive, but Eilian knew immediately that his keeper wanted him and his alarm instantly rose. He glanced at Bram, who was still occupied, and excused himself to the queen. “You will pardon me for a few moments, my lady.” She smiled vaguely, and he stood and skirted around the edge of the room to the doorway.

Maltanaur said nothing until he had led Eilian into what looked like a reception chamber and closed the door. Then he rounded on him. “Leave Bram’s wife alone, Eilian,” he said heatedly. “Have you no sense at all?”

Eilian was annoyed. “You are being ridiculous. I am only flirting with her. We are amusing ourselves!”

“Has it occurred to you that Bram might have asked her to flirt with you to see if she could learn anything to their advantage?”

Eilian blinked, brought up short by the question. “No.” He ran his mind quickly back over the conversation he had had with the queen. Had she asked questions about the Woodland Realm? Perhaps she had. He shook the idea off impatiently.

“More to the point,” said Maltanaur, “you do not know how Men would interpret your actions, and I am telling you to stop it!”

“Is this what you dragged me away from the table to tell me?” In Eilian’s opinion, Maltanaur was crossing the line from protecting him to interfering in his personal life.

“No.” Maltanaur brought himself up short and gestured to the other end of the room.

Eilian suddenly became aware of the presence of Legolas and Beliond, watching them and shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, evidently embarrassed at overhearing the argument. For a moment, Eilian was dismayed that Legolas had heard Maltanaur’s warning, and then every other feeling dropped away in his realization that something must be wrong if these two had turned up at the palace. “What is the matter?” he asked sharply, taking a step toward them. He ran his eyes from head to toe over Legolas and then relaxed slightly. His little brother at least looked unharmed.

It was Beliond who answered. “Maltanaur told you about the spice merchant that Legolas and I saw in the market?”

Eilian nodded brusquely, still too worried by Beliond and Legolas’s sudden appearance to have much concern to spare for the merchant who evidently had spices from the east.  The story Maltanaur had passed along had seemed vague to Eilian, and although his experience with Beliond was limited (for which he thanked Eru), he thought the keeper might be overreacting to the presence of a few spices. What, after all, did he expect to find in a spice shop?

Wordlessly, Beliond extended a sheet of paper. Eilian took it and then frowned at the incomprehensible jumble of what were presumably words. “What is this?”

“Evidence that the merchant is the source of the rumors about us,” Legolas put in with barely contained excitement in his voice.

Eilian raised his head to look at him quizzically. “How do you know what it says?”

Beliond took the paper from him, and, to Eilian’s surprise, he began to read. As he did so, Eilian suddenly found himself brought fully to attention. Whoever had written this letter had been aware of the tension between Bram and Thranduil, indeed had been eager to see it grow. And they had intended to take advantage of it.

“Were did you get this?” he demanded as soon as Beliond had finished, breaking off in mid-sentence at the bottom of the single page.

There was a second’s silence, and Legolas’s eyes slid sideways to Beliond. As a captain, Eilian had seen that look before. Legolas was waiting for Beliond to make an explanation that he himself was not eager to give.

“We found it in the merchant’s room,” Beliond said.

Eilian frowned. “What do you mean, you ‘found’ it?” A sudden, unbelievable idea occurred to him. “Are you telling me you broke into the merchant’s shop?” he asked sharply.

“I did,” Beliond said stolidly. “Legolas did not.”

“It was my idea,” Legolas put in hastily. Beliond rolled his eyes in exasperation, and Legolas frowned at him. “We had seen the merchant in the common room of the inn, so we knew no one would be there. I stood lookout,” he added, looking defiantly at Beliond.

Eilian opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again as he struggled to get hold of his temper. “Allow me to be clear,” he said finally. “On your own initiative, you broke into the shop of one of Bram’s people and stole a letter.”

Beliond knew enough to hold his tongue, but Legolas apparently did not. “Eilian, look at it,” he urged. “If you show that to Bram, he will know that we are still friendly to him and that the idea we are not is a deliberately planted lie. Surely that is more important than how we got it.”

“I am your captain here, Legolas,” he snapped, “and I will thank you not to forget it.”

Legolas flushed. “I am sorry, Captain,” he muttered, and Eilian knew from his tone that he was hurt.

Eilian clamped his mouth shut, breathing hard through his nose. In truth, he knew that Legolas was right about the importance of the letter. Moreover, in one treacherous part of his mind, he could not help feeling jealous that Legolas and Beliond had had such an exciting evening while he had whiled away the time flirting. But the two of them had taken an enormous risk, one whose consequences could have been disastrous. “I suggest you contemplate what might have happened to relations between the two realms and to both of you if you had been caught,” he finally said, putting as much ice into his voice as he could manage.

“Yes, Captain,” said Beliond, and after a second, Legolas echoed him, although he still sounded unhappy. Too bad, Eilian thought, hardening his heart. Legolas needed to think about the furor that would have been caused by the discovery of the Elvenking’s son committing a crime against a citizen of Dale. Eilian shuddered slightly at the thought. Even apart from contributing to the destruction of the alliance between Dale and the Woodland Realm, such a crime was sometimes punished with incredible cruelty among Men. And under the best of circumstances, if Bram simply sent the two “thieves” home for Thranduil to deal with, the consequences would be extremely unpleasant, particularly since Eilian thought that his father was unlikely to let the major part of the blame fall on Legolas. Not that that would be anything other than fair, Eilian knew. Legolas was under his command on this trip, and he was responsible for the actions of everyone who served under him.

He drew a deep breath. “We have to tell Bram,” he said and grimaced. “By which I mean I have to tell Bram. Unfortunately, I think the two of you will need to be present to answer questions too.” For a moment, he considered sending Legolas to safety with Maltanaur to look after him, while Beliond told Bram what had happened. But much as he longed to do it, his sense of fairness would not let him. Besides, the chances were that Maltanaur would not leave Eilian anyway.

He stepped to the door and summoned one of the guards in the hall. “Would you please tell the king that I beg the favor of an audience?” The guard nodded and disappeared in the direction of the dining room. Eilian went back into the reception chamber, trying to decide how best to present his information. He looked at Maltanaur, who had been silent through the whole unpleasant scene. “Have you any advice?”

Maltanaur made a small face. “All you can do is tell the truth. Bram is no fool and will know if you are lying.”

Eilian nodded and then glanced at Beliond. Aside from his display of annoyance at Legolas’s confession, Beliond had kept his face impassive. Eilian sighed. If the Valar were on their side, then the letter Beliond had found might salvage an alliance that was important to the Woodland Realm. “However you obtained the information, it should prove very useful,” Eilian told him.

Beliond nodded and jerked his head at Legolas, who was looking subdued. “Legolas was clever as a lookout. I do not think the Men even suspect we were there.” Even in his current tense state, Eilian had to suppress a smile at the surprised pleasure that sprang to his younger brother’s face at this unexpected praise.

A rap at the door announced the return of the guard Eilian had sent to speak to Bram. “Will you come this way, my lord?” he invited, and Eilian followed him from the room, indicating that Maltanaur, Beliond, and Legolas should accompany him. The servant led them through a side door into the Hall where Eilian had first seen Bram. Inwardly, Eilian groaned. Bram had somehow guessed that whatever Eilian wanted was important and had chosen to make this meeting formal. He even had one of his advisors by his side, the one who had offered to accompany him when he and Eilian first spoke.

Eilian approached Bram’s chair and knelt, aware of his three warriors taking up similar postures behind him. Bram surveyed them for a moment and then signaled them to rise. “You wished to speak to me?”

Eilian drew himself as erect as possible. “My lord, as you and I have discussed, rumors have circulated that we Elves have cooled in the affection in which we hold our Mannish neighbors. And as I have told you, these rumors are untrue. I am now in a position to tell you the source of these rumors and to demonstrate to you that an enemy hostile to us both has been trying to drive us apart for his own ends.”

Bram raised an eyebrow. “And who might the source of these rumors be?”

“We believe that these rumors come from an Easterling who has been living in Dale as a spice merchant.  What is more, we have proof that this is so.” He turned to Beliond, who was still holding the letter he had taken from the merchant’s room. Beliond stepped forward to show the letter to Bram.

Bram glanced at the paper in Beliond’s hand but did not take it. “What language is this? I cannot read it.” As he had when he had shown the letter to Eilian, Beliond now read it out loud to Bram, and Eilian saw Bram’s face darkening.

The advisor at Bram’s side stirred slightly. “My lord, how do we know that this Elf is telling us what the letter really says?”

Eilian glanced at Beliond, whose face had tightened at the insult, and was about to protest when Bram raised a placating hand. “Let us hear them out,” he told the advisor. He turned to Eilian. “Who did you say wrote this?”

“The spice merchant whose shop is in the marketplace,” Eilian said.

“His name is Acild,” Legolas put in, and Eilian kicked himself for not having told Legolas ahead of time to keep silent.

The advisor looked outraged. “Acild is the brother of one of my aides.” He turned to Bram, “He is Rhadry’s brother, my lord.”

“Yes,” Eilian put in urgently. “And think of the access that gives him to you, my lord. Think of how easy that would make it to pour poison into your ear.”

The advisor opened his mouth, but Bram flicked a finger and silenced him. He studied Eilian and then swept his eyes over the other Elves. “Where did you get this letter?” he asked Beliond. Inwardly, Eilian flinched. He had hoped to avoid this question, but he had always known the hope was small.

“I found it in his living quarters,” Beliond answered stolidly.

There was a second of silence, and then Bram’s eyes narrowed. “Am I to understand that you entered his house without his permission or knowledge?”

“Yes, my lord.”

This time it was Eilian who opened his mouth only to be silenced by a curt gesture from the king. “I do not know what elves do,” Bram snarled at Beliond, “but in Dale, we have laws forbidding such actions.” He swung to face Eilian. “Did you know about this? Shall I assume that your people did this while you ate at my table?”

From the corner of his eye, Eilian saw Legolas’s tense face and guessed that, like Eilian himself, Legolas had recognized a temper not unlike their father’s. Ah well. At least Eilian had had plenty of experience in facing a king in full fury.

“I did not know, but I accept responsibility for everything my warriors have done,” Eilian said steadily. It was the only possible answer. “I apologize for their overzealousness.” He saw Legolas bite his lip and lower his gaze to the floor.

Bram’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair, and then he seemed to deliberately relax. For a moment, he sat, apparently considering what he had been told. “How do I know that you are telling me the truth?” he asked coolly. “How do I know that this letter is not of your warrior’s own making?”

Eilian was about to vouch for Beliond’s truthfulness, for all the good it would do, when Beliond spoke up. “There are more letters where I found that one, hidden in a secret cache in Acild’s desk. And I think you will see that the hand in the letters matches that of Acild’s account book.”

At Beliond’s assertion, Eilian saw the subtle shift in Bram’s face and knew he had to seize the opportunity. “These men have manipulated you, my lord,” he urged, “meaning to make trouble between us to our mutual harm.”

Bram sat for a moment longer and then called, “Guard!”

“My lord!” the advisor protested.

Bram eyed him narrowly. “Surely you wish to learn the truth, Helad. Or should I also be suspicious of you?”

The advisor’s face went pale. “I swear to you I am loyal, my lord.”

Bram turned to the soldier who had answered his summons. “Take half a dozen others and go to the shop of Acild, the spice merchant. Bring him to me. If Rhadry is there, bring him too.” He turned to Beliond. “Tell him where the letters and account book are,” he ordered, and Beliond hastened to comply. Bram finished his instructions to the soldier. “Get the Men first and then get the letters and book if they are there. Do not let the Men see you getting the papers.” He waved his hand to send the guard on his way.

“Maltanaur and I will go too,” Eilian put in hastily. His excitement had been rising as Bram had given his orders. It would be intensely satisfying to seize these Men who had sought to harm Thranduil’s people.

“No,” Bram said. “A guard will show you back to the reception room, and you will wait there.” He rose and swept from the room before Eilian could protest. He had no option but to follow the guard who returned them to the room they had been in and closed the door upon them, obviously intending to take up a position outside the room. The suspicion in Bram’s words had been as clear to him as it was to Eilian.

As soon as they were alone, Eilian made his frustration known. “That was unreasonable,” he fumed, flinging himself into a chair. “Men have slandered us, and Bram is still treating us as if we were suspect. I should insist that we be included in taking the merchant.”

“Stop being an idiot, Eilian,” Maltanaur said sharply. “You cannot blame Bram for being leery of us. Beliond and Legolas did break into the merchant’s shop.”

Eilian glanced at his brother to see him looking wide-eyed first at Maltanaur and then at him. It occurred to him that Legolas might never have heard Maltanaur taking him to task before this evening, and he could not help grinning. “They have no respect for us. Have you noticed that?”

Slowly, Legolas smiled. “Yes, I have.” He paused a moment and then added, “Captain.”

His temper spent, Eilian laughed. “Watch your mouth,” he said easily and then leaned back in his chair and tried to relax. Maltanaur was right. Bram was within his rights to be suspicious. The Valar only knew Thranduil certainly would have been. It would be all right, he assured himself. He turned to Beliond, who had dropped onto a bench near the window and sat leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Leaving some of the letters there was clever, Beliond. Good work. And it must have taken a sharp eye to see that the same person wrote the letters and kept the accounts.”

Beliond shrugged slightly. “I am not certain about that, but the hands were similar enough that I decided to take a chance.”

“You made that up?” Legolas demanded incredulously.

“No, I did not ‘make it up.’” Beliond sounded impatient. “The hands are similar.”

Eilian grinned to himself and mustered his small patience to wait for Bram to summon them again. He did not have to wait long. It could not have been more than half an hour before the guard rapped at the door. “The king wishes you to attend him in the Hall,” he said, his face giving no indication of the tone of Bram’s message.

Eilian jumped to his feet and, with the others at his heels, followed the guard to find Bram seated in the Hall again, with his unhappy looking advisor by his side. “I thought you might wish to observe this meeting,” Bram said, his eyes hard.

“We do,” Eilian agreed and took up the place that Bram indicated along one wall. Bram might still decide the Elves had lied and probably wished to keep one eye on them while he talked to the merchant, but Eilian took his severe bearing as a good sign.

They stood quietly for a moment, and then Eilian could hear the sound of a Man protesting and an unhappy-looking Acild was brought through the door, with a soldier clutching each arm. Behind him was another Man whom Eilian took to be the brother, also with one of Bram’s soldiers on either side of him. Both Men fell silent and then dropped to one knee when the soldiers released their arms and left them standing in front of the king.

Bram gestured for them to rise. “You are Acild, the spice merchant?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord, I am.” Acild’s eyes flicked to the Elves lined up along the wall, and for Eilian, there was no mistaking the hostility in them.

“I wish to hear your explanation of a letter found in your room.” Bram crooked his finger at Beliond. “Read it,” he instructed. As Beliond obeyed, Eilian watched Acild’s face, and he had to give the Man credit for nerve. After the first shocked second, Acild controlled his expression with almost Elven discipline. Beliond finished reading and Bram said, “Well?”

“My lord,” Acild said, “I have no idea where that letter came from or what these Elves are talking about. That one,” he stabbed a finger in Legolas’s direction, “asked my brother and me if we knew where he could find a whore, and then his father,” he gestured at Beliond, “came and hauled him away.”

Eilian’s jaw dropped, and he glanced quickly at Legolas, whose face had gone scarlet. Not possible, Eilian told himself firmly despite Legolas’s guilty look. “My lord,” he addressed Bram indignantly, “you know that Elves do not join bodily with those to whom they are not wed.”

Bram looked down his nose at him. “No?” he asked dryly.

Eilian suddenly recalled the fact that he had spent the last two hours flirting with Bram’s wife. Standing beside him, Maltanaur snorted softly, but Eilian determinedly ignored him. “No,” he said firmly.

Another soldier entered the room and, at Bram’s signal, approached the king. He handed Bram a small bundle of paper and a book. “They were right where the Elf said they would be, my lord,” the soldier said. Eilian glanced at Acild and saw that he had gone deathly pale.

Bram glanced at the letters, and Eilian assumed they were in the same strange language as the page Beliond had had because Bram made no attempt to read them. “Can you tell me why these were in your room, Acild?” he asked, his voice iron hard.

Acild was plainly struggling to recover. “My lord, I have never seen them before. If the Elf says they were there, it must be because he put them there.”

Bram opened the account book and laid one of the letters against a page. “Judging by the entries, this is the account book from your shop. The same hand would seem to have written both it and the letters.”

Acild’s brother abruptly spun to stare at him in open-mouthed horror. “Acild! How could you have done this?” He turned to Bram. “My lord, I had no idea my brother was engaged in anything so treacherous.” Acild gaped and then suddenly growled and leapt at the other Man with his hands extended to grab his throat.

Looking disgusted, Bram waved at the guards, and they waded in to drag the two Men apart. Acild struggled like a madman, kicking and punching at the guards, until one of them shoved the point of his sword into the Man’s throat. Even then, he spat at his brother, who still cowered on the floor, and shouted to Bram, “It was his idea, my lord! I would never have done it on my own.”

Bram gave a short laugh. “No doubt you are both innocent as babes,” he said dryly. “Take them away.” The guards seized both Men and began to drag them from the room. Eilian could still hear Acild shouting in a language Eilian did not know even after he had been hauled off.

There was a moment of shaken silence in the Hall. Eilian cleared his throat. “My lord, may I assure King Thranduil of the continued friendship of the Men of Dale?”

“That depends on what these Men have to say,” Bram said, “but if things fall out as I suspect, then you can at least assure Thranduil that I will not stop the sale of iron.”

To his surprise, Eilian felt a knot ease in his stomach. He had not known he was particularly nervous about this mission, but it suddenly occurred to him that he was glad to be able to tell his father that he had succeeded in gaining an assurance of Bram’s cooperation. “Thank you, my lord,” he said.

He glanced at Legolas, whose was looking soberly toward where the shouting Acild and his brother had disappeared. Eilian flinched a little. It would not do to think too much about what would happen to the Men now. “Perhaps my warriors could stay here tonight,” he suggested to Bram. Letting Legolas out of his sight again struck Eilian as a very bad idea.

“Of course, if you wish,” Bram agreed. “I believe I will join my lady wife in our chambers,” he told Eilian, with a small smile, and left the room.

Eilian decided to ignore the look on Maltanaur’s face. “Where is your gear?” he asked Legolas.

“In the entry,” Legolas indicated, and the four of them went to fetch Beliond’s and Legolas’s packs and weapons.

“Legolas, you will stay with me,” Eilian decided, leading the way back toward their rooms. It had been a long time since a small brother had crept into Eilian’s bed in the night and put his cold feet against Eilian’s back, but the bed in his room was wide and he wanted to be sure that Legolas did not go wandering off on another adventure. He looked back over his shoulder to the two bodyguards. “I assume you two can get along without us for the night?” he said with a grin and grasped Legolas’s arm to draw him into his own chamber, shutting the door behind them.

Looking suddenly weary, Legolas gave a long sigh and dropped his pack. Eilian almost felt sympathetic enough not to ask the question that trembled on the tip of his tongue. Almost, but not quite. “What was Acild talking about when he said you were looking for a woman, Legolas?”

Legolas turned to him with a groan. “It was an act,” he protested. “I had to tell them something to give Beliond time to get out of the shop, and she had approached me in the inn common room.”

Eilian grinned.  “I am surprised you would recognize a prostitute, little brother. What have you been doing while I have not been around to keep an eye on you?”

Legolas drew himself up in an obvious effort at dignity. “Of course I recognize one. What kind of naïve child do you take me for?”

Eilian laughed. “Tell me about her,” he teased. “Is she pretty?”

Legolas opened his mouth, closed it, and then cautiously asked, “Are you my captain now or my brother?”

The answer to that one was easy. “Brother,” Eilian declared.

“Then shut up.” He dropped into a chair and started to remove his shoes.

Eilian laughed hard enough that Legolas threw a shoe and hit him in the head.

***

“So,” said Maltanaur, pouring hot water from the jug into the washbasin, “it would seem that old habits die hard and old skills can be useful.” He glanced at Beliond, who smiled smugly. Maltanaur threw handfuls of water onto his face to hide his grin. “How did you manage to keep Legolas mostly out of it?” he asked, wiping his face and hands with the towel. “Eilian would have been very difficult to manage in that situation.”

Beliond considered. “I intimidated him, but I think also he understood that one of us did need to stand lookout.” He sounded almost surprised by this realization.

Maltanaur moved away from the washstand to make room for Beliond and began to unlace his tunic. “I have found with Eilian that it can be tricky to keep him in line. I have no real authority over him, after all. I think I did a fair amount of intimidation at first too, but in the long run, appealing to his better nature turned out to be the most useful thing to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eilian knows I would put myself between him and an arrow or sword, and he has decided he does not want to endanger me unnecessarily. And he also seems to have decided that my greater experience can sometimes result in useful advice for him.” He pulled the unlaced tunic over his head.

Beliond seemed to be mulling that notion over as he washed his hands and face. “Legolas nearly always does as he is told if he understands and accepts the reasons behind the action.”

Maltanaur nodded and then hesitated. “How well does he manage without instructions?” He thought he already knew the answer to that question, but he believed it would be useful for Beliond to give voice to it.

Beliond frowned. “He is quite reliable in the kind of battle we face in the border patrol. He knows what to do, and he does it. I do not like to see him without guidance in unfamiliar situations though.”

Maltanaur raised an eyebrow. “He seems to have done well tonight. Indeed, it sounds as if he thought quickly and saved your hide.”

Beliond snorted. “Perhaps he did,” he conceded. He looked at the bed. “Do you think that the Men have managed to keep that bed free of insects?” he asked

Maltanaur could not help laughing. “We are in the king’s palace, Beliond.”

“I suppose that counts for something,” Beliond conceded with a sigh.

TBC

Thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

11. Doing Well

Finally relieved of his post on night guard duty, Legolas hurried through the camp toward the flet where he knew that Eilian and Maltanaur had spent the night. He waved to Tynd, who was stirring the patrol’s morning porridge, but he did not stop to speak. Dawn light was sliding in among the trees, and he wanted to say goodbye to his brother. He did not think Eilian would leave without speaking to him, but Legolas did not like to keep him waiting.

Abruptly, he slowed as he came in sight of the tree in which the flet was perched. Eilian stood at its foot, talking to Todith. Legolas hovered at a short distance, not wanting to interrupt Eilian and his captain, but Todith caught sight of him and, beckoning him to approach, clasped arms with Eilian, evidently through with whatever he had to say. “Take care, Eilian,” Todith said and walked back toward the camp’s central fire, smiling at Legolas as he passed.

“Good morning, brat,” Eilian greeted him, thrusting his pack into Legolas’s arms. “I was just telling Todith that he is going to have to keep an eye on you so that you do not fall into the corrupting arms of a prostitute.” For a horrible second, Legolas feared he was serious, and then Eilian laughed and put his arm around Legolas’s shoulders to steer him toward where the horses were kept. Legolas resisted a deep desire to shove Eilian’s pack back into his stomach.

“In truth,” Eilian said, “I was telling him that you did well on this mission. You were right to judge that the spice merchant was not what he seemed. I can not say I am entirely happy you took the risk of searching his shop, but you did it sensibly, letting Beliond do what he is good at and thinking quickly on your feet.”

Legolas felt a sudden warm rush of pleasure in his brother’s approval. “Thank you.” The words felt absurdly inadequate for the satisfaction he took in Eilian’s recognition of his competence.

And then Eilian grinned and the moment passed. “I think perhaps it will not be necessary for Adar to know just what you told the men you were doing there. He might not appreciate it as much as I do.”

“Few people would,” Legolas said dryly.

Eilian laughed. “True.” In unspoken agreement, the two of them paused on the edge of the clearing where Beliond stood with his back toward them, helping Maltanaur ready his horse for the trip.

Maltanaur had a huge grin on his face as he tied a waterskin onto his horse’s back. “Tossing knives!” he exclaimed. “I should have known you would be unable to resist showing off.”

“Do you remember the time Thranduil tried to toss seven at once?” Beliond asked. “He had to do some fancy explaining to the king as to how he got that cut on his hand.” They both laughed.

Legolas became aware that his mouth had fallen open, and a glance at Eilian told him that his brother was equally astonished. Eilian’s eyes met his, and abruptly they both hooted with laughter. Beliond turned and saw them. “I trust you two are not being so disrespectful as to laugh at your adar and king,” he said gruffly.

Legolas opened his mouth to protest that Beliond and Maltanaur had just been laughing at their king but Eilian said, “Of course not,” with dignity that was only slightly marred by a subsequent snort. Legolas became aware of the amusement that still lingered in Beliond’s eyes and relaxed.

A step sounded behind them, and Legolas turned to see Tinár walking toward them, carrying two packs. He glanced at Eilian and saw his amused look fade to a grimace. To Legolas’s satisfaction and that of every other member of the Eastern Border Patrol, Tinár was finally taking his long postponed leave. That Eilian and Maltanaur were being burdened with his company for the trip home was their hard luck.

“Ah, you are both here already,” Tinár prattled glancing from Eilian to Maltanaur. “Of course, you have been away from home for only a few days, while I had to gather all the mending I have been saving to take home for my wife to do.” He started across the clearing to where his horse has lifted his head at Tinár’s approach.

“Can you not mend your own clothes?” Beliond asked, with one eyebrow raised. “I can teach you.” Having learned to mend under Beliond’s tutelage, Legolas had no doubt Beliond could teach Tinár too and that watching him do it would provide a great deal of entertainment.

Tinár shook his head. “Gewiel looks forward to doing these little things for me, and I would not want to disappoint her.”

Legolas thought that sounded unlikely. “Your wife enjoys darning your leggings?”

“Oh, yes,” said Tinár.

“She likes to sew them shut,” muttered Eilian. Legolas nearly choked on suppressed laughter and then felt how much he was going to miss Eilian after having had this chance to spend time with him on patrol. He would redouble his efforts to get Ithilden to give him that transfer, he vowed. One of these days he would join his brother’s patrol.

Eilian too must have felt the pain of imminent separation because Legolas found himself caught in his brother’s arms and clasped close. “Take care, brat,” Eilian murmured in his ear.

“You too.” The inadequate words would have to do.  There was no point in telling Eilian how much Legolas worried about him or how devastated he would be if anything disastrous happened.

Eilian released him, thumped him hard on the back, and walked to where Maltanaur and Tinár were already mounted. Beliond still stood by Maltanaur’s leg. “Goodbye, old friend,” he said.

“Goodbye, old friend,” Maltanaur echoed and then turned to grin at Legolas. “Look after him for me, Legolas.”

“I will,” Legolas laughed.

Beliond stepped away from Maltanaur’s horse with a small scowl. Eilian leapt onto his horse’s back and nudged him to where Beliond was standing. Beliond raised a hand to stop him from saying anything. “You do not need to ask. He is enough of a warrior now that my task is easier, and I begin to have some hope of succeeding. Besides, I will watch out for him if only because I would hate to see the realm lose the benefit of all that training.”

Eilian grinned. “I was just going to ask you to keep him away from the ladies of the evening.” And with a laugh and a wave, he led his small group toward home.

Beliond came to stand next to where Legolas stood, watching the place where they had vanished into the forest. “Are you coming back to the flet?” Beliond had stood night guard duty right next to Legolas, so Legolas knew that Beliond was probably tired. He should be tired too, but he felt too restless to sleep immediately.

He glanced self-consciously at Beliond. “I thought I might take some time to help my horse become more accustomed to using tack.” He braced himself for Beliond’s reaction, but his keeper was admirably restrained.

“That might be wise,” he said neutrally. He turned to walk back toward their flet but then halted. “You really did do well, Legolas,” he said and walked away, leaving a bemused Legolas fumbling for an appropriate answer to his praise.

***

“Come in,” Thranduil called, and Eilian strode into his father’s office and saluted. “Eilian!” Thranduil smiled a welcome and tossed his pen down. “You have been quick. Sit down and tell me how things went.” Warmed by his father’s obvious pleasure in seeing him, Eilian dropped into the chair in front of Thranduil’s desk and launched into an account of his mission.

On his way home, Eilian had speculated on whether it would be better to withhold the fact that Legolas had been one of his guards, but he had realized that Todith would almost certainly tell Ithilden whom he had sent, and that meant that Thranduil might learn that Eilian had not told him everything. That would be bad.

Of course, Eilian might be back with his patrol by then, so three months would pass before he was home again, by which time his father’s anger would be spent. Probably. But when Eilian had left on this mission, Ithilden had been talking about extending his leave, so after vacillating for a while, Eilian had decided that risking Thranduil’s wrath was not worth whatever trouble he would save by not telling him that Legolas had been on the mission.

Besides, Legolas had done well, and Eilian’s sense of fairness made him want to tell Ithilden and Thranduil so. Eilian knew that his younger brother chafed under the restrictions that Ithilden set on his service, restrictions that Thranduil probably refrained from insisting upon only because Ithilden already enforced them. Eilian had known that even before this mission, but even seeing Legolas carrying out the simple warrior’s tasks this mission had required had slightly shifted Eilian’s perceptions of his brother. Legolas was a competent young warrior. His king and his troop commander should know that.

In the long run then, he had decided to tell his father about everything except for the means by which Beliond had gotten hold of the letter and the means by which Legolas had kept the Men occupied long enough for Beliond to get away. Thus he concentrated now on giving Thranduil a report that would make it clear that the Easterlings had been discovered and that Bram still regarded the Elves as his allies.

Thranduil listened in silence, his reaction to the news about Legolas evident only in the tightening of his hands on the arms of his chair. “Bram acknowledged the falseness of the rumors?” he asked when Eilian had finished.

Thranduil considered what he had been told, the fingers of his right hand drumming on the chair arm. He looked straight at Eilian. “Did you ask Todith to send Legolas with you?”

“No, of course not.” Eilian was startled that his father would suspect him of doing such a thing. “Todith simply assigned him. He said that Legolas had been interesting in the toy makers when he met them in the woods and this was a chance for him to see more of Men.”

Thranduil frowned. “What could Todith have been thinking? He knew Men of Dale might be hostile. It was no place to send a young warrior.”

Hearing his father’s words, Eilian suddenly saw clearly how maddening even Eilian’s protectiveness might be to Legolas. He tried to think of how to phrase what he wanted to say. “Legolas is a young warrior, Adar, but he is a competent one, and he did well on this trip.” Thranduil looked as if he would speak, but Eilian pressed on, “He was polite and perceptive about the mood of the town. I was lucky to have him along.” There had been moments during this mission when Eilian would have given anything to be able to send Legolas home, but he was not going to admit that to his father.

Thranduil regarded him for a moment, and then, to Eilian’s surprise, he smiled faintly. “He did well?”

Eilian grinned at him. “He did.”

Thranduil looked down at the desk and pursed his lips. Finally, he said, “You say Beliond ‘found’ a letter?”

Eilian held his breath. “Yes.”

A long silence settled into the room, as Thranduil looked away and then back again. “Ah, yes,” he said dryly. “Beliond is good at ‘finding’ things.” He paused. “Was Legolas with him when he ‘found’ it?”

Eilian hesitated and then surrendered with a grin. “My understanding is that Legolas stood lookout. Beliond apparently refused to let him help with the ‘finding’ part.”

Thranduil snorted. “I should hope not.” He leaned forward. “I will need to write to Educ,” he said briskly, looking pleased at the prospect. “Under the circumstances, I see no reason to increase the commission he is paid for helping us buy the iron from the Dwarves.”

Recognizing his dismissal, Eilian rose. “By your leave,” he said, and when Thranduil nodded, he turned to go.

“Eilian,” his father called him back, and Eilian turned inquiringly. “You did well too,” Thranduil said and smiled.

“Thank you, Adar.” His father’s simple compliment had pleased Eilian more than he would have believed possible. He returned his father’s smile, and Thranduil waved him on his way.

***

Ithilden pushed open the door of his and Alfirin’s apartment, his mind still on the news that Thranduil had given him about Eilian’s trip to Dale. He was enormously relieved that the trade in iron was not going to be interrupted. He could not imagine what his warriors would do if the armorers were not able to continue making weapons. He let his mind rest for a moment on what his father had said about Legolas’s satisfactory performance as Eilian’s guard. He sighed. He might have to give in to Legolas’s request for a transfer.

Alfirin looked up from where she was sewing at the fireside. “Good evening, my love,” she smiled, lifting her face to be kissed. “How was your day?”

He took advantage of her invitation, brushing his lips against her cheek. She was soft and warm beneath his mouth. He knew that people sometimes grew tired of touching the one to whom they were bonded, but he could not imagine ever feeling that way himself. “Have you been to see your adar?” he asked. Alfirin’s father was one of Thranduil’s foresters.

“Yes. I spoke to him this afternoon. He said he would be happy with the arrangement we propose. You know he has always thought that a warrior’s life was a necessary evil.”

Ithilden nodded. He did know that. His father-in-law had never been entirely pleased by his daughter’s marriage to a warrior. “I will speak to Sinnarn now. If he does not like this plan, we will find another.” There was no point in putting off the inevitable. He and Alfirin had made their decision. Now he needed to tell their son about it in a way that would not harm him.

He went down the short hall that led to the sleeping chambers and raised his hand to knock on Sinnarn’s door. The sound of his son’s harp made him hesitate. He was glad that Sinnarn could take solace in music. He remembered comforting himself with his harp in much the same way when he had been in trouble very much like the trouble Sinnarn was in now.

~*~*~

“Come in,” Ithilden called, and his mother entered his room. He came to his feet from chair into which he had flung himself after his father had reprimanded him for deceiving the novice master and trying to push his case for being made a novice a year early.

Lorellin looked at him with such compassion that Ithilden wanted to snap at her and cry at the same time. “Your adar told me what happened, Ithilden.” She moved across the room and took the chair opposite his, so he sat down too.

For a moment, silence reigned. Then he could not bear it. “I have to be ready to lead Adar’s troops!” he cried passionately. “How can he hold me back like this?”

She bit her lip. “I know you are fated to lead, child.” Ithilden knew she had a hard time accepting that he was destined to carry such serious burdens, but she usually managed to do so.

“If you know that, then surely you can see why I can not behave as if I had all the time in Arda!” He heard the pleading note in his own voice. “Can you not speak to him, Naneth?”

She leaned forward a little. “Surely you do not doubt your strength and skill, Ithilden?”

Hope leapt in his heart at her admission of his abilities. “Then you agree that I am ready.”

She smiled slightly. “I do, but the question is what are you ready for?” He blew out his breath in exasperation and dropped his head against the back of his chair. She was going to lecture him.

“It is hard for me,” his mother went on, “but I do accept that you have to prepare to lead your adar’s troops and should the worst happen, the Woodland Realm.” At this, he raised his head to look at her pale face. She could not find it easy to talk about his father’s possible death, Ithilden thought, but the specter of Oropher hung heavily in the room. They sat in silence for a few seconds. Then his mother drew a deep breath and went on. “However, leading the troops or our people will take more than strength and skill, and you do not need to worry about those in any case. You have them in abundance.”

Curious in spite of himself, he asked, “What do you mean it ‘will take more’? What are you thinking about?”

“I am thinking about living with honor, about earning the respect of others, about being able to set aside your own desires to serve those of your warriors or your people. I see your adar do these things every day, and they are what I hope you will be able to do too.”

“I can do those things,” Ithilden protested, resenting her implication that he could not.

She reached to put her hand on his knee. “I know you can, but I was unhappy at what your adar told me, iôn-nín. I admit that you are obligated to become a leader by your position as the king’s son, though doing so saddens me because I wish you could have more freedom and joy in your life and fewer responsibilities. But the truth is that you have those burdens. And when you went to Lómilad, instead of living up to your position, you took advantage of it.”

He felt his face grow warm and looked down at his hands to avoid her eyes. For a second, he wished he were back in his father’s office again, suffering another tongue lashing. He had been able to be self-righteous and angry with Thranduil, but here, in his room, with his mother’s quiet voice still speaking, he felt only shame.

“I know you, Ithilden, and I know that you have it in you to make a trusted commander that everyone can rely on. You are a natural born leader, and people respond to you. But you need to spend some time thinking about how to lead in a way that will not destroy you.”

He looked at her slender hand, resting on his knee, and to his fury, he had to blink away tears. He did not trust himself to respond to her.

She seemed to hesitate and then, tentatively, she asked, “What is it that has caused this hurry, child? Is it because Anin will become a novice this year?”

He stiffened, looked up at her, and opened his mouth to make a heated denial. Then, with an honesty his father would have been proud of, he asked himself if he was indeed pushing his own case because he did not want to lose Anin – or, less creditably, be outstripped by him, particularly in the eyes of Celedë. “Anin is my friend,” he finally managed, “and I am happy for him.”

His mother smiled. “Yes, I know you are, but you will miss him too.”

“Yes.” Ithilden tucked away his thoughts about Anin – and Celedë – to take out again after his mother had left.

His mother rose, making him stand too. She drew his head down to kiss his brow, and he suddenly felt the strangeness of being taller than she was. “You are a brave, strong, intelligent person, Ithilden. Your adar and I know your worth, and so do your friends. I hope that you know it too.”

She started toward the door and then stopped, looking at where his harp lay on the bed. She had given him this particular instrument on his last begetting day, and now she turned and smiled at him. “I forgot to say that you are also my favorite harpist.”

He laughed in spite of himself, and she went out of the room, leaving him feeling much better than he had when she came in, but also leaving him much to think about.

~*~*~

Ithilden stood in front of Sinnarn’s door, with the memory of his mother strong in his mind. He had played the harp less often after she died, had picked it up regularly again only after he met Alfirin. What did he want here? he asked himself. Why had he thought of his mother and what she had said to him on that evening so long ago? He sighed. What he wanted was to guide his son as well as he had been guided. He hoped he was up to the task. He raised his hand and knocked on Sinnarn’s door.

Many thanks to Nilmandra, who beta read this story. She has helped me more than I can say.

*******

12. Families

“Come in,” Sinnarn called, and Ithilden entered his son’s room. He caught a glimpse of Sinnarn’s face, softened by the music he had been making for himself, and felt a stab of pain when that face grew impassive at the sight of him. “Would you like to sit down, Adar?” Sinnarn asked politely, having evidently learned that Ithilden would reprimand a ruder invitation.

Ithilden took the chair opposite Sinnarn’s, vividly recalling again how his mother had taken up a similar position opposite him so many years ago. He looked at his son’s guarded face, and his heart twisted. Surely, he could help this elfling-verging-on-adult become the best person he was capable of being. If he could not, then what good were centuries of hard won wisdom? “Sinnarn,” he began, “you have pointed out repeatedly that you will cease having lessons in June when you become a novice.”

Surprise and then a brief flare of hope flitted across Sinnarn’s face. He had not yet learned to control his aspect completely, Ithilden noted with relief and the sad knowledge that in time he would. “Yes,” Sinnarn acknowledged cautiously.

“Suppose you could cease having lessons but not join the novices just yet. What would you want to do?”

Sinnarn frowned. “What do you mean?” He had plainly hoped that Ithilden was going to give in but now was not so sure.

Ithilden drew a deep breath. “Do you want to become a warrior, Sinnarn?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he could scarcely believe he had said them. He hoped that Sinnarn would never know what it had cost him to offer this chance to veer from the family path. He wanted his son to be able to make his choice freely, without guilt or regrets.

But Sinnarn seemed to understand only too well what he was being offered. “We all do that,” he said stiffly. “I know what I owe the realm.”

“But is that what you want to do?” Ithilden persisted.

Sinnarn hesitated, his eyes meeting Ithilden’s. For a long moment, he seemed to consider the question. “Yes, I think so,” he finally said and then hurried on. “I know so. I want to defend the realm like you and Legolas and Eilian do.”

Ithilden could not help feeling relieved. He would let Sinnarn become something other than a warrior if he wished it, but his own sense of duty would make that course of action a hard one, and his son’s answer made him think that they need not come to that pass quite yet. He settled down to the issue that he and Alfirin had agreed had to be decided. “Are you sure you want to become a novice this year? You do not have to, you know. People join the training at different points. Legolas waited half a year beyond the normal age.” He felt a momentary twinge of guilt that he might have revealed something Legolas would not wish to discuss, but he knew that Sinnarn admired his young uncle and thought the information would comfort him.

Sinnarn was clearly surprised. “He did?”

“Yes, he did. And you could do something else for a while if you wanted to.” Ithilden paused, wondering how much to press his son. In truth, he and Alfirin had decided that Sinnarn was not ready to become a novice yet, and Ithilden was ready to enforce the delay if he had to. But it would be better if the decision came from Sinnarn, he thought. He held his tongue, waiting to see what his son would say.

Sinnarn looked a little dazed. He had clearly never imagined that he would have a choice of what to do the next year. “What else could I do?”

Ithilden spoke carefully, afraid that if he sounded too definite, Sinnarn would dig in his heels as a matter of principle. “I wondered if you might like to spend some time working as a forester with your grandfather Erendrinn.”

Sinnarn wet his lips and looked away. Ithilden wondered what he was thinking. Sinnarn did not seem to be angry about the suggestion, and Ithilden was surprised by his hesitation. He would have guessed that as long as Sinnarn did not feel pressured, he would jump at the chance to seize a little freedom. Finally, Sinnarn looked back again to meet his eyes. “Adar, do you not think I will do well as a warrior?” Sinnarn was trying to sound casual, but there was no mistaking the anguish in his tone.

“I do,” Ithilden said hastily. “Of course, I think you will do well at it or at anything else you try. I simply think there is no hurry. And you can serve the realm among its trees for a while too.”

The muscles in Sinnarn’s shoulders suddenly relaxed, and Ithilden thought he could actually see the idea of spending a year in the forest taking hold in Sinnarn head. He decided to let well enough alone for now. “Think about it,” he said, rising with the intention of leaving. “We can talk about this again whenever you like.” He thought – he hoped! – that Sinnarn would decide in favor of the delay, but he would have to see.

He looked at the harp, still in Sinnarn’s hands, and thought again of his mother. “Did I ever tell you that my naneth gave me my first harp?”

Sinnarn nodded. “You have told me several times.” His tone was once again the impatient one that Ithilden had come to expect, but Ithilden refrained from protesting.

“Your grandmother would have said there was no need to hurry. Indeed, that is exactly what she told me when I was your age.”

Sinnarn blinked at him, unexpectedly drawn from his parent-induced world weariness by the news that Ithilden might have had to wait for something at his age. He opened his mouth, probably to ask for more details, but Ithilden bent to kiss his brow and left the room, smiling to himself as he did so. It would not hurt for Sinnarn to realize that he did not know everything.

***

Thranduil entered the family sitting room to find that he was the first one there. He crossed to the small table against the wall, poured himself a cup of wine, and took it to sit near the fire that had been lit against the chill that had set in with the onset of evening. He thought with satisfaction of the letter he had just written to Educ, telling him that the Elves would not pay a larger commission on the purchase of the Dwarven iron. For once, things had gone well. Eilian had done a good job in Dale, he thought. Or rather, Eilian had done a good job in dealing with Bram, while Beliond had been his usual resourceful self in ferreting out evidence of the Easterlings’ treachery.

And apparently Legolas had immediately been suspicious of the spice merchant. Thranduil supposed that was not surprising, given Legolas’s history with Easterlings. Thranduil’s diaphragm tightened slightly at the idea that Legolas had once again been exposed to the dangers inherent in dealing with Men, a race that Thranduil had always found highly unpredictable. Indeed, if Eilian was to be believed, Todith had sent Legolas on this mission because he had been curious about Men and enthusiastic about seeing more of them.

Thranduil sighed. In his more rational moments, he knew that Legolas was well on his way to becoming a strong adult, but he still worried that his youngest son was too inclined to take on the battles of others and thus place himself in unnecessary danger. He hoped Legolas was not about to add Men to the list of those he felt obligated to protect.

The door opened and Ithilden entered the room. “Good evening, Adar.” He crossed the room to pour himself some wine.

“Good evening. Is Alfirin not coming?” Thranduil had not expected to see Sinnarn, who was still confined to his room, but Alfirin and Ithilden usually came into the sitting room hand-in-hand, a sight that always touched Thranduil.

“She is dealing with some crisis that has apparently occurred in the kitchen,” Ithilden said with a smile. “I did not press for details.” Ithilden looked at him inquiringly and sat when Thranduil signaled his permission. Thranduil could well understand why Ithilden left Alfirin to cope with whatever had happened. His son had enough problems as troop commander, and Alfirin ran the household with a competent hand.

The door opened again, and Eilian came into the room, although it was immediately obvious that he did not intend to stay. He had a cloak over one arm and carried a skin of wine. “I just stopped to say I will be out this evening. I saw Alfirin in the kitchen and told her so.”

With an effort, Thranduil refrained from asking about Eilian’s plans for the evening. As each of his older sons had come of age, Lorellin had insisted that he grant them more freedom and privacy. Indeed, he vividly remembered her kicking him under the table the first time Eilian had said he was going out after his coming-of-age ceremony. Eilian had been testing him, of course, trying to see if he would be allowed the same license Ithilden was. Thranduil had not been willing to go quite that far, but Lorellin had been firm in her belief that Eilian would behave better if he felt trusted, and Thranduil had had to admit that she was usually right about her sons, especially Eilian, whom she understood in a way Thranduil despaired of ever being able to do.

Certainly, Thranduil’s trust in Eilian had not gone awry on this trip to Dale. Eilian had done well, although Thranduil rather thought that he had not yet been told about everything that had happened on the trip. He was cautiously hopeful that whatever had been omitted was inconsequential anyway. Surely Eilian had better sense than to withhold something important. And if not that, then enough fear of the consequences of trying to deceive Thranduil.

Eilian looked at Ithilden. “Say good night to Sinnarn for me, Ithilden. I understand from Alfirin that you have him locked up. What did he do this time?”

Ithilden made a face. “The story is a long one, but sometimes I think he is as bad about seeking excitement as you used to be.”

And still are sometimes, Thranduil thought but did not say.

Eilian shrugged. “Surely you do not want his spirit to be destroyed by life in the palace?” He shot Thranduil a provocative grin.

“What I want is for him to survive to adulthood,” Ithilden said emphatically. Thranduil could only sympathize. At times, he had been reduced to wanting the same thing for each of his own sons.

Eilian laughed. “I suppose one needs some basic goals, and that one sounds pretty rock bottom. I will be on my way now, with your permission, Adar.” Thranduil nodded, and Eilian was gone.

Thranduil hesitated, wondering how much he could say before it would count as interference. “Sinnarn must have frightened you half out of your wits,” Thranduil said. Ithilden nodded and took a sip of wine. “Of course, your naneth used to say that it was hard to keep young males away from weapons and adventure, especially when they were fated for them eventually.”

Ithilden gave a small snort. “Naneth would never have approved of Sinnarn being so far from the stronghold.”

“True,” Thranduil agreed. “And she was never one for hurrying her sons into adulthood. She fought me fiercely to give you that extra year before you became a novice.”

Ithilden frowned. “What do you mean she fought you?” A startled look suddenly crossed his face. “Are you saying you considered allowing me to become a novice early?”

“I considered it,” Thranduil conceded, “although not for long. I was angry about you deceiving Lómilad, but I also knew that I needed you, and Lómilad said that if I wanted you to enter the novices a year early, he thought you would do well. Not that you fooled him, of course.”

Ithilden was still gaping at him. “You never told me what Lómilad said.”

Thranduil shrugged. “It was irrelevant. Your naneth and I decided to keep you back with your age mates, and I still believe it was a wise decision. In that extra year, you learned some things about using your strengths to foster those of others.” He took a drink of wine, watching Ithilden over the rim of his cup. His son was plainly still mulling over what Thranduil had told him. In as neutral a tone as he could manage, Thranduil asked, “What will you do with Sinnarn?”

Ithilden sighed. “We have decided to keep him back. We will let him do something else for a year, probably work with Alfirin’s adar as a forester, although he can choose to do something else if he likes.”

Thranduil let a relieved breath ease out of him. He should have known that Ithilden and Alfirin would make a sensible decision.

Ithilden looked at him. “Being a good parent is a subtle task.”

Thranduil smiled. “It is indeed. What you want, of course, is for your children to learn to stand on their own. You want to be able to trust that their decisions are good even if they are not the ones you would make.” He paused and then added wryly, “I find that last part is the hardest.”

Ithilden was regarding him thoughtfully. “Adar,” he began, “I think I will transfer Legolas to the Northern Border Patrol.”

Thranduil stiffened. “Surely that is not necessary yet. He is young.”

Ithilden smiled slightly. “And you will recall the novice masters saying that he sometimes lacked confidence and should be allowed to try his wings a little to build it. That is why I sent him to a border patrol rather than the Home Guard to begin with.”

For a long moment, Thranduil hesitated. Then he bit back what he really wanted to say and instead gave a single, brusque nod. “Very well. He seems to be doing fine. Perhaps he is ready for a new patrol.”

“You have much to be proud of in him, Adar,” Ithilden said gently. “I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been for you to be his only parent.”

Thranduil rubbed his hand over his face. “I shelter him too much even yet.”

Ithilden smiled ruefully. “We all do that a bit.”

The door opened, and Alfirin came into the room, looking harassed. “The spit gave way and dropped the roast into the fire. It is a bit charred, but I judge we can still eat most of it.”

“Is the meal ready then?” Ithilden asked, rising.

“Yes.”  She put her arm through his.

Thranduil too rose. “How long are you going to keep my grandson from my table?” he asked them.

They both turned to look at him, and Alfirin’s mouth pursed slightly but Ithilden’s lips twitched before he said, “He can spend a few more days contemplating his faults, and then he can probably be allowed to eat with us again.”

“Good,” Thranduil said, leading them from the room. “I miss having a young one about.”

***

Eilian leaned back against the wall of Galelas’s cottage, sipping cider and watching the morning sun streaking through the trees to dance over the grass in front of him.

“I have never been to Dale,” Galelas said. “It sounds like a lively place.” He looked better. There was more color in his cheeks.

Eilian grinned. “I think it is, although it is probably not usually as lively as it was when we were there.”

The sound of a raised female voice drifted out the open window of the cottage. “You cannot be serious! I know for a certainty that other warriors mend their own clothes. Their wives have told me they do.”

“When I am on patrol, I am busy. I have no time for such things.”

“Well, I am not going to do it for you. I am not your servant.”

The voice of Galelas’s mother broke in. “You are being unreasonable, Gewiel. You should be glad to do these little things for one of our warriors.”

“And why did you not teach him to do it himself? Oh, never mind!” A door slammed, and Eilian could hear only Tinár and his mother murmuring to one another.

He glanced at Galelas, whose face was red. “How much longer will you be home?” Eilian asked.

“I see the healer tomorrow. He will decide then if I am fit to return to duty. I do not think it will be long.”

Eilian hesitated. What he was about to suggest sounded forward, but he liked Galelas and wished he could have a happier life. “You have beautiful trees here. Have you ever considered building a cottage or flet for yourself?”

Galelas looked quickly at him and then turned his face away. “I am not here much,” he said in a muffled voice. After a second, he added, “And they are my family.”

Eilian watched a bird that was perched on a nearby branch singing its heart out in a lonely song that no one but Eilian seemed to be noticing. So far as he was concerned, the fact that the people inside the cottage were Galelas’s family was a large part of his problem. But what could he say? Even “I am sorry” sounded insulting. “I am fond of my family,” he finally ventured, “but sometimes I find I need to get away from them too.” That was true enough. He knew he was fortunate in having the love of his father and brothers, but sometimes the weight of their expectations fell heavily on him.

Galelas turned back to Eilian and smiled slightly. “I think that is what one’s friends and fellow warriors are for.”

Eilian returned the smile. “I believe you are right.” He leaned back and took another drink of his cider.

***

“That should do it,” Legolas said, flinging the last shovelful of dirt. Tynd nodded and wiped the sweat away from his forehead with the sleeve of his tunic. It had been their turn to dig the new latrine and bury the old one.

“How old do you think we will have to be before we are exempt from this chore?” Tynd asked.

Legolas laughed. “I would not get your hopes up that it will happen any time soon. Fóril still has to do it, so I think we probably have several hundred years to wait.”

Tynd looked at him. “Life here must be very different from what you were used to growing up,” he said mildly, plainly curious rather than critical.

Legolas shrugged a little self-consciously. His fellow warriors seldom mentioned his role as their king’s son, a discretion for which he was grateful. He loved being only Legolas the Warrior during his time on patrol. “True,” he acknowledged. “And I cannot tell you how relieved I am not to have to go to formal banquets here.”

Tynd laughed and then turned as Fóril came trotting up. “Beliond is looking for you, Legolas. He is in your flet.”

“Thank you.” Legolas handed Fóril the shovel. “Would you put that away for me please? My lot will be happier if I do not keep Beliond waiting.” The other two laughed.

“The old grouch has something up his sleeve,” Fóril said. “He spent most of the morning off by himself, thinking.”

“How is that different from always?” Tynd asked. “Beliond is never what I would call sociable.”

“He is all right,” Legolas defended his keeper, although in truth, Beliond’s constant criticism sometimes wore on him. He knew he should be trying to learn from it, but he could not help occasionally letting it wear him down. Beliond never seemed to have much confidence in Legolas’s abilities, and no matter what else Legolas thought of him, he knew that Beliond was a far more experienced and skilled warrior than he was. Yet Beliond constantly told him things he already knew, and what was more, that Beliond knew that he knew.

Still, lately Legolas had been feeling more able to judge when he had merited Beliond’s rebuke and when his keeper was simply speaking out of his own fear for Legolas’s safety. Although he had never said so, Legolas knew that Beliond was fond of him, and in turn, he had developed a great deal of respect and affection for the Elf whom Fóril aptly called “the old grouch.”

He crossed the camp and scaled the tree to his flet to find Beliond waiting for him. Beliond looked up from where he sat cross-legged in the middle of the flet, holding a good-sized wooden box in his lap. “I am sorry to be slow,” Legolas said. “I was burying the latrine.”

Beliond waved his concern away. “I have decided that you have earned the right to learn to open a lock without a key,” he said.

Legolas blinked. “You mean pick it?”

Beliond frowned. “That is a low term, but yes, that is what I mean.”

“Why?” Legolas asked bluntly. “When we were in Dale, you said you would not teach me.”

Beliond shrugged. “It occurred to me that I had admonished you not to let your longing for adventure make you careless, and yet, when we were in Dale, that was exactly what I did myself.

Legolas considered that confession and frowned uncertainly. “But what is the connection between that and teaching me to pick locks?”

Beliond sighed. “I decided that you had been clever outside the spice shop and that you had saved me from being discovered. So I thought that perhaps you deserved a reward. Enough,” he said impatiently. “Sit down here and do as I tell you.”

Legolas sat down next to his keeper and eyed the box Beliond held. “This will have to do for now,” Beliond said. “There are not many things with locks on them in camp.”

Legolas saw that the box closed with a lock whose key was in it. Beliond pulled the key free and handed the box to Legolas. “You should use your own dagger for this,” Beliond instructed, “so you will get the feel of working with its width and length.” Legolas pulled the dagger from his boot and held it poised, looking at Beliond inquiringly.

“First slide your dagger all the way in and then pull it out while twisting the lock.”

Legolas did as he was told.

“If you are lucky,” Beliond told him, “you have just made your job easier because some of the pins holding the lock in place have been knocked free. Now you need to move the rest of them.” Legolas frowned and Beliond said, “Think about how a key looks. Each protrusion on the key is meant to turn a catch inside the lock. You need to feel for those catches with the tip of your dagger.”

Legolas hesitated for only a second before inserting the slender dagger in the lock and beginning to probe its internal mechanisms. As he manipulated the tip of the dagger, he could feel it brushing up against places where the lock was solid and places where there seemed to be gaps. He could angle the dagger into the gaps well enough but sometimes he could then twist it to lift a catch and sometimes he could not.

“Not too much pressure,” Beliond instructed him. “Start with the one furthest back and listen for the sound of the catch sliding into the top of the lock.”

Legolas struggled, trying to feel what he was doing through the contact of the dagger with the lock and listening for the faint click that meant he had moved a catch. It was much harder than it had looked when Beliond did it. And then just when he was about to give up in frustration, he felt something give and the lid of the box sprang loose. With a crow of triumph, he lifted the lid and threw Beliond a grin.

“Good,” Beliond said. “Do it again.” He held up the key, ready to relock the box.

Legolas turned his gaze back to the box and was just lowering the lid again when he caught sight of what looked like a leather knife sheath with a leaf design worked all around it and the letter L embossed on it. For a confused second, he thought it must be his, but then he saw that it was not, and with a shock he realized that the sheath must have belonged to Beliond’s son, whose name he knew had been Lalorn.

Embarrassed to be prying, he hastily shut the box and held it out for Beliond to lock. Their eyes met and held, and then Beliond lowered his gaze and put the key in the lock. For the next half hour, Legolas worked with his dagger until he could open the box in just a few seconds. Each time he lifted the lid, he saw not only the sheath, but also the letters underneath in a hand he did not recognize and a rune of protection on a silver chain.

“That is good enough,” Beliond finally said. “You will have to practice with other locks too. I suggest you do so on your next leave.”

Legolas pictured himself picking locks in the palace and had to suppress a grin.  He was willing to wager that that would ruffle a few feathers. He closed the box for the last time and handed it to Beliond. His keeper rose to place it carefully in the small trunk that held his belongings.

“Beliond,” Legolas asked on impulse, “would you tell me about your son sometime?”

Beliond glanced back over his shoulder and then turned to slam the lid of the trunk shut. He kept his back to Legolas and said, “He was young, younger than you. He was brave. He was a fool.” He stopped and Legolas thought he was not going to say anything further. Then suddenly his hands tightened on the straps of the chest and he said, “There are times when I am furious with him and with Oropher too. Lalorn thought he was good enough to wipe out Sauron single-handed. But he misjudged his own strength.”

Legolas felt a lump grow in his throat. “I am sorry.”

Beliond still did not look at him. “He will be there in Valinor.”

“Are you ever tempted to sail west now?” This was something Legolas had often wondered but never dared to ask before.

Beliond turned to him and shook his head. “How could I leave the woods?” he asked simply.

Legolas looked off into the treetops and sighed. “Beliond, you do know that I am not Lalorn, do you not?”

“Of course I do,” Beliond said roughly. “Do not talk like a halfwit.”

Legolas looked back and met his keeper’s eyes. “I need you to protect me and to teach me. But I also need to know that I can take care of myself.  Having a constant bodyguard sometimes feels like having my adar around all the time.”

Beliond’s mouth gave a miniscule tremor. “Is that so bad? I wish someone had been around to protect my son.”

In the face of Beliond’s pain, Legolas nearly backed down, but he knew he needed to speak now or he never would. “How can I judge my strength accurately if you never leave me alone?”

Beliond stared at him and then gave a small snort. “Leave you alone? I do not think so. Thranduil would have my head. But I think perhaps you may no longer need as much nana-like advice as I tend to give.”

Legolas grinned. “How would I know enough to wash behind my ears if you cease giving me advice?”

“I am not going to cease,” Beliond said, “just give you less until you prove you need it. Why not? I need a rest.”

And now Legolas laughed outright. “Good.  Then I will not tell my adar it was you who taught me to pick locks.”

Beliond grinned. “He will know anyway,” he said confidently. “Never underestimate your adar.”

“I do not,” Legolas said fervently.

“But never underestimate what you have learned either,” Beliond added, surprising Legolas. “Thranduil should be proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

From beneath the tree, someone shouted that the evening meal was ready. “Come,” said Beliond, starting to descend. “You need to eat. You are still growing.”

Legolas laughed and started after him. It was true. He was still growing.

The End