This story is set between “When Shadow Touches Home” and “Battles Won,” but you don’t have to have read those stories to understand this one.  Legolas is 11 or about 4 in human terms.  This story uses flashbacks to several different time periods. In particular, you’re going to see Legolas’s brother Eilian in two different times: about ten days before the story starts and about 20 years before it starts.  I’ll try to keep things clear, but readers should let me know if I don’t.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

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Chapter 1.  At Home

Legolas’s eyes came slowly into focus.  He lay quietly for a moment, trying to decide if it was morning yet.  The fire was low and the night lantern was still lit, but that only meant that Nimloth hadn’t come to get him up yet.  He made a picture in his head of what the forest looked like outside his father’s stronghold.  Stars glittered in fiery points overhead, and darkness lay thick between the trees where the leaves had drifted.  It was still night then.

His feet were cold.  He pulled his knees up to his chin and tried to tuck his feet under his nightshirt.  Where were his stockings?  When Ada got him ready for bed, he always left Legolas’s wool stockings on now that it was so cold out.  Then he remembered that Ada had been busy last night.  That was all right.  Ada would eat with him and walk him to his lessons this morning.  Eilian had been the one to put him to bed.

He smiled.  Eilian was home!  Well, he was home from patrol anyway.  He had been in a hurry to put Legolas to bed because he had been going out to see friends, but maybe he was home from that too.  Legolas pushed the big quilt away, gathered his special blanket, and slid out of bed.  The braided rag rug next to his bed felt good on his feet, but the stone floor felt like the ice on the pond.

He went out into the dimly-lit hall and trotted down it until he came to Eilian’s door.  He pushed the door open and entered the dark room.  Eilian didn’t have a night lantern in his room when he slept, but his fire made enough light for Legolas to see a big lump in the bed.  Good.  He had come home.  Legolas climbed into the bed next to Eilian, pulled the quilt up to his chin, and put his feet on his brother’s warm back.

“Orc spit!”  Eilian cried, twisting out of the way.

Legolas drew his feet back and clutched his blanket.  What a funny thing to say.  He tried out the words, savoring the novel feel of them on his tongue.  “Orc spit.”

Eilian flopped back on his pillow and turned his head to look at Legolas.  “Do not let Ada hear you saying that,” he groaned.  “Wipe it out of your mind.  Forget I ever said it.”

“Why?”

“Because Ada will kill us both if you repeat it.”  Legolas would have asked why again, but Eilian reached an arm around him and pulled him close, so he wriggled up against his brother instead.  Eilian took both Legolas’s feet in his other hand.  “Your feet are freezing.”

“You forgot to leave my stockings on.”

“Sorry,” Eilian sighed.  Legolas sniffed.  Eilian smelled like wine.  Legolas did not mind, but sometimes Ada did.  “Go back to sleep, brat.  You can stay here if you like.”

Legolas rested his head in the hollow of Eilian’s shoulder.  “Stay home,” he whispered.

Eilian drew him closer.  “For now, I will.”

“But when your guard is better?”

“When Maltanaur is better, we will go back to our patrol.”  Eilian kissed the top of his head.  “Try not to worry.  Maltanaur watches out for me, and I am careful.”

“Always?”

Eilian hesitated, and Legolas lifted his head from Eilian’s shoulder to look into his brother’s grey eyes.  Eilian raised an eyebrow at him.  “Did Ada send you in here?”

Legolas frowned.  “Ada is sleeping.”

Eilian laughed softly.  “I was only joking, brat.”  He drew Legolas’s head down again and murmured.   “Go to sleep.”

Legolas rubbed his cheek against Eilian’s chest and let his eyes slide out of focus.  At once, the dream path came up to meet him.  He skipped along it with someone big holding his hand.  For a minute, he thought it was Nana, but then he knew that was wrong.  Sometimes she walked the dream path with him, although less often than she used to, but this person was singing to him in a decidedly male voice.  It was Eilian, he thought with satisfaction and slid deeper into the dream.

***

Rap, rap!

The noise bored into Eilian’s brain like a red-hot skewer.

Rap, rap!

A sharp little elbow dug into his rib cage, and he barely dodged in time to avoid a flailing foot headed straight for his crotch.   He heard Legolas slide from his bed and patter to the door.  “Good morning, sweetling,” Nimloth’s voice said.  “I thought I might find you here.”

“Eilian will help me get dressed,” Legolas announced to his caretaker.

Suddenly conscious that he was naked, Eilian pulled up the covers that Legolas had disturbed and squinted toward the open doorway.   “Go with Nimloth, brat.  I want to bathe before morning meal.”

Nimloth looked at him with narrowed eyes.   “A cup or two of water will help that headache.  If you had used what good sense you have, you would have drunk it last night.”

Eilian gave her the most charming smile he could manage.  “As I am sure you remember, sense has never been my best quality.”  Nimloth had cared for him occasionally when he was an elfling too.

“You have plenty of sense when you choose to use it,” she sniffed.  She put her arm around Legolas’s shoulders.  “Come, sweetling.  We will get you ready to eat morning meal with your ada and brothers.”

Legolas lifted a hand and waved.  “Goodbye,” he chirped and went out into the hall.  Nimloth closed the door with an unnecessary bang, and Eilian collapsed back on the pillows with his hands over his face.  He was uncertain if Nimloth had been suggesting he should have drunk water before going to bed so that the effects of too much wine would be less acute this morning or if she was saying he should have replaced a cup or two of wine with water in the first place.  In either case, she would have been right.  He groaned.  He needed to get moving.  He should try to eat before he reported for duty.

He swung out of bed and padded into his bathing chamber.  The boiler hissed in the corner, promising plenty of hot water.  Good.  He needed it.  He filled the tub and climbed in to try to soak some of his morning fog away.

Of course, being in even a permanent fog would not present too big a problem, given his current assignment carrying out routine missions for the Home Guard.  He slid under the water, as if that could wash the thought out of his head, but when he surfaced, reality was still there.  He might very well have to spend the day guarding his home’s front door.

He stared glumly at his toes, braced against the other end of the tub.  This assignment was just temporary, he assured himself.  He would go back to the Southern Patrol as soon as Maltanaur was better.  Assuming that ever happened, of course.  His stomach twisted.  I will not think about it, he told himself determinedly.  I will not think about what happened.

By the time he went back into his bedroom, a servant had stirred the fire to life, made the bed, and vanished.  Legolas’s blanket lay neatly folded on the bed, or as neatly folded as it could be, given how worn and ragged it was.  Eilian smiled at the sight.  He would have to drop the blanket in Legolas’s room on his way to eat or Nimloth would have a very unhappy elfling on her hands when Legolas realized it was missing.   His little brother had given up the blanket for a while, Eilian knew, but that had been before their mother was killed the previous spring.  He needed it again now.

For a moment, Eilian froze where he was, remembering his mother tucking the blanket into what she called her “treasure chest.”  “Are you keeping that?” Ithilden had laughed.  “Surely it is fit only for the rag bag.”

“Legolas may change his mind,” she had said and then turned and grinned mischievously at Ithilden.  “I keep all such treasures,” she said.

Ithilden had looked puzzled and then horrified, and Eilian had laughed, “Never tell me that my fearsome big brother had a ‘special blanket’!”  Ithilden had shot him a murderous look.

Eilian sighed.  What was done was done and could not be changed now for his mother any more than for Maltanaur.  He crossed to the wardrobe, dropped the towel he had wrapped around his waist, and reached for the green tunic and brown leggings that marked him as a member of his father’s troops.  He needed to hurry.  He was late enough already.

***

Thranduil walked into the family dining room to find Ithilden and Legolas already there.  Ithilden rose at his entrance, and Legolas jumped down from his chair and ran to greet him with his arms out to be picked up.  “Ada!”

Thranduil scooped him up and kissed his cheek.  “Good morning, my heart.  Did you sleep well?”  He set the child back in his chair, nodded his permission for Ithilden to sit, and took his own place.

“I woke up in the night and went to see if Eilian was home and he was.” Legolas watched as Thranduil ladled porridge into his bowl.  “So then I slept with him.”

Thranduil nodded.  Since Lorellin died, Legolas had taken to wandering in the night, checking on anyone who was supposed to be home to be sure they were.  Thranduil would like to know what time Eilian had come in, but he was not going to ask Legolas.

He added honey and cream to the porridge and set it in front of Legolas.  The child poked at it for a moment before putting a spoonful in his mouth and rolling it thoughtfully about, reminding Thranduil of the way his steward tasted wine.  Legolas apparently approved of this vintage of porridge because he spooned more into his mouth.  Thranduil relaxed and turned his attention to his own morning meal.  Legolas was still too thin, but his appetite had improved to the point that Thranduil’s heart no longer constricted in fear every time he looked at his youngest son.

Ithilden cleared his throat.  “You asked me to decide who would serve as your escort to this meeting, Adar, and I have the roster of guards if you need it at this morning’s Council meeting.”

Thranduil glanced at Legolas, who sat swinging his legs and peacefully eating his porridge, apparently assuming that this ‘meeting’ was just another in a long string of them that occupied too much of his father’s time.  Thranduil turned back to Ithilden.  “I asked you about it only last night.  Did you work late?  There was no need for that.”

Ithilden smiled.  “No.  I had been thinking about it since you first told me about the meeting, so I had it more or less ready.”  He hesitated.  “I will lead the escort myself.”

Thranduil was startled.  As his troop commander, surely Ithilden had better things to do than captain Thranduil’s escort for a meeting in the forest with leaders of some of the Woodland Realm’s villages.  “Do you think that is wise?  Can you be away from your office for the time it will take?”

Ithilden pressed his mouth in a tight line and then said, “Deler can manage while I am gone, and he will know where to find me.”

“I did not mean to question your judgment,” Thranduil said.  “If you think it best to lead the escort yourself, then of course, that is what you should do.”  The tension in Ithilden’s face eased, and Thranduil ate a few spoonfuls of porridge, thinking about the guards Ithilden now insisted go with him when he took his afternoon ride.  Ithilden might have ceased blaming himself for his mother’s death, but he evidently had no intention of leaving the rest of them unguarded.

The door opened and Eilian entered the dining room.  “Good morning. I am sorry I am late.”  He paused by his chair, looking to Thranduil for permission to sit.  Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him and took grim satisfaction in the fact the Eilian looked as if the lantern light pained him.  Thranduil said nothing, and Eilian grimaced and shifted from one foot to the other.  After a moment, Legolas looked up from his porridge, turning from Thranduil to Eilian and back with a concerned crease between his eyebrows.  Thranduil relented and nodded his permission, and Eilian sat, having the good grace to look chastened.

He helped himself to a bowl of porridge, ate a cautious spoonful, and paused.  Thranduil knew quite well that Eilian was testing his stomach’s readiness to accept food, but the results must have been satisfactory, because Eilian shot him a triumphant look and settled down to eat.

A knock sounded and the door opened to admit a servant.  “I am sorry to interrupt, my lord, but the steward sent a message he wanted to be sure you received before the Council meeting.”

Thranduil put up a hand to stop the servant from speaking further and turned to Legolas, who was scraping up the last of his porridge.  “You need to run along to your lessons, Legolas.”

Legolas slid down from his chair.  “You have to take me.”

“You will have to go by yourself today.  I have things I must do.”

Legolas frowned.  “I want you to take me.”

Thranduil repressed the urge to snap.  Until she was killed, Lorellin had always walked to the library with Legolas after their morning meal.  Thranduil usually did it now, and he knew that Legolas treasured his company.  But Legolas did not make the rules, and in the long run, he would be happier if he knew it.

Before Thranduil could say anything, Eilian slid his chair back and said, “I can take you, brat.”

Legolas hesitated, and for a moment, Thranduil thought he would accept Eilian’s offer, but he said, “Ada always takes me.”

“The steward’s message is short, my lord,” the servant put in, looking indulgently at Legolas.  “He needs to know if you require supplies only for yourself and your party on your trip or whether you will be entertaining.”

Thranduil glanced at Legolas and saw at once that he had taken in exactly what the servant had said.  “We will let the steward know after our plans are set,” Thranduil said.  The servant nodded and withdrew.

Legolas stared at the closed door.  Then he rounded on Thranduil.  “What trip?” he gasped.  “Are you going away?”

“Only for a few days,” Thranduil said, holding out his arms to invite Legolas into them.  “I have to visit some other Elves in the forest, but I will come back as soon as I can.”

“No,” Legolas said, staying where he was.  “Do not go.”

Even from where Thranduil sat, he could see Legolas trembling.  Despite the fact that he had just been thinking that Legolas did not make the rules, Thranduil’s heart turned over in pity.  This trip would be the first time he would be away from Legolas since he had hunted the Orcs who killed his wife, and Legolas sometimes had difficulty letting any of them out of his sight, let alone out of the area around the stronghold.  “Come here,” he coaxed.

“No! No! No!” Legolas’s voice rose to a wail.  Thranduil rose and gathered his son in his arms.  Legolas struggled stiffly against him for a moment before collapsing against him, burying his face in Thranduil’s neck, and beginning to cry.  Thranduil could see Eilian’s and Ithilden’s distressed faces.

“Tell my Council I will be a few moments late,” Thranduil told Ithilden and went out into the hallway to carry Legolas to his room.  I should have just walked him to the library, he thought ruefully.  But even though he knew Legolas was still recovering from his mother’s death, Thranduil hesitated to give in to his demands.  The consequences of spoiling would be hard to undo.

He shoved the door open and found Nimloth gathering laundry.  “What is the matter?” she asked, evidently alarmed by Legolas’s sobs.  “Did he hurt himself?”

Thranduil sat in the rocking chair next to the fire and began rocking with Legolas cradled in his arms.  “No, he is just unhappy about the trip I have to take next week.”  He glanced up.  “Would you tell his tutor that Legolas will be a few moments late?”  Nimloth nodded and left the room.

Thranduil stroked Legolas’s hair and continued rocking as his son’s sobs eased.  “Nimloth will take good care of you, my heart, and I will not be gone long.  I will have guards, and Ithilden will lead them, so you know I will be safe.”  Legolas said nothing, but Thranduil knew he was listening because he drew a wobbly breath and rested his head against Thranduil’s chest.

Nimloth came back in the room.  She picked Legolas’s blanket up off his pillow and brought it over to hand to him.  “Thank you,” he said in a small voice and clutched it to his stomach as if he were pressing a bandage on a wound.

She went into the bathing chamber and came back with a wet cloth.  “Let me wash your face, sweetling.”  Obediently, he lifted his face to her.

When she had finished, Thranduil said, “Can you go to your lessons now?”  Legolas drew a deep breath and nodded.  Thranduil set him on his feet.  “Would you like to take your blanket?”  Legolas nodded again.  “All right.”  Thranduil leaned forward and kissed his cheek.  “Go on then.”  Legolas marched out of the room without looking back.  Thranduil rose to his feet, feeling as if the day had already gone on far too long.

“My lord,” Nimloth said.  Thranduil turned to her inquiringly.  “I would be happy to take care of the little one here, of course, but if you like, I am willing to go with you.  Then you could have your meeting, and Legolas would not have to do without you.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to say no.  He wanted Legolas tucked safely away in the stronghold where danger would have to bore through solid rock to get at him. But he stopped and turned Nimloth’s offer over in his head.  He was going less than a day’s ride away to a village where other village leaders would assemble to meet with him about trade.  The village was well within the territory protected by the Home Guard, and unlike villages that were deeper in the woods, this one was safe enough that children still lived there.  He thought fleetingly of his wife, who had been on her way home from visiting her family in just such a village when the Orcs attacked.  Of course, she had not bothered to wait for the guards Ithilden sent, he thought, and then guiltily suppressed the flash of bitterness.  The more he thought about it, the more appealing the idea of having Legolas with him became.  He had been nearly as unhappy at the idea of leaving him as Legolas was at the idea of being left.

“Are you certain you would not mind?” he asked.  “You have family of your own.”

Nimloth smiled.  “My son is away most of the time, and my husband can look after himself for a few days.  He might even enjoy the chance to drop his clothes where he likes and eat salted meat three times a day.”

Thranduil laughed.  “Then I accept your offer.  You may tell Legolas as soon as he is done with his lessons.  Indeed, I do not suppose his tutor will object if you interrupt to tell him now.  I regret I must meet with my Council now, so I cannot do it myself.”

He held the door for her, and she departed wearing a smile that Thranduil knew was echoed on his own face.

***

Ithilden sank unhappily back into his chair as Thranduil left the dining room with a sobbing Legolas in his arms.  “That was not the way Adar wanted to tell him about this.”

Across the table from him, Eilian stood, half looking as if he would go after Thranduil and Legolas.  Slowly, he sat down.  “Legolas would have been upset no matter how Adar told him.”  He looked at Ithilden.  “What is this trip about anyway?  I heard rumors about it at the Home Guard headquarters yesterday.”

Ithilden paused.  Ordinarily he objected to telling Eilian more than he would know as an ordinary warrior.  Keeping the lines of command clear was hard enough without giving Eilian special treatment.  But Thranduil would announce this trip at his court today anyway.  “Adar is going to Feldor’s village to meet with the leaders of all the villages.  We need to work out some system for getting goods from Esgaroth distributed to them, especially flour, salt, and wool.  And of course, Adar would like to have something to trade back to Esgaroth, so he is looking for the cooperation of the village leaders.”

Eilian snorted.  “Good fortune to him in getting that.”  Eilian was courting a maiden from a village, and just the day before, he had crumpled up a letter from her and flung it into the fire, crying that all villagers were as stubborn as rocks in a river.  Ithilden thought it was probably the letter that had sent Eilian out the door to drink with friends the previous night.  Ithilden watched now as Eilian frowned down into his porridge for a moment and then looked up at him.  “If you are looking for guards to make the trip, I would like to do it.”

Ithilden snorted.  “Why does that not surprise me?”

Eilian looked exasperated.  “You know I am bored with what I am doing now.  Why should I not be one of the guards?  You are not even leaving the Home Guard territory, so this would be within the boundaries of my current posting.”

Unexpectedly, Ithilden found himself groping for an answer.  In the week since Eilian had ridden wildly up to the infirmary door with Maltanaur in his arms, Ithilden had grown accustomed to thinking of Eilian serving near the stronghold until his bodyguard was better.  He had not even considered sending his brother on this trip.  “I cannot give you an assignment just because you would like it,” he finally said.  “Others would enjoy the trip too, and anyway, you will be going back south as soon as—.”  He hesitated.  “As soon as you can.”   That had not been what he had started out to say, but the report on Maltanaur that he had had from the infirmary the previous evening had leapt into his mind just as he was about to say “as soon as Maltanaur is well again.”

Eilian flung his spoon down in disgust.  “Show some mercy, Ithilden!  I am bored beyond endurance.”

Ithilden narrowed his eyes.  A bored Eilian was a potential problem, and they both knew it.  “I expect you to behave with some discipline, Eilian,” he said sharply.  “It will not hurt you to wait to do what you want.”

Eilian’s face went pale.  “What do you mean?” he demanded stiffly.

“What do you think I mean?  I am not giving you a new assignment just because you are bored.  You will be south again eventually.”

Eilian pushed his chair back abruptly.  “If you will excuse me, my lord, I will be on my way.”  Without waiting for Ithilden to reply, he strode out of the room.

Ithilden sat for a moment, struggling not to go after his brother and tell him to grow up.  Eilian was only 70, but Ithilden was sure he himself had far been more sober when he was that age.

He frowned.  Despite what Eilian’s captain told him about his performance on patrol, Ithilden sometimes thought Eilian was as unable to govern his own behavior now as he had been 20 years ago when he had first become a warrior.  With a newly of age Eilian under his command, Ithilden had been appalled as his younger brother spent every free evening then playing the fool with his wilder friends and every stint of duty testing the patience of the Home Guard’s captain.  Eilian’s evening behavior had been Thranduil’s problem, but his behavior on duty had become Ithilden’s when Deler had filed disciplinary reports and put Eilian on punishment duty.

When Ithilden had called Eilian into his office, his brother had offered the same explanation then that he did now.  “I am bored, Ithilden,” he had complained and then, seeing the look on Ithilden’s face hastily amended, “I am bored, my lord.  Shadow is attacking the realm, and I am wasting my time here.  Deler has me standing night guard duty at the palace!”

“You might ask yourself why your captain assigned you to that duty,” Ithilden had snapped.

“I thought I saw signs of spiders,” Eilian defended himself.  “Should I just have ignored them?”

“You should have reported in at the time you were expected to so Deler did not feel compelled to call out every warrior at his disposal to look for you and Maltanaur, something I am sure Maltanaur also told you.  Believe me, Deler would know how to follow up on any report you made if you had turned up to make it.”  Eilian had set his mouth in a thin line and looked mulish, driving Ithilden to cry, “Grow up, Eilian!”

Eilian had raised an eyebrow.  “Yes, my lord,” he had said, stressing the last two word, and Ithilden had flushed, knowing that he would never have said the same thing to any other young warrior under his command.

“You are dismissed,” he had barked, and Eilian had saluted and left his office.

Ithilden shook himself and sighed.  At least so far, Eilian seemed to be carrying out his duties with the Home Guard this time around, and he thought the two of them had a better sense of what they owed one another as commander and warrior rather than as brothers.  In any case, he did not have time to worry about Eilian now.  He needed to be on his way to tell his father’s advisors that Thranduil was delayed.  He pushed back his chair and rose with his mind on the details of the meeting that was his first responsibility of the day.

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

*******

Chapter 2.  Memories

The instant Deler nodded his permission, Eilian bolted for door of the Home Guard headquarters and escaped into the darkness of the autumn evening.  The seemingly endless day had been every bit as tedious as he had anticipated.  He and his partner had walked east along the edge of the Forest River, watching for signs of intruders or dangerous animals that might have come to the river’s edge to drink.  By mid-day, they had seen nothing, so they had picnicked while sitting on a fallen log and then crossed the river on a rope bridge to walk back toward the stronghold, making an equally fruitless search of the other bank.

Eilian had enjoyed the time in the woods, but he could not help resenting the fact that he was sitting idle while warriors in the south were testing themselves against Orcs and spiders with heart-stopping regularity.  He would not exactly say he enjoyed those battles, but he had to admit he missed the rush of excitement that throbbed through his body when he had to draw on every ounce of his strength and wits to beat back an enemy as intent on killing him as he was on returning the favor.

He walked past the building housing Ithilden’s office, and for a moment, he considered going in and trying once again to talk his brother into making him one of Thranduil’s guards for this trip to talk to the village leaders.  That would at least make a change of scenery.  He hesitated and finally moved along without going in.  He and Ithilden would just quarrel again, he thought unhappily, only this time in the troop commander’s office instead of the royal family’s dining room, so Ithilden would be even more likely to take offense at what he would probably see as Eilian’s insubordination.  Best to leave matters alone.

He would go out again tonight, he comforted himself.  He needed to spend some time with friends, burning off excess energy or he would never be able to sleep.  He would be on his way as soon as Thranduil gave him permission to leave the table after evening meal.  But for now, he turned his steps toward another building.  Before he ate or went out, he had a stop to make.

He entered the infirmary to find a healer’s apprentice just coming out of the room on the left.  “Good evening, my lord,” she said without surprise.  “He is still the same, resting well, it would seem, but not yet ready to regain consciousness.”

Eilian nodded and went into the dimly lit room.  The window was cracked open, letting in the scent of far off snow, but the figure on the bed was warmly covered.  Eilian sat on the stool the healer’s apprentice had probably just vacated.  “Mae govannen, Maltanaur,” he murmured and rested his hand on his keeper’s covered one.  “How are you tonight?  I did not do a single thing you would have disapproved of today.  You would have been proud of me.”  Maltanaur did not move except for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

Eilian sighed.  At least Maltanaur was no longer growing weaker by the moment, as he had done in Eilian’s arms during the frantic ride home from the south.  “I did argue with Ithilden this morning, but I could not help that.  My adar is going to a meeting in Feldor’s village, and I wanted him to send me as one of the guard, but he would not do it.  Is that not foolish of him?  I know I have my faults, but you have to admit no one is better than I am at scenting out danger.  Scenting out trouble, I suppose you would say.”

He fell silent, stroking Maltanaur’s hand through the blanket.  “I am sorry,” he finally whispered.  “I know I say that every time I come, but I am.  I should not have been so impatient, and if you wake up, I promise I will never put you in such a position again.”  Maltanaur continued to lie silent and still, while Eilian thought about himself and Maltanaur, scouting together in the south only a little more than a week ago.

~*~*~

Ten days earlier

Eilian stooped to look at the churned up leaves beneath the broken tips of the ragged hawthorn bush.  He picked a pebble out the five-toed print that was so tantalizingly like an Orc’s, but so clearly not.  Bear, he thought, flinging the pebble away.  He stood up, dusting his hands.  “They are nearby,” he said softly over his shoulder.  “I can feel the disturbance in the woods.”

“You are usually right about such things,” Maltanaur murmured.  “We will tell Todith, and he will probably move the whole search in this direction.”

With his back to his keeper, Eilian grimaced.  He hated to report back to their captain that he had once again failed to find the Orcs the Southern Patrol had tracked for the last two days.  He was not accustomed to such failure.  “We should look a little further.”

“No,” Maltanaur said.  “It is time to start back.  If we fail to report in on time, Todith will think something has happened to us.  Surely you recall learning how captains react to warriors not returning when they are expected?”

Eilian gave a reluctant smile.  “At least Ithilden is not here to chew my head off afterwards.”  He looked south and sobered again.  “If we let them get much farther away, they will be out of our territory and into the Emyn-nu-Fuin.  Those mountains have far too many hiding places in them.  They will shelter there for the winter and then raid every village within reach as soon as they can move about again.”

“Todith will move the whole patrol in this direction and send us out again,” Maltanaur said.  His voice was somber, but it also held a note of warning.  He recognized the truth in Eilian’s assessment, but he was not about to allow Eilian to violate their captain’s orders.

Recognizing his defeat, Eilian shrugged.  Maltanaur was right.  Todith would send them out again, and the sooner they returned to the patrol, the sooner that would happen.  “Shall we?” he said, gesturing toward the trees.  With Maltanaur right behind him, he leapt to catch a handhold on the branch of a maple, swung himself up into the tree’s embrace, and start north toward camp, taking a route that circled slightly away from the one they had taken coming south.  He moved carefully.  Snow had not yet blanketed the bare branches, so he did not have to worry about betraying their presence by knocking it to the ground, but the more level branches were thinly glazed with ice tonight, and he had to watch his footing.

He judged they were more than halfway back to camp when the feel of woods shifted.  He grasped the trunk of the oak in which he stood and looked sharply to the west.  Maltanaur landed next him.  “What is it?”

Eilian pointed with his chin.  “The trees are disturbed over there.  Do you not feel it?”

Maltanaur held himself still for a moment and then shook his head.  “No, but you are more likely than I am to notice something.”

“We should take a look.”

Maltanaur hesitated.  “We should report in.”

“But we need to know what to tell Todith,” Eilian urged.  “We are almost back to camp.  The captain will wait a little while before he panics, and we will be able to tell him something useful when we do get there.”

Maltanaur was plainly struggling.  “Very well,” he said at last, “but I decide how far we go and when we start back, and you do as I say.  Agreed?”

Eilian grinned.  “Surely you know I always do as you say.”

Maltanaur grabbed his upper arm and shoved his scowling face close to Eilian’s.  “Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Eilian conceded, frowning and trying to pull his arm free.  Maltanaur was normally easy-going, but Eilian had learned that when he put his foot down, he meant it.  He was apparently not fooling around about their reporting in more or less on time.  Eilian would have to give way.

Maltanaur released him and jerked his head to the west.  “Lead the way then.”

Eilian wasted no time in getting going.  If their time was short, they needed to use it well.  He leapt from branch to branch, relying now on his feel for the forest, and pushing himself to move quickly.  Once when he slid on a branch and had to grab for a handhold, he heard Maltanaur give a soft exclamation, but other than that neither one of them said anything.  They had no need for words here.  Eilian knew what he felt, and his excitement gradually rose as he sensed the trees around him becoming more and more alarmed and knew he was drawing nearer to whatever the source of the disturbance was.

A faint odor came wafting toward him on the night air.  He slowed, sniffed, and halted to wait for Maltanaur.  He put his mouth against his keeper’s ear.  “Do you smell that?”

Maltanaur nodded.  “Someone is smoking meat.”  They looked at one another.

“They should be out hunting,” Eilian murmured.

“But perhaps they are making winter supplies from previous kills.”

“Then we are near some sort of base camp?”

Maltanaur nodded.  “That would be my guess.  We should take a quick look.”

Eilian blinked.  Time had grown short, and he had fully expected Maltanaur to say they should start back to camp to tell Todith what they found.  Maltanaur must judge it more dangerous to leave the Orcs than to scout for them.  Either that or, like Eilian, he could not stand the thought of Orcs playing house within the patrol’s territory.  Eilian turned and moved swiftly toward the source of the smell.  If Maltanaur was granting extra time, then he did not want to waste it.

Within a very short time, Eilian saw the star studded sky open up through a break in the trees.  A dark shape curved against the black of the sky, and he realized that a low ridge lifted out of the ground here, forming a rocky wall that extended for perhaps fifty feet before the ground rose to meet it again.  It took him only a moment to determine that the smell came from the mouth of a cave, barely visible in the starlight.

High in the trees, he and Maltanaur looked down at the opening in the face of the rock.  “Could it be woodmen?” Maltanaur whispered.

Eilian shook his head.  “The trees are too unhappy.”  He turned to Maltanaur.  “You go back and get the rest of the patrol.  I will keep watch here.”

Maltanaur snorted.  “Wonderful idea.  You are so good at waiting patiently. You go back and get the patrol, and I will stay here and keep watch.”  Eilian opened his mouth to argue but closed it again when he saw the look on his keeper’s face.

“Very well,” he said grudgingly.  He turned to start away, but for the second time that night, Maltanaur caught his arm.

“If you take a single unnecessary risk, I swear I will make you sorry, Eilian.”

Eilian shrugged loose.  “Stop worrying,” he said exasperatedly and leapt to the next tree to start his journey to camp.

~*~*~

A step in the doorway roused Eilian from his recollections and made him turn around as Maltanaur’s wife came into the room.  Eilian rose.  “Mae govannen, Nindwen.  How are you?”   She looked tired, but his mother had raised him to be too polite to say so.

“I am well,” she said automatically with her eyes on Maltanaur.  She walked toward the bed and stood looking down at him.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” Eilian asked helplessly.

She looked at him kindly.  “Thank you, but no.  You are so good to visit him every day, though.  I know he would appreciate that.”

He could not meet her eyes.  “I must be going,” he mumbled and bolted from the room.

***

Ithilden set his cup of wine down so hard that some of it slopped over the side and onto the small table.  “Why did you not tell me this before?”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow.  “My taking Legolas is a private matter, not something that needed to be discussed at the Council meeting, and I have not seen you since then.  Besides, this is my decision to make.  I do not need your permission.”  Thranduil knew this last sounded contentious, but Ithilden sometimes took too much on himself in his desire to set guards on them all.  Thranduil understood why his son felt that way, but he had no more intention of indulging Ithilden than he did of indulging Legolas.

Ithilden pressed his mouth in a thin line.  “I will add three more guards to the escort.”

Thranduil shrugged.  “If you think it is necessary, do so.”  The number of guards was rightfully Ithilden’s decision, and the extra ones would do no harm.

The door opened, and Legolas ran in, carrying a piece of paper that he thrust into Thranduil’s lap.  “Look, Ada.  I painted a picture of the pony you are going to get me.”  He climbed up into the chair and squeezed in next to Thranduil.  Ithilden snorted, and Thranduil narrowed his eyes at him.  Ithilden was the one who had told Legolas that Thranduil should get him a pony.  Thranduil thought Legolas might be a bit too young yet, and Ithilden was obviously enjoying the situation.  Ithilden picked up his wine and smiled innocently at him.

Thranduil looked at the brown creature on the page.  It was recognizably some sort of four-legged animal, but if Legolas had not told him, Thranduil would not have been sure if it was a horse, a dog, or a deer.  “Very nice.”

“Can I have the pony for your trip?” Legolas asked.

“For this trip, you will ride with me or Nimloth,” Thranduil told him.  “A pony would get too tired keeping up with the big horses.”  Legolas nodded sagely, accepting Thranduil’s explanation.

The door opened again, and Eilian entered.  “Eilian!” Legolas cried, wiggling out of the chair and running to where Eilian stood, pouring himself a cup of wine.  “Eilian, guess what?  I am going on Ada’s trip with him.  Nimloth is going to take care of me, and I do not have to stay home after all.”

Eilian jerked his head around to look at Ithilden, who looked impassively back at him.  “That is good news, brat,” he said, not taking his eyes from Ithilden.  “Perhaps Nimloth will agree to look after me, so I can go too.”  He took a drink of wine and refilled his cup from the flagon still in his hand.

“You would have to talk to Adar and Nimloth,” Ithilden said in a carefully neutral tone.  “They worked the arrangements out between them.”

Thranduil fought back a desire to slap both his older sons.  “Sit down, Eilian,” he said sharply.  The sight of his son clutching a wine flagon both annoyed and frightened him.  Eilian had lost control of himself for a while after his mother died, but Thranduil had thought he had put that time behind him.  Since he had come home with the wounded Maltanaur, however, Thranduil had seen behavior that made his breath catch.

Eilian flopped onto the bench near the fire.  “I will be going out tonight, Adar.”  His tone made the words sound like a challenge.  He probably sensed Thranduil’s concern and resented what he saw as interference in his right to run his own life.

Before Thranduil could speak, Legolas scrambled up on the bench next to Eilian.  “You should stay home with me,” he declared.

Eilian put a hand on his head and smiled at him.  “You have Ada and Ithilden,” he said.  “You will not miss me.”

“I will,” Legolas insisted.  He cocked his head and looked at Eilian from the corner of one eye.  “I need someone to read to me.”

Eilian laughed.  “Ada and Ithilden can read.”

“I want you,” Legolas insisted.  “I want the book we had before, and Ada and Ithilden do not know which one it is.”

Thranduil watched the two of them, wondering what Eilian would do.  Legolas had made a good start on learning to read before his mother died, but since then he had shown a profound lack of interest in the whole process.  His tutor was trying to coax him back into solving the mystery of letters and had urged them all to read to the child as much as possible.  Thranduil was not worried about the reading itself.  It mattered little whether Legolas learned to read this year or the next or the one after that.  He would learn when he was ready.   But Thranduil did worry about the trouble Legolas still seemed to have in going on with a normal life.

To Thranduil’s interest, Eilian was hesitating.  “If I stay home tonight,” he said slowly, “perhaps you could try to read some of the words yourself.”

Legolas nodded vigorously.  “I could.”

“Which book was it you were reading, Legolas?” Thranduil asked.  “Perhaps you and Eilian should go to the library and get it now, so you have it all ready.”

Eilian looked at him sharply as Legolas slid off the bench and stood bouncing on his toes, waiting for Eilian to move too.  He set his wine down and rose.  “We will come back,” he said mildly, “so you should talk fast.”

“Do not be impertinent,” Thranduil snapped.  Legolas ran to the door with Eilian following more slowly.  They disappeared into the hallway.  Thranduil turned to Ithilden.  “You plan to send three extra guards on this trip?”

Ithilden groaned.  “Why do you not just take the management of the whole thing out of my hands?”

“You know I rely on you and respect your judgment,” Thranduil said in annoyance.  “But I am not happy about leaving Eilian here on his own.  I have no idea what is bothering him, but something is and until he works it out, I want him where I can keep an eye on him.”

Ithilden straightened.  Thranduil seldom spoke to him sharply, and he obviously did not like it.  “Very well.  I will tell Deler that Eilian is to be one of the guards.”

“Good,” Thranduil said.  “Thank you.”  He leaned back in his chair.  “It will be good for Eilian to spend time with villagers,” he added hopefully.  He had always liked the maiden Eilian was courting, although he did not believe Eilian was in a position to bond with anyone as long as he spent most of his time as a warrior in the south.

Ithilden gave a short laugh.  “Eilian is not particularly good at diplomacy, Adar.  He is too impatient.”

Thranduil smiled.  “For that matter, so am I.”  This time Ithilden laughed outright.

***

Thranduil let the book fall into his lap.  The story of the fall of Numenor could not hold his attention tonight.  He stared into the fire, watching its unpredictable dance and worrying about Eilian.  Perhaps he should have insisted that Ithilden tell Eilian tonight that he would be one of the guards for the trip to the village.  Ithilden had wanted to follow the chain of command and tell Eilian’s captain and have the captain tell Eilian.  Thranduil had agreed, but then Eilian had gone out after Legolas went to bed, and now it was very late and he still was not home.

Thranduil sighed and rubbed his temples.  He had been so sure that Eilian was settling down, steadied by the knowledge that his captain and fellow warriors valued him as a talented scout and a ferocious fighter.  He had believed that Eilian was over the careless despair into which he had fallen when his mother died in the spring.  What could have happened to set him off like this again?  For a wistful moment, Thranduil considered trying to get Eilian to confide in him, but he knew the effort would be pointless.  He and Eilian had never understood one another.  They had always relied on Lorellin to help them grope their way toward truce, and now she was gone and they had lost their way.

He let his head fall back against the chair.  Without Lorellin, he did not believe he and Eilian would have made their way undamaged even through the time just after Eilian came of age.  Thranduil had been proud of his courageous, daring son, but he had also been terrified of Eilian’s complete lack of caution and frustrated by the difficulty he had in carrying out routine duties.  Thranduil had always taken pride in the disciplined, dignified Ithilden, seeing his own success as a parent in his oldest son’s behavior.  Eilian had come as a humbling shock.

Lorellin had always thought Ithilden too serious, he reminded himself.  She had rejoiced in Eilian’s relish for adventure and swallowed her fear at the danger in which he lived as a warrior.  He still remembered Eilian bounding into this room, with his color high and his eyes flashing on the day he had first been in battle.

~*~*~

Twenty years earlier

The door burst open, and Eilian was suddenly in the middle of the room, grinning at both Thranduil and Lorellin.  Thranduil relaxed again, put his arm around his wife, and said, “And how was your day, Eilian?”

Eilian laughed and made his way to the table in the corner to pour himself a cup of wine.  “You will never guess what happened,” he crowed, turning back to them.

“You are undoubtedly right,” Lorellin said, grinning back at him. “So why do you not rescue us from our ignorance and tell us.”

Eilian perched on the edge of the bench across from them.  “Maltanaur and I were patrolling to the west,” he began.  “And all at once it seemed to me that the forest was too quiet, not just the animals, but the trees too.  So I knew something was wrong.”

Thranduil felt Lorellin’s body stiffen slightly.  He glanced at her.  Her jaw was set in a smile that echoed Eilian’s, but he knew she had braced herself for what she was about to hear.  He opened his mouth to stop Eilian, but Lorellin squeezed his hand, and he stayed silent.

“I told Maltanaur we should look east, and he said all right, so we did.”  Eilian’s chest seemed to swell with the gleeful breath he drew.  “We found spiders, Adar, a whole colony of them, although Maltanaur said it was not a big one.”

“I trust you summoned help,” Thranduil said sharply. In truth, he did not trust that Eilian had done that at all.

“Of course.” Eilian was plainly trying to sound wounded but then, with typical honesty, said, “Maltanaur said we had to.”

For the thousandth time, Thranduil blessed whatever good fortune had led him to choose Maltanaur as Eilian’s guard.  As it happened, Maltanaur had watched over Eilian occasionally even as a child and a novice, so when Eilian became a warrior, he knew what he would have on his hands.  When Thranduil had asked him if he would be willing, he had smiled serenely and declared he looked forward to the challenge.

“We sounded the signal, and other warriors came within minutes,” Eilian said, “and the lieutenant was there. He arranged us just like the novice masters used to do in drills, and then we shot them.”  He grinned again.  “I shot four.”

“Good for you,” Lorellin said, a little woodenly.

“The lieutenant said I was a good scout,” Eilian said breathlessly.  “He said I had a gift for it.”

“I think you do,” Thranduil said slowly.  “You have a feel for the forest that is strong even for a wood-elf.”

Eilian took a long drink of wine.  “I hope he tells Ithilden that,” he said, almost to himself.  “I heard that Todith asked for more warriors for the Southern Patrol.  He must need scouts.”

Once again, Thranduil opened his mouth to speak, but this time, Lorellin spoke first.  “Todith would be lucky to have you, Eilian, but nagging Ithilden will only hurt your cause.  If you have many more days like today, he will see your worth soon enough.”

Eilian had looked at her and pursed his mouth.  “You are probably right,” he said.  And that had been the end of it.  Unless you counted the outrageous behavior with the webbing, of course.

~*~*~

The door opened, and for a moment Thranduil saw an echo of the past as Eilian came into the room.  Only tonight Thranduil sat by himself, without his wife to warm him or help him deal with this difficult son.

“Did you wait up for me?” Eilian sounded annoyed. “You did not have to do that, but as it happens, I have something to tell you.  I am so late because a wild boar attacked an elf who was night hunting.  People were calling for help to make sure it had left the area around the cottages, and I joined in the chase.  But what you need to know, Adar, is that the elf who was hurt is Nimloth’s husband.  She said to tell you that she is very sorry, but she does not see how she can go with you on this trip.  Her husband will be all right, but he is going to need care for a while.  She will not even be able to come here tomorrow.”

Thranduil looked at him in dismay.  He could not make Legolas stay behind now.  The child would be devastated.  “We can manage,” he vowed.

“I am sure you can,” Eilian said coolly.  “By your leave?”  He barely hesitated before disappearing through the doorway.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.  Also Happy Birthday to Elliska, who likes to read about Legolas and Thranduil.

*******

Chapter 3.  Representing the House of Oropher

Ithilden spotted the first flet and reined in his horse to fall back to where his father rode with Legolas in front of him.  “We are approaching the village, my lord.  The campsite my scouts found for us is a little to the left.  Do you want to go there first?”

Thranduil shook his head. “I will greet Feldor and the other village leaders before I do anything else.  You see to getting our camp set up.”  He looked down at Legolas, who was squirming as he waited to speak without interrupting.

“Are we there, Ada?  Can I get down?”  Legolas had grown increasingly restless in the three hours since mid-day.

Thranduil grasped him under the arms and lifted him into Ithilden’s waiting hands.  “You go with Ithilden.  You can help his warriors set up our tent.”

Ithilden laughed as he settled Legolas in front of him.  “I am sure they will be very grateful for the help too.”

Thranduil grinned at him and beckoned to the advisor who rode just behind them.  They both rode off toward the village.  Ithilden pointed at two guards, who rode after them and led everyone else to the campsite he had sent scouts to find the previous week.  It turned out to be a level, medium-sized clearing with a stream running close enough that he could hear it.  He nodded approvingly.  “Make camp,” he called.

Eilian appeared at his side with his arms up to take Legolas, and Ithilden handed him over and slid to the ground.  “Take Teldur with you and scout the woods around the camp and village,” Ithilden told Eilian.  He had no reason to think any danger lurked near this village, as close as it was to the stronghold, but he had never believed in taking chances.

Eilian nodded, set Legolas on his feet, and looking around for Teldur.  “Be good, brat,” he said and strode toward where the other warrior was helping to unload supplies from the pack animals.

Legolas stood still, looking around at the organized chaos of a camp in the making.  “Would you like to see the warriors put up the tent you and Ada and I will use?” Ithilden asked.  Legolas looked up at him with shining eyes and nodded.  “This way.”  Ithilden led him to where warriors were already preparing the ground for setting up a larger tent inside a ring of smaller ones.  “They have to move all the stick and rocks before they put the tent here,” Ithilden explained.

One of the warriors looked around.  “Would you like to help?” he asked Legolas, who nodded and immediately crouched to pick up a stone and fling it aside.

One of the cook’s helpers approached.  “Cook wants to know where you want the roasting pit, my lord.”

Ithilden glanced at the busy Legolas and went with the cook’s helper to one edge of camp to consult with Cook about digging the pit.  He was occupied for only a few minutes, but when he turned around again, Legolas was nowhere in sight.  With his heart pounding, he hastened to where he had last seen his little brother, darting glances left and right.  One of the elves who had been setting up Thranduil’s tent called, “Are you looking for Legolas, my lord?  Garion took him to see to the horses.”

Ithilden drew a deep breath and turned to go to where the horses were being tended.  He found Legolas happily swabbing at the legs of a horse with a twist of dry grass.  Garion was grooming the rest of the horse.  He turned to grin at Ithilden. “What a good helper Legolas is, my lord.”

Ithilden smiled at Legolas’s beaming face, but then he said, “Come with me, Legolas.  I need to make sure the camp’s guards are where they should be.”

“I want to stay with the horse,” Legolas protested.  “He wants me to brush him.”  Ithilden hesitated.  He did not like the idea of having Legolas out of his sight.  After all, at the moment, he was the one who was responsible for him.

“Not now,” he said.  “Perhaps you can help again tomorrow.”  Legolas scowled, but he dropped the twist of grass and took Ithilden’s hand to walk the perimeter of the camp.  When they were far enough from the horses, Ithilden released his hand to let him wander among the trees, with Ithilden’s gaze on him even when he talked to each guard they met.  Legolas picked up and dropped several twigs and finally seized a long stick and ran back to Ithilden’s side with a triumphant look on his face.

“This is my sword,” he declared, waving the stick.  “I am a guard too.”

Ithilden put up a hand to shield his face.  “Be careful!  And do not run with that in your hand.”

Legolas lowered the stick and glowered at him. “You are being mean,” he declared.  “I am going to tell Ada.”

“You do that,” Ithilden said, “but be careful with that stick, or I will take it away from you.”  Legolas scuffed along beside him, frowning as they continued their circuit of the camp.  As they neared the side that abutted the village, Ithilden caught sight of three small figures standing in the shadows under the trees.  Legolas’s head turned toward them too.  Ithilden smiled.  This village had more children than one might have expected because it was safe, so people from other villages who had young families had moved here as their own homes became too dangerous for elflings.  “Mae govannen,” Ithilden called.

The children’s eyes widened.  Then the little maid in the center giggled, and the three of them turned and ran toward the village, with their cloaks flapping behind them.  Legolas took a quick step after them, but Ithilden grabbed the hood of his cloak.  “No.  You stay here.”  Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but Ithilden forestalled him.  “Our tent is probably ready by now.  Do you want to see where you will sleep?”

Legolas hesitated, then nodded.  Ithilden led him back to the center of camp, where Thranduil’s banner now flew in front of a large tent.  He held the flap for Legolas and followed him inside.  Three cots were arranged along the walls, with a small chest at the foot of each.  “This bed is yours,” Ithilden said, pointing to the one in the middle.  Legolas ran to jump onto the cot and lie down to try it out.

“My lord,” called Eilian’s voice.

“Come,” Ithilden answered, and Eilian came into the tent.

Legolas sat up and bounced on the cot.  “This is my bed, Eilian.”  He looked around. “Where is yours?”

“I am going to sleep in one of the smaller tents with another warrior,” Eilian told him.

Legolas frowned.  “How will I know where you are?”

“I will show you,” Eilian promised.  He turned to Ithilden.  “Teldur and I checked the area and saw no sign of problems.”

“Good,” Ithilden said, feeling the muscles in his shoulders relax slightly.  Eilian was not always cautious, but he was without doubt an excellent scout. If he said no danger was in the area, then there was none.

The flap opened, and Thranduil entered.  Legolas jumped off the cot and ran to him.   “I took care of a horse, Ada, but Ithilden would not let me stay or have a sword either, and I saw three elflings.”

Thranduil smiled at him and brushed a stray hair from his forehead.  “You have been busy.”  He looked up at Ithilden.  “We are all invited to a feast in the village tonight.”

“I will set guards on our camp,” Ithilden decided.  “Everyone else can go.”  He glanced at Eilian.  “You are done for the day, Eilian.  Tell my lieutenant to choose the guards.”

Eilian nodded.  “By your leave?” he asked.  Thranduil waved permission, and he left the tent.

“We should get you settled,” Thranduil told Legolas.  “You will need to wear clean clothes tonight.”   He opened the chest holding Legolas’s belongings.  Ithilden opened his own chest and searched for the clothes and circlet he would wear that night.

“Where is my special blanket?” Legolas asked.  Ithilden turned quickly.  Thranduil was laying out Legolas’s clothes, but Legolas was pawing through the chest.

“It must be there,” Thranduil said.  Ithilden recognized the note of urgency in his father’s voice.  Legolas might survive the trip without his blanket, but Ithilden was not sure the rest of them would.  Thranduil pushed the objects in the chest around and then took them all out.  When he had finished, the conclusion was inescapable.  The blanket had not made the trip.

“How will I sleep?” Legolas demanded, panic in his voice.

“We will find you something else to use,” Thranduil said soothingly, “and Ithilden and I will be right here with you.”

Legolas swallowed hard.  “All right,” he said in a small voice, and Ithilden gave him points for bravery in the face of what must have seemed to him to be a disaster.  Thranduil washed Legolas’s hands and face in water from the ewer someone had left in the tent.  He helped Legolas dress, and then the child sat quietly on his cot while Thranduil and Ithilden readied themselves for the feast.   Thranduil took Legolas’s hand and the three of them left the tent to find Thranduil’s advisor and most of their escort gathered in the camp’s center.

Legolas spotted Eilian in the group, tugged free from Thranduil’s hand, and ran to him.  “Eilian, we forgot my special blanket.”

Eilian looked properly appalled.  “I am so sorry. What are you going to do?”

“Ada will find me another blanket, and I think I might sleep with him.”

Ithilden thought about the narrow cots and shot a look at Thranduil, whose face was set in lines of resignation.  Ithilden grinned.  He occasionally felt a twinge of jealousy when he saw how Legolas responded to Eilian, but this was one occasion on which he was glad he would not be the one Legolas turned to first.

Legolas looked Eilian up and down.  “You are still in your warrior clothes, and you forgot your circlet.”

“I am one of the guards on this trip,” Eilian said easily.  “You and Ithilden can help Ada represent the House of Oropher tonight.”  Legolas nodded a solemn acceptance of this responsibility.

“Come, Legolas,” Thranduil called.  When Legolas came running, he took the child’s hand and led the group toward the village.

Ithilden had been to Feldor’s village before, but it had grown since then as people moved to it from other parts of the Woodland Realm.  And of course, a dozen or so leaders from other villages were there to meet with Thranduil.  The feast was being held in a clearing a little south of the village, and when Thranduil’s party came out of the trees, elves were crowded into the area, with children darting in and out among their legs.  Smoke rose from where two elves were roasting venison.  Three people were playing harps, each of them striking a different tune.  Ithilden saw Legolas press himself against Thranduil’s side.  He was not usually a timid child, but he had had a long day, and everyone here was a stranger.

Feldor advanced, flanked by two other leaders, and they and Thranduil exchanged greetings in which Ithilden was soon included.  Feldor motioned them to a log that was upwind from the fire, and Thranduil sat with Legolas on one side of him and Feldor on the other.  Ithilden sat on a log at right angles to the one on which his father sat and watched Thranduil ease Feldor into genial conversation about duck hunting.  Ithilden smiled to himself.  His father might say he was too impatient to be a good diplomat, but he could charm almost anyone when he chose to.

Legolas was watching the village children.  At the first pause in the conversation, he said, “Ada, can I go play?”

Thranduil turned to look at the children too, but at that moment, an elf near the fire rang a hand bell.  “Come and feast,” he called, and Ithilden heard parents summoning children to their sides.  The harpists stopped playing, and people began to converge on the point where food was being heaped onto plates.

“Not now,” Thranduil said, as an elf came toward them holding several plates of food.  “We are going to eat now.”  The elf handed around the plates, finishing with one that he set in Legolas’s lap, where it looked very large.  Legolas stared at the food and tentatively picked up a chunk of roast squash and put it in his mouth.  Thranduil spoke quietly in his ear, and Legolas sighed and took up the knife and fork laid across the plate’s top.

Thranduil turned back to Feldor, and Ithilden watched a little apprehensively as Legolas sawed at the venison on his plate, which teetered ominously with each stroke of the knife.  He was about to move to Legolas’s other side and help him, when the plate began to slide.  Before he could even utter a warning, it had gone too far. It tumbled off Legolas’s lap and landed upside down in the dirt.

Legolas’s face reddened.  “Orc spit!” he cried.  His high-pitched childish voice penetrated the low buzz of conversation in the clearing, stopping it and making every startled face turn in their direction.

“Oooh!” breathed a child.

Ithilden blinked. Where had Legolas picked that up? he wondered, and thought immediately of Legolas’s friend Turgon.  Then, among the crowd, he caught a glimpse of Eilian’s scarlet face.  Ithilden turned quickly back to see Thranduil too looking at Eilian, his mouth set in a tight line.  Thranduil bent over Legolas.  “We do not talk that way,” he said firmly.

Legolas looked at him with his mouth trembling.  For a moment, Ithilden thought he was going to burst into tears, but suddenly, Eilian was sliding into the place on the other side of Legolas.  He held a plate of food out.  “Try this, brat. Would you like me to cut the meat for you?”

Legolas turned to him, hesitated, and nodded.  Eilian put the plate in Legolas’s lap.  “Can you hold the plate steady for me while I cut?”  Legolas grasped the plate and held it while Eilian leaned over and cut up the venison.  He handed the fork to Legolas.  “Try a little,” he coaxed.  “It is very good.”  Legolas speared a bit of meat and put it in his mouth.  Eilian put an arm around Legolas and looked at Thranduil over his head.  “Sorry,” he mouthed silently, his face miserable.  Thranduil looked at him with an expression Ithilden could not read and turned back to Feldor.  By this time, one of the villagers had picked up the fallen plate and food and the others had gone back to their conversations.

Ithilden blew out his breath and silently cursed the wild boar that had put Nimloth’s husband flat on his back in bed.

***

Eilian leaned against the trunk of the maple under which he sat. The morning sun was warm on his face, but the ground had grown cold enough that he had dragged one of the camp stools out of Thranduil’s tent, which was just behind him.  Legolas crouched nearby, poking through fallen leaves to see what lay underneath, but keeping an eye on the village children who were playing not far away.  Ithilden had told him that Legolas had been asleep in Thranduil’s arms by the time they had returned from the feast the previous night, so the missing blanket had not been a problem.  Yet.

Eilian had been avoiding his father, so he had gone to his own tent.   This morning Ithilden had brought Legolas to him, partly because Legolas wanted to see where he slept and partly because Thranduil wanted him to watch Legolas while he and Ithilden met with the village leaders.  Eilian was happy to do it.  He enjoyed Legolas’s company in any case, and he still felt guilty about having inadvertently taught Legolas language that made him flinch when he heard it coming from his little brother’s mouth and saw the way other elves looked at him.  He supposed Thranduil would have something to say about that eventually, but he hoped if he delayed their meeting long enough, Thranduil would have simmered down.

A united squeal from the group of children made him look in their direction.  A tall, dark-haired maiden seemed to be minding them.  She was laughing now as they all jumped up and down around her, begging to be chosen to fill some role in a game she was organizing.  She pointed to a maid with a single braid down her back, and the maid danced.  A boy said something to her in a singsong taunt, and the maiden in charge spoke a single sharp word. The boy scowled, scuffed one foot in the dirt, and then turned to the little maid and said something that Eilian took for an apology.

Eilian glanced at Legolas, who had stood up and was watching the scene closely.  “Do you want to play?” Eilian asked.  Legolas looked at him wide-eyed and nodded.  “You should go,” Eilian said. “They will probably let you.  Just do not go too far away.” Legolas shot him a grin and ran toward the other children.  He stopped a few feet away and stood shyly twisting one hand in the edge of his cloak.   The maiden smiled and beckoned to him, and he trotted up to stand next to one of the boys.  Eilian smiled.

He let his head fall back against the maple and wondered how Maltanaur was doing.  He had looked forward to going on this trip. For one thing, he had hoped that some wild chance might make Celuwen come to the meeting, but a quick search of the crowd last night had told him she was not there.  And now he almost wished he was back at the stronghold where he could check on his keeper.

“Mae govannen, Eilian.”

He straightened up to find a familiar face grinning down at him.  “Ganion!  What are you doing here?”

“I live here now,” the other elf told him.  He eyed the stool on which Eilian sat.  “You must be getting soft,” he said and dropped to the ground next to him.  Eilian laughed.  He had spent a great deal of his free time with Ganion around the time he came of age, but Ganion had trained as a forester and had always sworn he would move away from the stronghold and get out among the trees as soon as he could.  “I thought of you just last week,” Ganion added.  “Someone saw spider webbing two leagues west of here.”  He grinned at Eilian again.  “You have not yet succeeded in wreaking vengeance on me for that night at the river, so I thought you might want to try once again to gather some webbing to use.”

Eilian snorted.  “That was not a fair contest, and you should not have gloated over your victory in any case.”

Ganion laughed.  “But it was such a sweet one!  Even you have to admit the situation was entertaining, Eilian.”

Slowly, Eilian smiled.  Eventually he had been able to see the humor in the situation.  His father had been less amused when he learned about it, as he inevitably did, and Eilian was thankful that his mother had seemed unaware of what happened.

~*~*~

Twenty years ago

Ganion flexed his knees and pushed off, sailing with arms outstretched to land in the river, thirty feet below.  Eilian leaned over to see how close Ganion came to the floating wreath of flowers they had tossed in to serve as their target.  The other young males who had come with them from the Glade gave a ragged cheer.  Ganion looked up to the top of the river bank.  “Beat that, spider-elf!” he shouted and swam toward the rocks that offered a steep climb to the top of the bank.

Eilian laughed good-naturedly.  He was still elated over his success in his first encounter with spiders earlier that day, and he and his friends at the Glade had celebrated by buying an extra skin of wine.  He was not as steady on his feet as he could have been, but he was still certain he could dive closer to the wreath than Ganion had.  He slid his drawers down over his hips, tossed them onto the pile of his clothes, and moved along the bank, tracking the drift of the flowers.

“What have we here?” asked a feminine voice.

He glanced around quickly and saw Roniel and Viwen at the point where the path to the Glade emerged from the trees and turned to run along the river.  Hastily, he shoved off and dove into the cover of the water, followed by the hoots of his friends.  He surfaced and tread water, looking up to see a row of laughing faces bent over the bank above him, including those of the two maidens.

“You landed much farther from the wreath than Ganion did,” one of his friends called, and they all hooted again.  What bad timing, Eilian groaned to himself.  Not many maidens came along this path, and those who did were almost all of the kind his mother did not like.  He had heard her say uncharacteristically biting things about Roniel. 

Roniel’s her head vanished for a moment and then reappeared.  “Since Ganion just claimed the other tunic, I assume this one is yours, Eilian.”  She held up the blue tunic he had worn that night.

Apprehension flared in his gut.  “You would not do anything rash, would you?” he called.

She smiled.  “Of course not.  I will leave you your swordbelt.  If you want the rest of your clothes, they will be at the Glade.”  Then she giggled, and she and Viwen disappeared.

Eilian could hear his friends laughing too as he swam toward the rocks, vowing to climb out even if the maidens were still there.  He scrambled hastily up to the top of the bank, and despite his vow, he was relieved to find no sign of Roniel and Viwen.  He looked quickly to where his clothes had been and groaned.  His swordbelt was there and after a cringing moment he realized his drawers were too.  Ganion stood next to the pathetically small pile of silk, grinning and buckling his belt over his tunic.

“Could you not stop them?” Eilian demanded.

Ganion laughed.  “I talked them into leaving your drawers.  You should be thanking me.  And I won the wager,” he added smugly.

Furious, Eilian pulled on the drawers.  After a moment’s hesitation, he buckled on the belt and then started determinedly down the path.

“Are you going after them?” another elf asked.

“I am not going home like this,” Eilian declared.  He smiled maliciously.  “And fortunately I am armed.”

His friends laughed. “She will be able to see your sword,” one of them jibed, “but I do not think Roniel will be intimidated.”  Eilian ignored them and marched off toward the Glade.

***

Two hours later, he was grateful to be fully clothed as he made his way among the trees west of the stronghold.  He had waited for his friend Gelmir to come off duty and then he had set out to gather what he needed to revenge himself on Ganion.

“Tell me again what we are going to do with the webbing,” Gelmir said from behind him.

“I am going to stretch it across the rocks up from the river, and then I am going to challenge Ganion to dive again.  And when he comes out and starts the climb up, he will be caught in it.  You are going to see to it that Roniel and Viwen are around to watch the show.”

Gelmir frowned.  “But from what you told me, Roniel was the real pain in the backside, and I do not see how this will hurt her at all.  She will probably enjoy it.”

Eilian ignored him.  Someone was going to pay for his humiliation tonight, and Ganion was a far more acceptable target than the maidens were.  Ganion should never have let them take Eilian’s clothes.  He scanned the trees overhead.  “I am sure we are near the place where we killed the spiders today.  Do you see any signs of the webs?”

Gelmir looked up too.  They walked for another hundred yards or so.  Then Eilian said, “There they are.”  He pointed to thick grey strands high in the branches of an oak.  His patrol had cut down and burned most of the webs, but these strands were on a thin branch, and Eilian’s lieutenant had not wanted to risk sending anyone out onto it to cut the webbing down.  Eilian leapt into the oak and began to climb.  The branches bent under him as he edged toward the webbing.

“Be careful,” Gelmir called from the ground.

Eilian ignored him, stretched out flat along the branch, and inched along it.  The branch creaked but held, and he slid his belt knife out and sawed at the loop of web that was anchored to the oak.  Then, suddenly, the back of his neck prickled.  He froze, every sense alert.  The forest had gone still, just as it had that afternoon when he and Maltanaur had found this place.  Frantically, he looked around.

“It is looking,” hissed something behind him.

Eilian looked swiftly over his shoulder and saw a dark shape scuttling toward him from an adjacent tree.  With haste so careless it frightened even him, he scrambled back along the branch.  It bent alarmingly, and as soon as he could he swung himself to a thicker one, where he stood with his heart in his throat and drew his sword.  He cursed the absence of his bow, but when he had set out for the Glade, he had had no reason to think he would be anywhere near danger and had worn the sword only because it marked him as a warrior, a status he was proud of.  The spider stopped when it saw the sword in his hand.

“Stinger,” it creaked.

“Gelmir,” Eilian shouted, “do you see it?”

“Yes.”  Gelmir sounded half strangled, and Eilian risked a quick look to see him with an arrow fitted to the string of the bow he had been carrying when he came off duty, maneuvering around to find an angle from which he could shoot the spider.

“It was talking,” Eilian called.  “Look for another one.”  Gelmir pivoted, scanning the trees.

Eilian caught a glimpse of movement and turned back in time to see the spider charging at him, its pincers snapping.  Eilian twisted away, and thrust with all his strength to drive his sword into the creature’s left eye.  Black blood spurted, splashing onto Eilian’s arm. The spider shrieked, staggered, and tumbled slowly off the branch, as Eilian yanked his sword free and shoved at the beast with his booted foot.

He clung to the tree and looked around him, repeating to himself the orders that the novice masters had drilled into them.  “Look up and down as well as around.  Use your ears as well as your eyes.”  He saw nothing, and the only thing he heard was a soft murmur from the tree in which he stood.  “Do you see any?” he called to Gelmir.

“No.”

Eilian swung down to drop to the ground next to Gelmir.  “Perhaps it was talking to itself,” he said, struggling to draw even breaths.  Gelmir released his draw.  His right hand was shaking.  Eilian averted his eyes and made no comment.  Slowly, the two of them relaxed.

“That was bad,” Gelmir said.

Eilian grimaced.  “It is worse than you think. We have to tell the captain.”  Someone would have to come and search this area to make sure the spiders were all dead.  This one must have been away from the colony when Eilian’s patrol had found it that afternoon.

“The captain is not on duty right now,” Gelmir said.

Eilian shrugged.  “Then the lieutenant.”   He looked at Gelmir.  “I will do it,” he said.  “You do not need to come.”  The idea had been his.  Gelmir had been unenthusiastic from the start.  The lieutenant was not going to be happy that Eilian had crawled out on a spindly branch to retrieve webbing to use to play a joke.  Gelmir wavered for a moment.  “Really,” Eilian insisted.  “You do not need to.”

Gelmir heaved a long sigh.  “Thank you.”  They looked at the fallen spider.  Its hairy black legs were curled into its glittering body.  Eilian shuddered.

“Come,” he said, and the two of them started back toward the stronghold.

~*~*~

Ganion grinned.  “I was fortunate you spent the rest of that night hunting spiders rather than trapping me in nothing but my skin.”

Eilian eyed him with one eyebrow raised.  “You say you live here?  Then perhaps I will have a chance to repay your kindness during this visit.”

Ganion put up his hands in protest.  “Have mercy, Eilian.  I am married now, and that is a story I would rather my wife not hear.”

Eilian laughed.  “Then avenging myself will be easy.”  Ganion laughed too, although a little uncertainly.

The sound of an approaching step made them both turn to see Ithilden approaching.  “Mae govannen, Ithilden,” Ganion said, rising to his feet.

“Mae govannen,” Ithilden returned the greeting.  “It is good to see you again, Ganion.”

“My wife will have my mid-day meal ready soon,” Ganion said, “so I regret I must be on my way.”  He nodded to them both and walked off toward the village.  Eilian too stood.  He had to go on duty in a few minutes and had been expecting Ithilden, who was going to take on the responsibility of watching Legolas.

“Where is Legolas?” Ithilden asked.

Eilian nodded toward where the children were flitting in and out among the trees.  “He is playing over there.”  Legolas ran around with the others, although Eilian was not entirely sure his little brother understood the rules of whatever game it was they were playing.

Ithilden watched the children for a moment.  “Is that maiden in charge of them?”

“Yes.”

“She looks capable,” Ithilden said.

Eilian grinned.  Ithilden was probably wishing for Nimloth.  “She is capable,” he said, recalling the way the maiden had stopped the boy’s taunts with a single word.  “I will be on my way,” he said and started toward his tent to gather his weapons.

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

*******

Chapter 4.  Lost

Legolas ran after the bigger elfling, who suddenly dodged to his right, touched the trunk of a walnut tree, and cried, “Green refuge!”  Legolas was about to do the same thing when all the other elflings groaned, so he decided not to do it.

The big maiden who was taking care of them said, “Good for you, Isemir.”

“Can we play something different now?” complained a maid with red ribbons on her braids.  “Isemir always wins at Green Refuge.  Can we play Hide and Seek?”  Legolas liked that idea.  He played Hide and Seek with his friends at home.  He knew how that game went.

The big maiden nodded.  “Of course.  You be the seeker, Cólithiel.”  The maid with the red ribbons ran to fold her arms against a tree and bury her face in them.  She began to count, and the other children scattered.

Legolas ran through the underbrush, looking for a good place to hide.  He did not run as fast as he could because he was trying not to brush against the bushes or kick up the leaf litter.  His friend Annael was good at seeing such things, and these village children were all bigger than Annael, so Legolas thought one of them might be good at it too and use the clues to find him.  He found a thick clump of bushes.  Their leaves had fallen off, but he could see a little hollow behind them, and he crept into that, crouched down, and pulled the leaves over him.  Then he peered through the branches and waited.

He could hear Cólithiel still counting.  “Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred.  Here I come, ready or not.”  He heard her moving into the woods to one side of him.  A nearby maple tree buzzed happily, just as the trees at home did when Legolas and his friends played in the woods behind Annael’s cottage.  He felt warmer when he heard it and settled more comfortably into his nest of leaves.

He heard running footsteps.  “One, two, three on Isemir, running into goal!” called Cólithiel.  The running stopped, and Legolas heard Isemir groan.  Cólithiel moved again, this time coming toward where Legolas hid.  He held very still.  He saw her feet on the other side of the bushes, and for a moment, he thought she had found him, but her feet walked on past him and faded away.  He let out his breath.  She had been very close.  He needed to find a better spot.  He inched out from behind the bushes and tiptoed silently away into the woods.

Behind him, he could hear the big maiden calling something, but he could not make out what she said, and he was in a hurry, so he did not stop.  He hugged himself and smiled.  He was good at this game!  He would find a place so well concealed that he would be the last one hiding and he would win.

***

Ithilden slipped into the village’s meeting house and moved quietly toward the table.  Thranduil raised an eyebrow as he slid back into the chair he had been using all morning, and Ithilden leaned toward him.  “A village maiden is watching all the children,” he whispered.  “Legolas is with them.”

Thranduil nodded and turned back to where Feldor was speaking about his proposal to keep commonly owned horses in the villages, so goods could be packed from one village to another, using fresh horses at every stop.  The village leaders all seemed to like that idea.  Judging by his father’s manner, Ithilden judged that Thranduil liked it too.  He thought his father was less happy with the leaders’ unwillingness to talk about the animal hides and medicinal plants they might send back to the stronghold in payment for what they received, and he was amused to watch Thranduil struggling to wait patiently for an opportunity to steer them back to that subject.  Ithilden was glad he had been able to return to the negotiations.  He was sometimes able to temper his father’s more volatile reactions.

He suppressed a smile at a brief memory of his father’s face the previous evening when Legolas had spat the forbidden words.  He was certain Thranduil still had some things he wanted to say to Eilian about the matter, but in retrospect, Ithilden thought it had probably made the village leaders warm a bit to his father, seeing him less as a remote ruler and more as someone like themselves, whose children’s actions did not always make them puff with pride.

The door opened, and an elf-woman came in and stood quietly near the entrance.  Feldor looked at her and then at Thranduil.  “It is time for the mid-day meal, my lord.  Would you and Lord Ithilden do me the honor of eating with me and my wife in our cottage?”

“We would be honored,” Thranduil said.  He rose, and he and Feldor led the others out of the meeting house.  The other village leaders dispersed to various cottages.  Ithilden had noted with approval that the villagers had efficiently parceled them out so that no family had too great a burden to bear from visitors.  Thranduil had already invited everyone to a feast at their camp that night.  It would not do to eat his people’s food and not repay them.

Feldor’s cottage was small, but the central room was warm, a fragrant stew bubbled over the fire, and the odor of warm bread made Ithilden’s mouth water.  The palace kitchen sent well-prepared food to the royal table, but there was nothing like eating in the kitchen where the food had been cooked to warm the spirit as well as the body.  He waited for his father to nod his permission and took the place Feldor’s wife indicated.  She dished out the stew while Feldor sliced the bread.

A knock sounded at the door, and Feldor rose to answer it.  To Ithilden’s surprise, Eilian stood just outside the cottage.  He was on guard duty at the camp.  What was he doing here?  A faint alarm sounded in Ithilden’s head, and he rose to meet his warrior.

“I beg your pardon,” Eilian apologized to Feldor, “but I must speak with the king.”  As he turned to the table, his gaze settled on Ithilden, and suddenly his eyes widened.  He stepped inside.  “Where is Legolas?” he asked.

Ithilden blinked.  “What do you mean?”  Eilian knew quite well where Legolas was.  He was the one who had told Ithilden that the village maiden was watching him along with the other children.

Eilian took another step toward the table.  “Cook came and got me to tell me Legolas did not turn up for the mid-day meal.  Where is he?”

Ithilden’s heart sped up a little as he turned to Feldor.  “Do the children eat together?” he demanded, and then realized that he sounded like a troop commander rather than the diplomatic son of the king.  He softened his tone.  “Where does the maiden who watches the children take them to eat?”

Feldor looked startled, and his wife answered the question.  “The children all go home at mid-day, my lord.”

Thranduil too was on his feet now.  He spun to face Ithilden.  “Where did you leave him?”

Ithilden defended himself from what sounded like an accusation.  “He was playing with the village children.  A maiden was minding them.  Eilian said she was capable.”

“She was not minding Legolas!” Eilian cried.  “He was playing with the children, but she was watching them, not him.”  Ithilden’s knees suddenly felt weak.

“Where is she?” Thranduil demanded, turning to Feldor’s wife.

“She lives with her parents in a cottage a bit east of here,” she said.

Feldor was already putting on his cloak.  “I will take you.”

Thranduil reached for his own cloak, and Ithilden and Eilian followed him and Feldor out the door and along the path.  No one said anything, but Ithilden was aware of his father’s tight mouth and the lines between Eilian’s brows.  He thought his own face probably mirrored theirs.  Feldor stopped outside a cottage and knocked.   The maiden came to the door, gawked at Thranduil for a moment, and bobbed a curtsy.

Thranduil spoke before Feldor could.  “I am looking for my son,” he said.  “Do you know where he is?”

She looked uncertain.  “The little blond?  He said his brother was watching him.”  She nodded shyly at Eilian.  “When I called the children to go home for their mid-day meals, the little one did not come, but his brother was gone, so I thought they had gone to their own meal.”

Ithilden heard Eilian draw a quick breath, and his own breath caught in his throat.  “Where did you last see him?” Thranduil asked.  His voice was rough enough to make her take a half step backward.

“He was following another child when we played Green Refuge.  And he was there when we started the game of Hide and Seek, but we did not finish that game. It was time to go home to eat.”  She looked at Eilian again.  “You know where we were playing, my lord.  You saw us.”

Thranduil managed to say, “Thank you, mistress,” before he turned to Eilian.  “Where?”

“On the edge of our camp,” Eilian said.  His face had gone white.  Thranduil took a few long strides and then began to run toward their camp, with Ithilden and Eilian right behind him.

“I will gather people to help with the search, my lord,” Feldor called after them.

Surely this was a nightmare, Ithilden thought as he ran.  Surely Legolas would be at the camp when they got there.  He had not walked away and left his little brother in the woods with no one to care for him.  That could not have happened.  They emerged from the trees into the campsite to find most of their party gathered, looking concerned.  One look at their faces must have told those waiting what they wanted to know.  “What can we do?” Cook asked, stepping forward.

Thranduil turned to Eilian, his face grim.  “Where was Legolas the last time you saw him?”

Eilian opened his mouth but no sound came out, and Ithilden intervened.  “He was running through the trees over there.” Ithilden pointed in the direction he meant.  “I was the last one to see him, not Eilian.”  He looked at Thranduil.  “I misunderstood what Eilian said and walked away.  I am sorry, Adar.”

Thranduil threw him a single sharp look and then began dividing those in the campsite into pairs and organizing the search for Legolas.  Eilian took a hasty step toward their father, but Ithilden grabbed his arm.  “Get another guard to go with you and scout that whole area for signs of spiders or orcs or any dangerous animal for that matter,” Ithilden commanded.

“I want to help with the search,” Eilian said, his voice tight with fear.

Ithilden whirled on him.  “I need you to scout the area,” he said fiercely.  “The rest of us will look, but you are the best scout I have.  We need to know if there is danger.  Use your head, Eilian!”

Eilian opened his mouth to protest but paused, drew a deep breath, and said, “Very well.”  He took a quick look around and ran to grab the arm of another warrior and draw him off to the woods.  They leapt into the trees and moved swiftly away.

Thranduil snapped his fingers.  “Start where you last saw him,” he commanded.  Ithilden ran toward where he had last seen Legolas, with Thranduil right behind him.

***

Legolas peeked around the thick beech tree behind which he was hiding.  Cólithiel was taking a very long time to find him.  Surely he had won the game by now.  He listened as hard as he could, but he still heard no one.  He was beginning to be a little worried.  Maybe the big maiden had called him and he had not heard her and she had left him!  His stomach growled.  It must be nearly time for mid-day meal.  Why had Eilian not come to get him?  The maiden might leave him, but Eilian never would.

For a moment, he paused.  Maybe something had happened that he did not know about.  Sometimes the people who took care of you went away even when they did not mean to.  He examined that thought soberly.  Ada, Ithilden, and Eilian were warriors with swords and bows.  Nothing would happen to them.

Another explanation for his solitude occurred to him.  What if he had hidden so well that Eilian had not been able to find him?  What if no one had been able to find him?  He struggled to take a deep breath.  That was silly.  Of course his brothers and Ada would be able to find him. They were hunters.  They would just pretend Legolas was a rabbit and track him.  Besides, they did not have to find him.  He could go back to camp by himself.  He brightened at the thought.

He stood for a moment, trying to decide where camp was.  The beech tree was making a comforting sound that made him feel better, but it did not help him find the camp.  He did not hear any of Ithilden’s warriors or Cook or Eilian or anyone, but he did hear water rushing.  That was the stream, he thought with relief, and it was near their camp.  He would walk toward the stream, and when he got there, the camp would be there too.

He set off through the trees.  He could not go in a straight line because sometimes he had to go around bushes, but the sound of the water kept getting louder, so he knew he was going in the right direction.  In fact, the water was very loud.  The camp must be close.  He pushed through a screen of bushes, and to his surprise, his right foot went down into very cold water.  He grabbed at a branch to keep from falling and jerked his foot back.  He stared at the stream and then looked quickly right and left.  Where was their camp?

For a horrible moment, he stood where he was with his heart beating like the heart of the baby bird he had once held in his hands when he and his friends had found it on the ground.   They had run into Annael’s cottage with it, and as Legolas had been sure she would, Annael’s nana had taken it gently from them and told them she would take care of it.   But who would take care of him?  Legolas gripped the branch as hard as he could and tried to ignore how cold his wet foot was.  He backed through the bushes and sat down hard.  For a minute, he thought he might have to cry, but instead he said the only thing that seemed right for the occasion:  “Orc spit.”

***

With the other warrior moving in the opposite direction, Eilian flew through the branches.  They would make a wide circle around the place where Ithilden had last seen Legolas and then spiral in toward the camp in ever smaller loops.  He had scouted in this same way the day before and found nothing, and Ithilden had then simply set guards on the camp, seeing no need to seek out dangers that did not approach.  But with Legolas alone somewhere in the woods, they needed to know if any dangers were in the area while the searchers looked for him.

He strained with all his senses to feel any disturbance in the woods and could not help but hope that what he would find was trees humming contentedly at the presence of a wood-elf child.  He was circling the western side of his area when he heard it – not the pleased sound he had been listening for, but a tremor of fear running through the trees.  And striking fear into his own heart, the disturbed area was not to the west, the direction that was away from camp, but to the east.  Something was between him and the area where elves were searching for Legolas.  He had been a warrior for long enough now that he knew what it was almost immediately.  Ganion had said that webbing was found about two leagues west of the village.  With chilling certainty, Eilian knew that the spiders that had spun those webs were no longer that far away.

For a moment, panic choked him. His little brother was alone in these woods!  He wanted nothing more than to fly toward where Legolas had last been seen and drop to the ground to search for him. Then from nowhere came a fleeting thought of Maltanaur, telling him to do, not what he wanted, but what his training and orders required. With an effort as great as any he had ever made, he forced himself to be a warrior rather than simply an elf with someone he loved in danger.  He put his hand to his mouth and gave the loud call of a goose in its autumn flight.  Then he hurled himself east, leaping from tree to tree in great, soaring bounds.  He had gone only a dozen yards before he nearly missed landing on a branch that was at the extreme limit of his reach.  His heart leapt into his throat.  Remember Maltanaur, he told himself grimly.  Are you incapable of learning anything?  With a pain that was almost physical, he made himself be more cautious in his flight.

He knew he was close to the spiders, and to his relief, he decided there could not be very many of them.  The area they were disturbing was small.  He veered slightly to circle the distressed trees.  He needed to get between the spiders and the camp.  He stopped in a maple, sounded the danger signal again, and turned back to face the place where he thought the spiders infested the trees just a short distance away.

He knew that what he should do now was wait for other guards to arrive.  They were all searching the woods, so they were close by.  As soon as they heard his signal, they would come.  But waiting had always been agony for Eilian, and now that he was no longer moving, he had time to wonder where Legolas was.  What if he was beneath the trees where the spiders crouched?  The thought nearly drove all restraint from him, but in the part of his brain where Maltanaur was still giving advice, he heard his keeper telling him that battle was not a solo activity, and he would be mad to think he could stand between Legolas and danger all by himself.

He dug his fingernails into the maple’s bark and waited for what seemed like an eternity but was probably only a few dozen heartbeats before Ithilden landed next to him on the branch, his eyes narrowed and his jaw set.  “What have you found?” he demanded.  Eilian’s knees sagged in relief.  He could not think of a time when he had been happier to see his domineering older brother.

***

As he hastened ahead, Thranduil tried not to think about the anxious murmur of the trees or the signal of peril that had called Ithilden away.  Instead, he concentrated on the disturbed leaves and broken twigs that told him Legolas had come this way.  His son’s tracks had been hard to pick up, but once Thranduil and Ithilden had found this trail, following him had become far easier.  Legolas was going north toward the stream at a point a mile or so west of camp.  Thranduil refused to think about the tales he had heard of children drowning in a few inches of water.  He could feel Legolas’s presence through the bond that tied him to his son.  He is well, Thranduil told himself repeatedly. He is unhappy, but he his unharmed.

Off to his left, he heard the faint but unmistakable sound of arrows whistling through the air.  His heart raced and he hastened his step in time to it.  He skirted a stand of hawthorns and suddenly, he saw Legolas, looking west with his eyes wide and his fists clenched.  He lunged forward, and Legolas must have heard him coming because he whirled and launched himself into Thranduil’s outstretched arms.  “Ada! Ada! I knew you would come.”

Thranduil wrapped his arms around his son as if they could form a shield to keep off any harm that might ever threaten him.  “I would come for you anywhere, my heart.”  Legolas locked his arms around Thranduil’s neck and his legs around Thranduil’s waist and buried his face Thranduil’s neck.  Thranduil turned away from the sounds of battle and hurried toward camp with his child safe in his arms.

***

“That is Menelvagor,” Thranduil said.  “Do you see his silver belt?”

Legolas made no answer, and Thranduil looked down to see that his son had fallen asleep in his lap.  He pulled the blanket more tightly around the child and leaned back against the tree under which he had placed the camp stool.  The evening was cold.  He should take Legolas into the tent and settle him in his cot.  Perhaps Thranduil would be fortunate and have another night when Legolas’s forgotten blanket would cause no problems.  But he hated to go in just yet.  He spent too much time living in a cave.

Footsteps sounded, and Ithilden’s tall figure emerged from the night.  Except for a few quick moments in which Ithilden assured himself that Legolas was all right and Thranduil assured himself that there was no immediate danger of spiders invading the camp or the village, they had not seen one another since Legolas had been found.  Ithilden had taken his warriors and gone off to search the nearby forest for more spiders.

“We found a small colony west of here, my lord,” he reported, still standing in front of Thranduil.  “We destroyed them and their nests and webbing, and then looked until we were sure there were no more.”  His tone was that of a troop commander making a formal report to his king.

Thranduil looked at him thoughtfully.  “Would you like to sit with us for a while?  The ground is rather cold, I am afraid, but the sky is so clear that the stars are crowding one another in their effort to shine upon us.”

Ithilden hesitated and then sat down next to the stool.  He looked at Legolas’s sleeping face.  “How is he?”

Thranduil could not resist running his thumb lightly over Legolas’s round cheek.  Legolas stirred slightly and turned toward him.   “He is fine.  He behaved quite sensibly really.  He told me he walked toward the stream because he knew the stream was near camp.  I think he got over his fright before I got over mine.”

Ithilden grimaced and drew a deep breath.  “I am sorry, Adar.  My failure to make sure he was cared for was unpardonable.  If anything had happened to him, I do not know how I could have lived with myself, and I do not see how you could ever have forgiven me.”

Thranduil shifted the limp weight of the child sleeping in his arms and looked at the tight face of the overly responsible, battle-tried warrior at his side.  He considered the words his oldest son had just forced out and the agonized tone in which they had been spoken.  Ithilden had suffered in the months after his mother’s death, suffering that was no less real because it was quieter than Legolas’s noisy childish grief and less wild than Eilian’s self-destructive rush into danger.  He hesitated.  If something had happened to Legolas, forgiveness would have come hard, but the son who was in the most pain here was not the little one.  “We all make mistakes,” he said finally.  “You thought Legolas was being taken care of.  I can understand how that would happen.”  He smiled faintly.  “I once lost track of Legolas, Turgon, and Annael in the woods near home.  I think I was more frightened during those moments than I was in my first battle.”

Ithilden gave him a crooked smile.  He picked up a twig and twisted it in his hands.  He was still unwilling to forgive himself, Thranduil realized, no matter what pardon Thranduil might grant.

A step sounded, and Thranduil looked up to find Eilian approaching, with his bow in his hand.  He looked apologetically at Ithilden.  “I know I am still on duty, and I am on my way back to my guard post, but I wanted to see Legolas before I went.”  He leaned forward to look at Legolas’s face, pressed against Thranduil’s chest.  “I guess I will have to talk to him in the morning,” he said with a half smile.

“Come and eat morning meal with us,” Thranduil invited.  “You can see him then.”

Eilian hesitated and slid his eyes away from Thranduil’s.  “I will be late getting to bed.  I am not sure I will wake up in time to be there before you go.”

Thranduil had seen Eilian rise early after having had far fewer hours of sleep than he was likely to get this night, and more often than Thranduil liked to think about, having consumed excess wine.  He repressed a stab of annoyance.  Scolding Eilian for being unwilling to spend time with him was hardly likely to encourage his son to change.

Eilian took a step back and eyed the three of them a little wistfully, Thranduil thought.  “I will be on my way then, with your leave, Adar.”  Thranduil nodded his permission, and Eilian slipped away into the darkness.  For a few moments, Thranduil and Ithilden sat in a silence broken by the rustle of small animals in the underbrush, the noise of crickets and tree frogs, the song of the trees, and the sound of Legolas’s deep, even breathing.

“Eilian did very well today,” Ithilden finally said.  “He has an amazing instinct for finding trouble.”  Thranduil snorted, and Ithilden laughed.  “I mean that he knows sooner than anyone else when the enemy is near.  And he handled the situation exactly as he should have, calling for help and positioning himself between the spiders and the camp and village.  I read his captain’s reports, but I do not often have a chance to see him in action.  He has learned a great deal in the south.”

Thranduil looked up at the stars.  “Then why is he drinking so much and spending his time with elves he outgrew years ago?  I thought this might have something to do with Maltanaur being injured, but Eilian is avoiding me to such an extent that I have not been able even to try to get the story out of him.  Not that he is likely to confide in me in any case.”  He looked down at his baby, who still trusted him as the one who would come when he was in trouble.  He had held Eilian like this, and surely Eilian too had trusted him. Why did he not trust him now?  When had his second son wandered away and become lost to him?

Ithilden flung the twig away.  “I do not know what Eilian has on his mind.  I can ask.  I probably should ask, if it has anything to do with Maltanaur being hurt.  But Todith sent me a report on the incident, and I did not want to undermine him by going around him and questioning one of his warriors.  Do you want me to speak to Eilian?”

“No,” Thranduil sighed.  He had a sudden vision of his wife urging him to talk to an adolescent Eilian who had somehow managed to draw down the wrath of several adults at once on his head.

“He wants to talk to you,” she had claimed.  “He just needs to know that you want to hear what he has to say.”

Perhaps he should listen to his wife still, even though she herself was gone.  He drew a deep breath.  “I will talk to him.  I will even try to listen to him.”  He gathered Legolas in his arms and rose.  “You must be tired, Ithilden.” He grinned. “Come and I will tuck you and Legolas both in.”  Ithilden laughed, rose, and followed him into the tent.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

Chapter 5.  Concerning Maltanaur

“But did you see the spiders?” Cólithiel persisted.

Legolas hesitated, and Eilian looked up from the arrow shaft he was shaping to watch Legolas struggle with the temptation to give Cólithiel the answer she wanted to hear.  Eilian knew that Legolas had not even realized spiders were in the forest until he overheard warriors talking, and even then he seemed to find the notion of spiders exciting rather than frightening.  “No,” Legolas finally admitted.  “My ada came and found me then.”

Cólithiel made a disappointed sound, and Eilian looked down at his handiwork again, pleased by both his little brother’s unwillingness to lie and his matter-of-fact manner about having been lost.  Legolas had clung to his father yesterday, the day after his adventure, and cried when Thranduil left.  But today he had been excited when the two village children showed up in camp, and he had waved Thranduil a cheery goodbye.  Legolas had played happily with them near Eilian’s tent for most of the morning, although his face had looked strained when Eilian came out of his tent after ducking into it for just a moment to retrieve some feathers for fletching.

“It is your turn, Legolas,” said Isemir.  To Eilian’s amusement, Isemir was far less eager to hear about the spiders than the little maid was.  His face had grown paler with each question Cólithiel asked.

Legolas stepped forward eagerly, stopped, and carefully backed up until his feet were behind the line Isemir had drawn in the dirt.  Then he flung the acorn in his hand at the row of pebbles Isemir had arranged on a flat rock.  One of the pebbles skidded off the rock, and Legolas spun toward Eilian.  “Did you see that, Eilian?” he cried, his face flushed with pleasure. “I knocked a stone off.”

“So you did,” Eilian called.  “Good for you.”

Legolas turned back to the older children.  “Isemir won,” Cólithiel said, not dampening Legolas’s enthusiasm at all.  Isemir went to set the pebbles back on the rock.

A shadow flickered across the ground, and Eilian glanced up to find Thranduil standing next to him with his eyes on Legolas.  Eilian got hastily to his feet.  “How has he been?” Thranduil asked.

“Busy,” Eilian answered.

Thranduil laughed, and Legolas turned at the sound.  “Ada!” he cried and ran to fling his arms around his father’s waist.

Thranduil brushed the hair off his forehead.  “Did you have a good morning?”

“I did.  Isemir and Cólithiel showed me a new game.  I am not good at it yet though.”

“You are back early, Adar,” Eilian said.  “Has something happened?”

Thranduil smiled. “It has indeed.  I have reached what I think is a satisfactory agreement with the village leaders.  Ithilden is discussing some final details with them, so I took the opportunity to come back and see you and Legolas.”

Legolas looked up at his father with a face that was pink with pleasure, but Eilian shifted his weight uneasily.  He was not certain he liked the idea of Thranduil seeking him out like this.  His alarm intensified when Thranduil smiled at Legolas and said, “When I came through the camp just now, Cook told me he had apples and honey for you and your friends, Legolas.  You should go and ask him for them.”

Legolas’s eyes widened a little, and he whirled and ran back to Isemir and Cólithiel.   “Come,” he said excitedly.  They had heard what Thranduil said and needed no coaxing.  The three of them ran off and disappeared around Thranduil’s tent.

Thranduil sat on the blanket Eilian had laid on the ground.  “Sit down, Eilian,” he invited.

Eilian fiddled with the new arrow shaft in his hand.  “If you are going to care for Legolas now, I should get ready to go on duty.”

“You are not on duty for another hour yet,” Thranduil said.  His voice was easy, but Eilian noted that his father had taken the trouble to learn his schedule and dismay filled him.  “Sit,” Thranduil said.  Reluctantly, Eilian folded his legs under him and sank onto the blanket.

“I am sorry about Legolas’s language, Adar.  He crept into my bed one night and put his feet on my back, and it just slipped out.”

Thranduil nodded.  “I did not believe you would teach him such things deliberately, although if you used the words less yourself, they would not be so likely to ‘slip out.’”  Eilian made no reply.  His father was right, after all.  Thranduil looked off into the forest and smiled to himself.  “When I was your age, I had a friend whose language would set fire to the forest.  He is one of the most valiant warriors I know, and I treasure his friendship, but I am not sure I would want him spending time with Legolas.”

“I am sorry,” Eilian repeated.  What more did his father want him to say?  An appalling thought occurred to him.  “Are you saying you want me to stay away from Legolas?”

Thranduil looked shocked.  “Of course not.  You are good for one another.  He takes joy in your presence, and anyone can see how much you value his affection.”

Eilian relaxed.  “I will be more careful of what I say around him.”  The promise was easy to make; he had already decided to watch his tongue around his little brother.

“Good,” Thranduil said, “but that was not really what I wanted to speak to you about.”

Eilian squirmed under his father’s hawklike gaze.  Thranduil did not seem angry, but in Eilian’s experience, it was seldom a good thing when his father wanted to talk to him.

“Since you have been home this time, Eilian, it has become obvious to me that something is troubling you.  Will you not tell me what it is?  I would help you if I could.”

Eilian was startled into silence.  For a moment he considered denying that anything was wrong, but he could not bring himself to lie outright any more than Legolas had been able to.  “Why do you say that?” he temporized.

“Because you are drinking yourself into oblivion on a nightly basis,” Thranduil said bluntly, “and are spending your time with elves you would ordinarily dismiss as frivolous fools.  You are better than that, Eilian, and I cannot bear to see you hurting yourself so.”

Eilian looked down at the arrow shaft, clutched tightly in his hand.  His heart sped up a little, caution warring in his breast with the desire to talk to someone about what happened.  Should he take the chance and talk to his father?

His father placed a long, elegant hand on Eilian’s knee.  “Tell me about it,” Thranduil coaxed.  “You must have a reason.  Tell me what it is.”

Eilian stared at his father’s hand and drew a deep breath.  “I do not know how much Ithilden told you about the last mission Maltanaur and I were on.  You know we found Orcs.  Did you know that I was supposed to go back to get the rest of the patrol while Maltanaur kept watch?”

“No.”  Thranduil’s voice was steady enough to be encouraging, and Eilian went on with his tale.

~*~*~

About two weeks earlier

Maltanaur glared at him fiercely and said, “If you take a single unnecessary risk, I swear I will make you sorry, Eilian.”

“Stop worrying.”  Eilian leapt to the next tree to start his journey to camp.  He kept his gaze on the shadowy cave opening, hoping to catch a glimpse of movement within so he would know whether Orcs were indeed still in the cave rather than out on their night’s hunt.  The smell of meat suggested that at least some of the band might have been left behind to tend to the smoke pit.  Todith would want to know what he was facing when he brought the patrol and set up an ambush.

He slowed his pace, considered what he might do, and began to drop down through the branches trying to get into a better position for seeing into the cave entrance.  Above him, he heard a slight stir in the branches and grinned to himself.  Maltanaur would be fuming, but he would never risk betraying their presence by making a sound.  Eilian quickened his pace.  Maltanaur would not say anything, but he could descend silently through the trees like an avenging eagle and seize Eilian by the scruff of his neck.  He wanted to take a quick look and then be on his way before Maltanaur decided to do just that.

His eyes still on the cave entrance, he leapt toward a branch about ten feet above the ground.  He felt the branch beneath his foot, and then suddenly, he felt it slide away as his foot skidded on a patch of ice and shot off into empty space.  He grabbed frantically for a handhold.  His fingertips touched a branch, scrabbled for a hold, and then touched only air, and he was falling.  He twisted quickly and landed with a half roll, ending flat on his back struggling to draw air back into his lungs.

“Who’s there?” growled a voice, and heavy steps came from the direction of the cave.

So Orcs were in the cave, he thought stupidly.  Then his mind caught up with his body’s situation, and his heart began to pound, and he sprang to his feet.  He drew his sword and whirled to find two surprised looking Orcs descending upon him with their scimitars raised.  He parried the first blow and backed up quickly, trying to keep both Orcs in front of him.  He feinted at the one to the right, and slashed at the other one, knocking his scimitar aside and cutting him across the ribcage.

With a roar that startled even Eilian, Maltanaur leapt from the trees, landed behind the Orcs, and before they had time to take in his presence, he drove his sword between the ribs of the one Eilian had wounded.  Eilian took advantage of the other Orc’s surprise to leap forward and shove the tip of his sword into the Orc’s belly.

Maltanaur had his foot in the back of the Orc he had killed and was struggling to yank his sword free.  From the corner of his eye, Eilian glimpsed a blur of movement.  “Look out!” he shouted and jumped toward his keeper, but not in time to prevent the Orc who had run out of the cave from stabbing Maltanaur in the back.

Maltanaur’s eyes widened.  He let out a faint “oof” and crumbled to the ground.  With a cry, Eilian swung his sword at the third Orc and cut halfway through his neck.  Black blood spurted, and the Orc fell.

Eilian raced to Maltanaur’s side. “Are you all right?” he cried inanely.  He knew that his keeper was certainly not “all right.”

“Check the cave,” Maltanaur gasped.  Cursing himself for a fool, Eilian scrambled to his feet and ran to do as he had been bid.  He flattened himself next to the cave entrance, scanned as much of it as he could see from that position, and then rushed through the opening with his sword ready to strike.  The cave was a large one, and although he saw no Orcs, he took the time to check the edges for hidden openings.  He did not want to be surprised while tending to Maltanaur.  He found nothing and sheathed his sword to run back out and drop to his knees by his keepers’ side.

Blood spread wetly across the back of Maltanaur’s tunic.  “I am sorry,” Eilian moaned, but Maltanaur did not answer and Eilian realized he was unconscious.  He used his knife to enlarge the cut the Orc’s scimitar had made and looked at the wound.  It was deep, he realized and clamped his hand over it as he fumbled for his emergency healing kit.  “I am sorry,” he gasped again, working frantically to stem the bleeding.  “That was my fault.  I am sorry.”  But Maltanaur lay pale and silent.

~*~*~

“As he has done ever since,” Eilian said.  “I got him back to camp, and Todith had us on our way home within the hour.  The healers say he is out of danger, but if that is true, why does he not wake up?”  He could hear his voice trembling.

Thranduil squeezed his knee.  “The body takes its own time to heal,” he said.  “Trust the healers.  Maltanaur will wake up when he is ready.”

Eilian shook his head.  “He said he would make me sorry if I took any risks, and instead he is the one who paid for my stupidity.”

“But I think you are sorry,” Thranduil said, with surprising gentleness.  “And if you let your regret teach you some wisdom, perhaps your sorrow will not have been wasted.”

Eilian looked at him.  Instead of the disapproval he had expected, he found his father’s face soft with sympathy.  “I am going to try to learn,” he vowed.  “If Maltanaur recovers, I swear I will never put him in that kind of position again.”

Thranduil patted his knee and took his hand away.  “Maltanaur will be happy to hear that when he awakens.”

Eilian drew a deep breath and lifted his eyes to his father’s face.  Thranduil looked remarkably calm, and although Eilian knew his father could mask his emotions well when he wanted to, he was comforted.  Perhaps what he had done had not been so unforgivable after all.

Thranduil pursed his lips.  “Ithilden does not seem to know what you just told me,” he said mildly.

Eilian grimaced and looked away.  Well, he had not expected to escape all blame, and his father’s observation was gentler than what Eilian had been saying to himself.  “I did not have time to tell Todith all the details.  I said it was my fault, but he did not ask me anything further.  I will tell him when we go back.  If we go back,” he added soberly.  The idea that he might report to Ithilden directly was simply not something Eilian intended even to consider.

At that moment, Legolas ran back around Thranduil’s tent, looking sticky with honey around the mouth.  “Ada, my friends had to go home,” he said.  “Will you stay with me now?”

“I will,” Thranduil said grasping at Legolas’s wrists before the child could put his hands on the wool of Thranduil’s cloak.  “Perhaps we will start by washing your hands and face.”  He rose, so Eilian did too.  But Legolas hung back to look at the shaft in Eilian’s hands.

“Is that for an arrow?” he asked.

“Yes,” Eilian said.

“I should learn to make arrows.  I am going to be a warrior too.”

A slow smile spread across Thranduil’s face.  “Legolas, would you like to sleep in the warriors’ tent with Eilian tonight?”

“Yes!” cried Legolas, his eyes lighting up.

Eilian nearly groaned.  Ithilden had told him that Legolas’s adventure had left him restless in the night.  He had apparently spent most of the previous night in Thranduil’s cot, with their father hanging off the other edge.  “I will be on duty until late,” he protested.

Thranduil grinned.  “You can come and get Legolas when you are finished.  This is his last chance,” Thranduil added wickedly.  “We will go home in the morning.”

Eilian laughed.  “All right.  I will come and get you, brat.”  He looked at Thranduil, who at least was willing to trust Legolas to him.  “Thank you, Adar.”

Thranduil nodded.  “Any time,” he said and led Legolas away.

***

Eilian slid from his horse as grooms came running from the stables to meet the king’s party.  Ordinarily, Eilian would have cared for his horse himself, but as they had neared home, he had become increasingly anxious to know how Maltanaur was doing.  “Would you mind taking him?” he asked a groom, patting the horse’s neck.

“Of course not, my lord,” the groom said and clucked to the horse to get him to follow him.

Thranduil was reaching up to lift Legolas off his stallion as Eilian approached.  “I am going to the infirmary, Adar. I will not be late for evening meal.”

Thranduil nodded.  “Take your time.  I know you have been worrying about Maltanaur.”

“Is your guard better?” Legolas asked with a frown.  “Are you going away?”

“I hope he is better,” Eilian answered, ruffling Legolas’s hair and privately thinking that if Legolas’s wishes ruled the world, poor Maltanaur would be in the infirmary forever.  “But I do not expect we will be going anywhere just yet even if he is.”  Satisfied, Legolas took Thranduil’s hand, and the two of them walked off toward the palace.

“Are you going toward the training fields?” Ithilden asked.  “I will walk with you.  I want to check on how things have gone in my office while I was away.”

Eilian accepted the company.  In his opinion, Ithilden’s very competent aide was capable of handling almost anything that could have occurred in Ithilden’s absence and might have been glad of the respite, but he held his tongue.  Ithilden would need to see for himself that all was well.  They parted at the entrance to infirmary.  “I hope Maltanaur is better,” Ithilden said.  “Give him my regards.”  Eilian nodded and Ithilden walked away.

No one was in the infirmary corridor, so Eilian simply opened the door to Maltanaur’s room and let himself in.  For a moment, he did not take in what he saw.  Then the empty bed registered, and his breath caught.  He whirled and raced back into the hallway where a healer was just emerging from another room.  “What happened?” he demanded.  “Is he--?”  He could not bring himself to finish the sentence.

She smiled.  “Calm yourself, my lord.  He regained consciousness two days ago and demanded to be moved to his cottage.  He made such a nuisance of himself that we finally gave in.  He is home with his wife.  She seemed to know how to manage him.”

Eilian realized that his mouth was hanging open and snapped it shut.  “Thank you,” he cried and half ran out of the infirmary and along the path to Maltanaur’s cottage.  He arrived on the doorstep a little breathless, more from excitement than from his run.  He knocked, and a moment later, Nindwen opened the door.

She smiled at him.  “Come in, Eilian.  I heard the king was back and have been expecting you.  He is in bed, although I am not sure how much longer I am going to be able to keep him there.”

Eilian followed her down the hall to the bedroom.  Maltanaur turned his head on the pillow and smiled.  “Ah.  So you have managed to stay in one piece even without me.  You must be growing wiser by the day.”

Eilian approached the bed.  “How do you feel?”

“As if I have lain in a bed for far too long.”

“And you will stay there a while longer yet,” Nindwen said bravely.  “I will go and make some tea.”  She disappeared, and Eilian took the chair next to the bed.

For a second, they sat in silence.  Then Eilian said what he had been waiting to say for so long. “I am sorry.”

Maltanaur smiled slightly.  “I heard you saying that in my dreams while I was in the infirmary.”

“I said it really.  I said it every time I went to see you.  You were hurt because I failed to heed your advice, and I am so sorry.”

Maltanaur sighed.  “True enough.  When we get back to the patrol, I intend to make you take all of my clean-up duty for a month.”

Eilian cringed.  Maltanaur was far too forgiving.  “That seems a small penalty to pay given what happened.”

Maltanaur grinned at him.  “Two months?”

Eilian gave a weak laugh.  “Done.”  He leaned forward.  “I want you to know that I have decided I will never put you in that kind of position again, Maltanaur.  I give you my word.”

Maltanaur raised an eyebrow.  “Your word?  Now that sounds promising.”

“You can count on it,” Eilian vowed.  He hesitated.  “I may make mistakes,” he said tentatively.

“Mistakes I can deal with,” Maltanaur said.  “Stupidity wears me down.”

Eilian laughed.  The door opened, and Nindwen came into the room carrying a tray with tea and slices of bread and butter.  Eilian jumped to his feet to take it from her.  “I cannot stay,” he said regretfully as he set the tray on the bedside table.  “I am expected at home.  But I will come back.”

“Do,” Maltanaur said.  “I will be in the sitting room the next time.”

Eilian laughed again and left the room with his heart lighter than it had been in weeks.

***

Ithilden strode into his aide’s office, looking forward to once again feeling that he knew what was happening throughout the Woodland Realm and was in control of how his warriors would respond to it.  “Good afternoon, Calith,” he said as his aide sprang to his feet.

“Good afternoon, my lord.  Welcome back.”  Ithilden handed Calith his cloak and passed through into this own office, where a small pile of papers sat in the middle of his desk with a larger one off to one side.  Calith followed him to stand in the doorway.  “I sorted out the things I thought you would want to see right away,” he said.  “The rest of it can wait.”

Ithilden nodded and sat down.  Calith started to leave but then turned back with a smile.  “You will be pleased to hear the Maltanaur is out of the infirmary, my lord.”

Ithilden was genuinely delighted.  “Excellent!  Eilian will be glad. He has been worried, I think.”  Calith left, and Ithilden reached for the smaller pile of reports thinking that while Eilian would be glad, Legolas would not.  Indeed, Ithilden himself was a little dismayed at the knowledge that he would soon have to let Eilian go south again.  He had secretly been pleased to have his brother in the safer Home Guard.

He toyed with the edge of a report for a moment.  He had let Eilian go south for the first time when Eilian had been a warrior for only six months, startling himself and outraging their father.  He smiled wryly, remembering the argument in Thranduil’s study.  Maltanaur had more or less been the deciding factor that time too.

~*~*~

Twenty years earlier

Temporarily suspending his disbelief over what the Home Guard captain was telling him, Ithilden finished reading the captain’s report on the spider hunt that had taken place the previous night.  He noted the fact that the captain was quite sure his warriors had now gotten rid of all the spiders in the area, and then went back to the report’s beginning, trying to take in the role that Eilian had played in learning that the creatures were still nearby.  Deler had been meticulously detailed in his account.  Eilian had wanted the webbing to play a joke on someone who had encouraged two maidens to take Eilian’s clothes while he was diving into the river near the Glade.  Deler believed Eilian had been drunk at the time.  Ithilden rubbed his temples.  What in Arda was he going to do with his seriously undisciplined brother?

“My lord?”

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

“Maltanaur asks to speak with you.”

Ithilden blinked.  “Send him in.”  He felt a twinge of apprehension.  What if Maltanaur wanted to say he was no longer willing to put up with Eilian’s antics and wanted to be reassigned?  No, Ithilden assured himself.  Maltanaur would have gone to Thranduil with that piece of news.

Calith stepped aside, and Maltanaur entered and saluted.  Ithilden waved him into the chair in front of his desk.  “You wanted to speak to me?”

“Yes.”  Maltanaur drew a deep breath.  “I am worried about Eilian.”

That makes two of us, Ithilden thought.  “How so?” he asked noncommittally.  Maltanaur probably knew more about Eilian’s behavior than Ithilden did, but there was no harm in being discreet.

“He is bored,” Maltanaur said, “and that is a dangerous state for him.  If you do not do something soon, he will go so far that he cannot find his way back, and all his potential will be ruined.”

“What do you suggest I do?” Ithilden demanded.  “You know as well as I do that Deler has assigned him palace guard duty and anything else unpleasant he can think of.”

Maltanaur waved his hand impatiently.  “All of that is only making things worse.  What Eilian needs is a challenge. He needs to be so absorbed in meeting some demand he sees as important that he has no time to even think of trouble, let alone get into it.”

“Such as what?”

Maltanaur leaned forward.  “He wants to join the Southern Patrol.  Let him do it.  Let me take him south.  I will watch him and discipline him if he needs it, but I believe he will settle down when he faces real trouble, and he will become what he is capable of being instead of frittering his time away like an overgrown child.”

For a moment, Ithilden was speechless.  “Are you mad?  He thinks spider webbing is a plaything!   How could I possibly justify sending him south?”

Maltanaur eyed him shrewdly.  “You mean explain it to the king?  That would be difficult, I grant.”

“Yes, it would,” Ithilden said with heartfelt agreement.

“You would have to warn Todith what he was getting, of course,” Maltanaur conceded, “and the agreement would be that if Eilian was too rash or unbiddable, he would come home.  But Eilian would respond well to such an assignment, my lord.  I know he would.  He would take it as a sign of your faith in him, and he would strive to live up to that.”

Ithilden stared at him in dismay.  What Maltanaur was suggesting sounded only too plausible.  “He is not ready,” he protested.

“Let me take the next two months to make him ready,” Maltanaur said, “and then assign us to the south.”

Ithilden turned the idea over in his head.  “You would be willing to leave your family?”

“My daughter is grown, and my wife would understand.  Eilian is too good to let him be spoiled like this.”

Ithilden looked down at the report he had just been reading.  He is right, he thought.  Eilian cannot go on like this.  “Very well,” he said heavily.  “I must speak to the king first, but if he agrees, I will tell Eilian that he can go south in two months if he does well at whatever extra training you can him.  He would stay there only as long as you and Todith agree.”

Maltanaur drew a deep breath.  “Good.  You will not regret this, Ithilden.  He will thrive, you will see.”

“I hope so,” Ithilden said bleakly.  His father would have his head if Eilian came to harm because Ithilden had misjudged his readiness.  And their mother would never forgive him.

~*~*~

And Eilian had thrived, for the most part anyway, Ithilden thought now.  Todith was sometimes rather vague about events, and Ithilden suspected that Maltanaur still used a firm hand occasionally, but in the south, Eilian had turned into a warrior who was respected and valued by his captain and his mates.  His drinking since Maltanaur was hurt was unusual, rather than the constant source of worry it had been twenty years earlier.

Thranduil said he had talked to Eilian while they were still at the village, and he thought Eilian would settle down a bit.  Ithilden fervently hoped so.  With Maltanaur on the mend, Eilian’s return to the south was only a matter of time, and Ithilden would have to once again resign himself to letting his brother go.

Why can they not all stay where I can keep an eye on them? he wondered sadly and then realized how childish he sounded.  The world was wide and cruel, and he was going to have to let those he loved wander in it without him on guard at their side.  It could not be helped.  He would do what he could, and then he had to let them go.

***

Maltanaur settled happily into the chair, as Nindwen fussed about putting a cushion behind his sore back and draping a blanket over his legs.  “I wish you would just stay in bed for a few more days,” she mourned.

He caught at her hand.  “When I get tired, I will go back.  Do not worry so, Nindwen.  I have no intention of falling unconscious again just yet.”

She smiled weakly and kissed the top of his head.   “You frightened me.”

“I know.  I am sorry.”  A knock sounded at the door.  “That will be young Thranduilion,” Maltanaur said and released her hand.  He leaned back carefully to find a comfortable position while he waited for Nindwen to admit Eilian.  He was pleased with his charge just now.  Eilian was a bit wild sometimes, but like his father, he treated a promise as sacred, and if Eilian had learned a lesson from this experience, then Maltanaur counted his pain well worth it.

Nindwen appeared in the sitting room doorway with an odd smile on her face.  “You were right,” she said.  “Young Thranduilion would like to talk to you.” She stepped aside to reveal not Eilian’s tall, lean figure, but a small, determined-looking Legolas.

Maltanaur gaped at him.  Legolas’s mouth was set in an expression that reminded Maltanaur of no one so much as Thranduil.  “Go in and sit down, Legolas,” Nindwen invited.  “I will get some cider.”  A little to Maltanaur’s dismay, she left the room while Legolas marched in and sat on a stool near Maltanaur’s knees.

Maltanaur smiled at the child.  “It is kind of you to visit me, Legolas.”

“Are you better now?”

“I am getting better by the day.”  Maltanaur was absurdly pleased by Legolas’s concern.  He would never have expected Legolas to worry about him.

“Are you and Eilian going away soon?”

Maltanaur’s warm glow faded.  Suddenly he thought he knew exactly what Legolas was concerned about, and he doubted very much if it was his health.  “We will be home for a while yet.”

Legolas chewed the inside of his cheek.  “You got hurt,” he observed.

Maltanaur nodded.

“How can you guard Eilian if you get hurt?”

Maltanaur looked at the child’s anxious face and felt his heart twist with pity.  This little one had lost his mother less than a year ago.  Maltanaur knew that Eilian doted on the elfling and thought Legolas returned his brother’s affection.  “I will try not to let it happen again,” Maltanaur pledged.  He was aware of how ridiculous the promise was, but Legolas seemed pleased by it.

“If you do not guard Eilian well, I will be very angry,” Legolas declared in a severe tone that once again reminded Maltanaur of the king.

“I will remember that,” Maltanaur said.  He eyed the elfling thoughtfully.  Eilian treasured this bossy little creature who was so worried about him.  Perhaps Maltanaur could make use of that.  Eilian would not want to make Legolas unhappy.  Maltanaur smiled at the thought.  Yes, he could use that.

Nindwen came back into the room with cider and slices of gingerbread.  Legolas hesitated over the plate of gingerbread.  “Turgon and Annael are waiting for me,” he said.  “May I take them some gingerbread?”

“Of course you may,” Nindwen said and put three slices in his cupped hands.

He stood.  “Thank you for having me.  I had a lovely time.”

Maltanaur could not help laughing.  “Come again any time, Legolas.  And do not worry.  I will take good care of Eilian for you.”  Legolas left the room with an amused Nindwen attending him.  As Maltanaur took a drink of his cider, he remembered the day he had told Thranduil he would be happy to watch over his second son.

“Are you sure?” Thranduil had asked.  “He will be a handful.  I hope you do not wind up regretting your decision.”

Maltanaur smiled to himself.  Of course he did not regret his decision.  Life was long and sometimes tedious.  Who in his right mind would ever regret becoming part of the life of the endlessly amusing members of the House of Oropher?

The End

The Troop Commander and the King—A Missing Scene

A birthday scene for Gwynhyffar

This scene grows out of the discussion between Ithilden and Maltanaur in the last chapter.  It's also referenced in Chapter 5 of "The Novice."

Thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading.

*******

Ithilden pulled himself erect.  This is your decision, he reminded himself.  You have been Troop Commander for years, and the fact that Eilian is now in the mix changes nothing.  In the dining room down the hall, a servant laughed.  Ithilden grimaced, then knocked too hard on the unyielding oak, stinging his knuckles.

"Come."  His father's deep voice sounded muffled, and when Ithilden entered, he found Thranduil with his back to the door and his gaze on the map tacked to the wall.  Scattered red-topped pins marked encounters with orcs, mercifully far to the south of the stronghold.  Thin streams of black ones showed where spiders had appeared in the last week.  Ithilden grimaced at the one within half a league of where they now stood.

Thranduil glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to the map.  "What word from Deler?"

"He says he is sure the Home Guard has destroyed all the spiders from that colony."

Thranduil grunted.  "And did he say how they came so close without being detected in the first place?"

"No, my lord, but he is increasing the patrols to lessen the chances of it happening again."

Thranduil dropped into the chair behind his desk.  He gestured permission for Ithilden to sit too, but Ithilden stayed on his feet.  Thranduil raised an eyebrow.  "You have something more?"

"Yes, my lord."  Ithilden drew a deep breath.  "I have decided to transfer Eilian."

Thranduil's jaw tightened.  "I should think so.  Just what was his role in this?"

Ithilden hesitated.  "When he saw them, he was off duty, but of course, he reported them at once and joined in the effort to drive them out.  Deler said nothing about his performance in the fight, so I assume he did well."

"That is not what I mean, and you know it.  He was evasive when he talked about finding them. What happened?"

"He was off duty, my lord, so his actions are not my concern as Troop Commander."

"But you know what they are?"

"I do.  Deler reported them because he evidently felt they reflected on Eilian's readiness as a warrior."

"You believe they do not?"

"I believe you are asking about them not because he is one of your warriors, but because he is your son."

Thranduil stiffened.  "Are you saying I am wrong to do so?"

Ithilden kept his voice even.  "No, my lord.  I am saying if you want to know what happened, you should ask Eilian."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed.  For a long moment, he contemplated Ithilden, his face impassive.  "Very well.  I will do just that.  What have you decided to do with him?"

"I am sure you agree the person who knows him best as a warrior is Maltanaur."  Ithilden waited until Thranduil gave a curt nod.  "He has made a recommendation, and I have decided to follow it."

"Stop beating about the bush, Ithilden.  What are you going to do?"

Ithilden's heart thumped, but he met his father's eyes steadily.  "Eilian will spend the next two months in intensive training with Maltanaur.  Then, if Maltanaur believes he is ready, the two of them will join the Southern Patrol."

Thranduil sat immobile, his lips slightly parted.  He bounded to his feet and lunged toward Ithilden, hands on the desk.  "Have you taken leave of your senses?" 

Ithilden held his ground, but could not help drawing his head back.  "No, my lord.  I do not believe I have."

Color rose up Thranduil's neck.  "What can you possibly be thinking?  Eilian has six months' experience as a warrior.  It is madness even to consider sending him south."

Ithilden grimaced at the echo of the words he himself had spoken when Maltanaur raised the suggestion.  There was no room for doubt now, though.  He had made up his mind, and if he wanted to prevail, he needed to hold firm.  "Maltanaur believes Eilian would do well, and I agree."

Thranduil swept his hand back toward the map.  "Look at that!  You see how the orcs multiply?  We are talking about your impulsive, thick-headed, only occasionally adult brother."

In the face of his father's fury, Ithilden hesitated then eased out a long breath.  If he backed down now, he would never be in control of his forces again.  "By the trust you have placed in me, the decision is mine to make, my lord, and I have made it."

Thranduil gave a short, incredulous laugh.  "Are you defying me?  I am your adar and your king."  He dropped back into his chair.

"You can overrule me, of course, my lord.  If you have lost confidence in me, I could step down as Troop Commander."

For a long moment, Ithilden braved the force of his father's keen eyes.  Thranduil shifted slightly, and Ithilden let his gaze fall to the desktop in time to glimpse the trembling of his father's left hand.  Thranduil stilled it, then clasped his hands and drew them out of sight into his lap.

Belatedly, Ithilden accepted his father's invitation to sit.  He leaned forward.  "Maltanaur says Eilian needs the challenge, Adar.  He promises to look after Eilian, knock him around a bit if he needs it, and bring him home if he refuses to listen to reason."

Thranduil looked down, then up.  His mouth twisted.  "The appalling part is that Eilian would be thrilled."

Ithilden snorted.  "True.  But he cannot go on as he is, Adar.  You know that."

Thranduil ran a hand over his face.  "Wait until I tell your naneth before you speak to Eilian."  Now that he had accepted the idea, he spoke briskly.  "Wait until I speak to him too.  I want to find out what he was doing last night when he stumbled on the spiders.  Then I intend to instill an acute fear of the Valar and more importantly of me before you send him anywhere."

"I had plans to do that do that too, and I think Maltanaur has similar intentions."

Thranduil leaned back in his chair, raised his eyes, to the ceiling, and smiled.  "Perhaps your naneth will want to have a word with him."

Ithilden laughed.  "That should shake him up a bit."  He rose.  "With your permission, I will tell Maltanaur though, and probably Deler.  They need to make plans."

Thranduil nodded.

At the door, Ithilden stopped and turned back.  "If I thought there was another way, I would take it."

"I know."  Thranduil nodded.  "No commander was ever more careful with his warriors.  I will point that out to your naneth, and she will undoubtedly tell me again how fortunate I am to have you."

Ithilden allowed himself a rare grin.  "When I was an elfling, you told me Naneth was always right."

Thranduil laughed and waved.  "Go."

Ithilden went on his way, elation at having won his way gradually fading to sober apprehension.  This was the only way he could see to save his brother from himself, but the Valar help him if Eilian came to harm.

The Captain and the Body Guard—Missing Scene 2

The orc's stench seared Eilian's nostrils.  Its wide mouth parted over a thick red tongue and yellow fangs, and the muscles in its arms bulged as it struggled to slide its scimitar off Eilian's blade.

Eilian's arms trembled.  For a slice of an instant, his vision blurred, and he watched himself from far overhead, somewhere safe in green shade, battling with this orc, or was it the one he had killed a moment ago, or perhaps the one from last night?

A bead of sweat stung his left eye.  With a shout, he heaved the creature away from him, swung his sword in a whistling arc, and drove it into the orc's neck.  Black blood gushed down Elian's arm.  Surprise flickered in the orc's yellow eyes.  It sagged, and he yanked his sword free of its weight and spun, searching for prey.

At his back, Maltanaur turned with him.  Around them, the warriors of the Southern Patrol surged among the trees.  Gelmir drove his blade into a retreating orc's back, and it took Eilian a moment to realize that orc had been the only one still on its feet.

Sórion appeared at his side.  "Are you all right, Captain?"

"How do I look to you?" Eilian snapped.  Sórion's face became impassive, and Eilian clamped his mouth shut.  He drew a long breath.  "Did we get them all?"

"Two managed to slip away," the lieutenant said.  "I sent four warriors after them."

Eilian frowned in the direction Sórion pointed.  "Maltanaur and I will go too."

"No."  Maltanaur's voice was pleasantly calm.  "If four Elves can not take care of two orcs, then the novice masters need to grovel at the king's feet.  If you and I went, that would just be taking unfair advantage, and we would not want that, would we?"

Eilian tried to smile at the feeble joke.  Maltanaur was probably right.  His warriors would dispose of the two who escaped.  And even if Maltanaur were wrong, what did it matter?  More orcs would come tomorrow, if not these two, then others.

Maltanaur slapped him on the back.  "We will leave a crew to dispose of the bodies while we go back to camp."

Eilian frowned.  He ordinarily stayed until his entire patrol was ready to head home.  But Sórion was already pointing to half-a-dozen warriors, indicating they should start collecting the corpses.  Maltanaur left his hand on Eilian's back and started toward camp.  Eilian gave a single glance backward and let himself be steered.  Sórion had things in hand, and no one else seemed surprised the lieutenant was directing the clean up.

It was not yet dawn when he and Maltanaur entered the patrol's campsite.  The two warriors he had left on guard duty shot them a quick look and then turned their attention back to the forest around them.

"I will see what is to be had to eat," Maltanaur said.

Eilian dragged himself to where his bedroll was laid out.  He unbuckled his scabbard and dropped to the ground with a grunt, then leaned over, grabbed his pack, and fumbled in it for the cloth he used to clean his sword.  With care, he set to removing every drop of black blood from his blade.

The smooth slide of steel under his hand was soothing.  He had done this task hundreds of times.  And would probably do it hundreds more, he thought suddenly.  Thousands more.  Forever.  Or rather until Sauron drove them back step by step, tree by tree in defeat.

His mouth twisted.  Whine away, he jeered at himself.  That will certainly help.

He continued cleaning his sword, trying to think of some tactic he might use to stem the flow of orcs ever further north, but his brain felt slow and distracted, and his thoughts spun in tight little repetitious circles.

The rest of the patrol streamed out of the trees.  Sórion spotted Eilian and came to stand a yard or so away from him.  Eilian raised an eyebrow.

"We caught the other two and burned all the bodies."  Sórion's face was still unreadable.

Eilian felt a twinge of guilt.  He should not have snapped at his lieutenant.  "Good.  Good job."

Sórion's shoulders loosened a little.

Eilian nodded toward the fire, where Maltanaur had dug out the leftovers from the meal they ate before they set off on patrol.  Eilian's warriors were gathered around him, helping themselves.  "Get something to eat."

Sórion put his hand over his heart, then obeyed.  The patrol members scattered into small groups to eat.  Gelmir hesitated but then joined two other warriors on the far side of the campsite.  It occurred to Eilian that his patrol had carefully skirted around him, leaving him all by himself in a circle of isolation.  Well, he could scarcely blame them.  He was exhausted and in a bad temper, as he had been far too often lately.  If he had any choice, he would not have sat with himself either.

Maltanaur approached, bearing two plates of cold venison.  When he extended one, Eilian shook his head.

"I am not hungry.  I think I just need some sleep."  He lay back on the bedroll and flung his arm over his eyes to block Maltanaur from his sight.  He should take off his boots, he thought.  He waited for Maltanaur to go away so he could do it.

Maltanaur's voice said, "Walk with me, Eilian."

Eilian cracked one eye open to find that his keeper had set the plates on the ground and stood waiting for him.  "Not now."

"Now."

Behind Maltanaur, Eilian glimpsed Gelmir and Sórion watching them.  He grimaced and struggled to his feet.  Judging from the hard line of Maltanaur's mouth, this conversation should take place in whatever privacy they could find.

Maltanaur led the way into the trees, and Eilian followed, so tired that his feet scuffed in the dead leaves. 

"What is so important that you have to drag me from my bed?"

Maltanaur drew a deep breath.  "You need to go home."

"What?"

"You need to go home.  Today.  As soon as it is light."

Eilian's gut tightened.  "Did a message come while we were away?  Is something wrong at home?"

Maltanaur raised his hands and patted the air.  "No.  Not that I know of, at any rate."

Eilian breathed again.  "What then?"

Maltanaur's brows drew down.  "Are you really so dense?  Surely it has occurred to you that you have shadow sickness."

"Of course I have shadow sickness. So do you.  So does everyone here to some degree.  Mine will ease when I go home on leave next month."

Maltanaur shook his head.  "You will not make it to next month, Eilian.  You are behaving more and more recklessly every night.  Tonight I was unsure if it mattered to you whether you or that last orc survived."

Eilian froze.  Had it mattered to him?

Maltanaur put a hand on Eilian's shoulder.  "Listen to me, son.  Get the wool out of your ears and listen.  You need to be away from the shadow for a while, and you need to see the healers."

Eilian licked his lips.  His heart fluttered with a sudden longing to be home.  But how could he go and leave his patrol to keep fighting when they too were exposed to the shadow?  How could he give in like that and ignore his duty?  He pictured his father's face, dark with disapproval, and pulled away.  "I cannot."

He started back to the campsite, but Maltanaur caught his arm in a painfully strong grip.  "You can, and you will."

Eilian drew his head back.  Maltanaur sounded almost angry.

"I will not stand by and watch you destroy yourself," Maltanaur said.  "You are going home if I have to tie you up and drag you."

"You can make the attempt."  Eilian tried to yank free, but Maltanaur's fingers tightened.

"I would not have to do it alone.  Do you think I am the only one worried about you?"

Eilian thought about the look he had seen on Gelmir's face, and in his head heard Sórion asking him if he was all right after the battle.  He flinched.  Did everyone in the patrol think him unfit for duty?

Maltanaur leaned closer.  "You are going home, Eilian.  Accept it."

Eilian glared at his keeper, but Maltanaur did not so much as blink.  Astonishment flared at the back of Eilian's head.  He had no choice.  He was going home.  For a shameful instant, he was flooded by relief so intense that his knees weakened.

Maltanaur must have felt it because his grip eased fractionally, and he helped Eilian to sit beneath a stunted maple.  He dropped to the ground next to him.  "You have done enough," he said gently.  "For now, you have done enough.  Darkness still spreads, I know, but you do not have to lose yourself in it.  Trees flourish at home, and there are people there who love you and can help you."

Eilian shook his head.  It would not be enough.  He was beyond help, beyond hope.  They all were, only the rest of them did not know it yet.  They had failed.  He wrapped his arms around his knees and put his head down on them.  "I am so sorry."

To his horror, his voice broke.

Maltanaur put his arm around Eilian's shoulders.  "You have nothing to be sorry for.  No one could have done more than you have done."

Eilian shuddered, and Maltanaur pulled him closer.  Black despair swept over Eilian, like the orc's blood gushing down his arm.  He could not help himself.  He laid his head on Maltanaur's shoulder and wept.

"Shh," Maltanaur murmured.  "Shh."  Rocking slightly, he put his hand on the back of Eilian's head.  "It will be all right.  I promise it will be all right."

Eilian dug his fingers into Maltanaur's sleeve and held on.  It will be all right, he told himself desperately.  I will go home as soon as it is light.  He clung to Maltanaur and waited for the dawn.