AN: This is set just after the last chapter of Journeys of Discovery. Legolas and his cousins and friends are all around the age of 25. It will have three parts.

River Journeys: Part One

"Aradunnon, before you flee, I need a word with you," Celonhael called as the king's counselors began gathering their materials from the morning meeting.

No one else had yet managed to rise from the table, but Aradunnon was already three long steps towards the door before Celonhael had spoken. He marched off at least a half a dozen more paces before Celonhael had finished his sentence. With an exaggerated sigh, Aradunnon looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to fully face Celonhael, much less return to the table.

Celonhael smiled and shook his head. "I need your leave to request an escort from either the Path Guard or the Capital Guard for the elves taking our trading supplies to Esgaroth. Naturally they will need the escort for the return journey as well, since they will be bringing back the King's wine. His butter and other foodstuffs, as well," he added, "but I think both you and the King will be most concerned with the wine's safe arrival." Celonhael winked at Thranduil, who had unburied himself from his paperwork and turned his attention to his councilor's conversation at the mention of the wine finally coming from Esgaroth.

"Can you tell me why you think the raft elves need an escort for this particular trip to Esgaroth?" Aradunnon asked, turning more fully towards Celonhael with a frown. "They certainly do not normally have any sort of escort."

Celonhael laughed lightly. "Honestly, Aradunnon, what do you do during our meetings? You do not appear to be asleep. Are you composing music or literature in your head? That seems unlikely. Perhaps you are scheming new ways to cheat at the contests on the Green."

Aradunnon suppressed the smile that automatically sprang to his lips in response to that challenge and drew himself up in mock indignation. "I beg your pardon, Celonhael. I do not need to cheat to best you in any of the games on the Green. Perhaps you would like to test that claim tonight?" he retorted, a sharp gleam lighting his eyes at the prospect of a good archery match.

"No, thank you," Celonhael hastily responded, holding up his hands, palms toward Aradunnon, in surrender. "I have little of value left to lose to you. Unless you intend to force me to gamble for your leave to request an escort. I suppose I cannot refuse you, if that is the case." He paused and smiled. "I trust that is not your intent and I may ask one of the guards for the escort? Four warriors should be more than sufficient."

Aradunnon tilted his head to one side and frowned. Save the mischievous glint in his eyes that he could not conceal, he did his best to give every appearance of considering the idea of making Celonhael win the escort in a contest.

Celonhael put his hands on his hips.

"Of course you can request the escort," Aradunnon said, laughing and waving a hand to forestall Thrandui's intervention. "From Dollion, if you please. The Path Guard is a stretched a bit thin already since they are helping to hunt for the patrols' supplies, so I would prefer for the escort to come from the Capital. But truly, why do you feel the raft elves need an escort for this journey?"

Thranduil answered that question, rolling his eyes dramatically towards the leaves carved on the ceiling of the Hall as he spoke. "For the same reason we just spent over half the meeting discussing what provisions we could send to the raft elves' village and to the other villages along the river: the river is flooded. If the river is flooded so badly that it has ruined the supplies of the villages on its banks, surely it must be obvious to you that our trade goods cannot be sent in barrels to Esgaroth. Even if you were not capable of drawing that conclusion yourself, you might have known it because Celonhael told us, only moments ago, at the very end of the meeting, that the supplies we are trading for will be arriving more slowly since they are going overland instead of by river. You heard me dismiss the meeting, but you did not hear Celonhael and I discussing any of that?"

Aradunnon shrugged in the face of his brother's frustration. "Well, I heard the part that was important to me," he replied with a grin. The grin dissolved into open laughter when Thranduil shook his head and turned his attention back to his reading in disgust. Still laughing, Aradunnon offered a sweeping bow to both Celonhael and Thranduil before resuming his march towards the doors of the Great Hall.

"Hopeless," Thranduil muttered in his wake and Celonhael's laughter followed Aradunnon from the Hall.

*~*~*

"Now push the rope back through the loop and pull it tight," Galithil said.

Maidhien did as he instructed and then straightened, hands on her hips, frowning down at the knot she had just made. "That will hold the plank on? Well enough that the raft will hold together? Just that knot?" she asked.

"If you made the knot correctly," Legolas answered, bending down over the raft they were mending to inspect her work.

"She did it properly," Galithil said, sharply enough to cause both Legolas and Berior to look at him with raised eyebrows.

Maidhien smiled at Galithil's defense of her.

Legolas looked quickly back down at the raft. Her smile, when it was directed at Galithil, was overly adoring and sappy. It made Legolas fight not to gag every time he saw it. It also left him with a nearly uncontrollable urge to start singing 'Galithil loves Maidhien,' but he did not want to start a fight today. He wanted to concentrate on repairing their raft, so they would be able to sail it as soon as the river receded from the spring floods.

"Here comes trouble," Berior whispered as Galithl put another plank in place over the cross pieces of the raft.

Maidhien groaned under her breath.

Legolas did not even need to look up to know Maidhien's brother, Anastor, and her cousin, Noruil, were responsible for the footsteps splashing towards them through the mud on the riverbank.

"Here you are!" Anastor panted, coming up along side Legolas. He was glaring at his sister.

Maidhien ignored him and Legolas found himself tensing involuntarily for the inevitable fight that Anastor's arrival always heralded. Before Anastor could pick the fight, Noruil caught up to him.

"Oh! Are you working on your raft?" he asked. His words were garbled. Legolas glanced over at him and saw he was speaking around a mouthful of something. His mouth was so full, in fact, that his cheeks bulged out to the sides.

No manners at all. No surprise there, Legolas thought and looked back at the raft again. "Yes," was his only answer.

"Ours is over there," Noruil continued amid sucking noises. He pointed towards a raft a short distance down the riverbank.

Maidhien had already shown it to Legolas, Galithil and Berior. When they looked at it, Galithil had commented that it would probably float one or two children. On calms waters. That alone was proof to Legolas that Galithil loved Maidhien. Only the fact that he loved her could explain his generous appraisal of that raft. Legolas would have been surprised if it could float itself, much less anything else, even a spider. And he was thinking of normal spiders, not the great spiders that shadowed the forest.

"Do you want to sail our rafts together?" Anastor asked, his voice losing its annoyed edge and adopting an excited tone instead.

Legolas, Galithil and Berior all looked over at him. Legolas wanted to ask him if he had lost his mind, and from the looks on their faces, so did his cousins. "The river is far too fast and high for rafting," he replied instead, with as calm a voice as he could muster. "And maybe you should look over your raft before you sail it. Maidhien showed it to us earlier and I think we noticed a plank or two that could be secured a bit better. Or even replaced."

"And where are we supposed to get rope or planks to mend it? Not everyone can take whatever they want from the stronghold's storerooms," Anastor scoffed.

Legolas leveled a glare on Anastor and drew a breath to correct the idea that he could take whatever he wanted from the store rooms. His father had required him to work for several days helping to gather oak galls and prepare them to be fermented and made into ink in order to earn the privilege of taking the rope he and his cousins were currently using. It had been tedious work. Just like mending the raft was tedious work. Legolas had never seen Anastor work for anything.

But before Legolas could speak, Noruil pulled something from his pocket. "I will trade you a candy for enough rope to fix our raft," he offered, opening the cloth he had pulled from his pocket and showing its contents to Legolas and his cousins. It had four or five pieces of sugar candy left over from the Spring Festival in it. The pieces were broken and no longer recognizable as the animal shapes they had been on the day of the festival, but the sugar candies were unmistakable. That must be what Noruil had stuffed in his mouth--a candy.

Legolas looked from the little sack to Noruil. He appeared truly hopeful that Legolas might agree to the trade. Legolas frowned and bent over the raft they were mending.

"Two candies then," Noruil pressed, holding the candies closer so Legolas could see them better. "You can chose the pieces."

Legolas shook his head. "I do not really like the sugar candies. They are too sweet for me. But we have plenty of rope. Go ahead and take this length of it for your raft," he said, ignoring Galithil and Berior's astonished stares as he gave away an entire coil of rope.

Noruil did not hesitate. With an excited exclamation, and not so much as a thank you, he and Anastor scooped up the rope and rushed over to their raft, splashing mud high into the air as they ran.

Legolas sighed in response to his cousins' continued stares. "If he has saved that candy since the festival," he whispered, "he must really like it. Even two candies do not come close to the value of the rope, so why bother to take something he likes so much. Especially when none of us like the candy that much. We had more rope than we needed anyway."

"We were going to use it to make a rope ladder to our talan," Berior whispered back at him, referring to the planks of wood they had balanced in a tree in Brethil's yard. For special occasions, their parents let them sleep in that talan.

Legolas shrugged. "So we will keep climbing up through the branches. We did that all last summer. No reason why we cannot do it this summer too. And I was the one who did the work to earn the rope," he reminded them when Berior drew a breath to continue arguing, "so it was mine to give away if I want."

"It was really nice of you, Legolas," Maidhien said softly.

That comment turned Galithil's scowl into a begrudging smile. Legolas turned and reached for another plank so Galithil would not see him roll his eyes.

*~*~*

"Wooeeee," a high-pitched voice squealed. It was accompanied by nearly fanatical giggling. The voices traveled by, down river, at an alarming speed, faster than a galloping horse.

Legolas stepped over the rope that dragged swiftly by him in the ankle-deep water on the river bank as the squeals passed. Berior hopped over it as if it were a jump-rope, soaking Legolas's leggings with a splash of water and never taking his eyes off the raft on the river attached to the rope. He answered the excited squeals with a whoop of his own, pumping his fist in the air. Maidhien jumped over the rope too, also facing the river. But she was frowning and twisting a strand of hair around her finger. She startled involuntarily when the rope snapped taut.

"One more time!" Noruil managed to gasp out between giggles. His words were barely audible over the roar of the river and the distance that separated him from its banks.

Maidhien stamped her foot when Anastor nodded eagerly, grabbing the rope that tied their raft to a tree on the banks. He began to haul them back to shore. The river fought him hard, determined to devour the little raft, and the two foolish elves on it, that dared to sail upon it in its wrath.

"Legolas, take that rope away from them and make them stop it before they get hurt!" Maidhien demanded, watching her brother and cousin struggle to haul themselves ashore.

"No!" Berior protested. "Not until I get a chance to ride it once."

"They will never let you ride it, Berior," Galithil countered with a quiet voice. "They only said that they might to tease you. Come help test our raft and forget about it." He was standing on their newly mended raft in the shallow pool they used to swim in as infants. The pool was just deep enough to float the raft, but well protected from the river's current by rocks.

"What they are doing is insane," Legolas added. "Especially on that rotten old raft. You cannot possibly want to do something that stupid."

"Ours is definitely sturdy enough to do it," Berior said. His eyes brightened at the thought. "Maidhien is right. You should take the rope away from them so we can tie it to our own raft and have a ride. Please, Legolas! Just once. It looks like so much fun!"

Maidhien spun around in response to that suggestion. "Please do not do it, Galithil," she begged, her hands clasped together.

"I am not doing that," Galithil responded. "I promise."

Maidhien smiled.

"Now I know you love her," Legolas said under his breath, just loudly enough that Galithil could hear him as he climbed onto their raft. He drowned out his cousin's growl of protest by stomping on the planks of the raft under the pretense of testing if they were secure.

"It is safe as long as the raft is strong," Berior argued, unaware of Legolas's jab. "And as long as the rope is well secured to the tree. Anastor and Noruil have done it three times and nothing has happened to them. That is a really fast ride and for a good distance." He pointed up the river to where Anastor and Noruil had been casting off and arched his arm around to where they were now trying to haul out.

It was a decent ride. The length of rope Legolas had given them was long. He regretted giving it to them now. When they got hurt, and they certainly would, they were going to claim it was his fault for giving them the rope. That was exactly the type of logic they tended to use. It would not be so bad if they had at least used some of the rope to mend their raft. But Anastor had almost immediately thought of the idea of using the rope to secure the raft to a tree and then dragging it upstream as far as the rope would allow for a swift ride down the river's current. It was only by the mercy of Ulmo that the raft was still in one piece.

Legolas stopped stomping on the raft and looked at it. It was very sturdy. He followed the length of rope in the water with his eyes back to the tree root Anastor had tied it to. It looked secure. And the rope was newly made--strong. He could not deny that a small part of him really wanted to try that ride every bit as much as Berior did. He could not decide if he was happy or irritated that Maidhien had won that promise not to try it from Galithil.

Then, still watching the rope, his breath caught in his throat.

He leapt off the raft and into the water. "Grab It! Wrap it around something else! Fast!" he yelled, puling hard at the rope and trying to get enough slack to wrap it around a tree root sticking up from the water. But the river would not grant him any favors. The rope remained tight as a bow string between the tree and raft. Legolas kept pulling at it anyway.

Berior and Maidhien stared at him in confusion, but a horrified 'oh no!' signified that Galithil had seen the same thing Legolas had: the rope was sawing back and forth across a rock on the bank as Anastor pulled on it and the river pulled on the raft. A sharp rock, apparently. Sharp enough to have frayed the rope. It was about to break.

No sooner had Galithil jumped off their raft and grabbed the rope then it snapped with a sharp twang.

The river immediately claimed it's prize. The rope pulled through Legolas's hands fast enough that he dropped it involuntarily with a pained cry. Anastor and Noruil's alarmed shouts for help drew his attention from his bloodied fingers back to the emergency at hand. Berior had figured out what was happening and, in vain, jumped on the rope with both feet. It swept him onto his backside as it pulled away from shore. Maidhien chased after it, unable to to catch it up. Then Legolas froze. Galithil had the rope wrapped around his lower arm, he was allowing it to pull him forward to the edge of the pool as he wrapped it again and again, more securely.

"Galithil, let it go," Legolas yelled. Too late. He watched, barely able to breath, as Galithil planted both his feet on one of the rocks that bordered the pool and leaned back, obviously intending to brace himself and hold the raft back from the raging river. Instead, he was pulled without the slightest pause, over the rocks and into the river.

"Let it go!" Legolas repeated, grabbing the spare rope they had left after making repairs and running to the edge of the pool. He threw the rope upstream from Galithil. "Grab it and I will pull you in," he shouted.

But Galithil did not reach for the rope. It was all he could do to keep his head above water as he was pulled along behind Anastor and Noruil's raft.

Legolas looked at Anastor and Noruil on the raft. "Pull him in!" he shouted, but he immediately knew there was no hope that they would hear him over the roaring river. And no hope of them being able to do it, even if they could hear him. They were crouched down, clinging to the raft as it was battered against rocks while being pulled down the river. They could not possibly help Galithil. They could barely help themselves.

"What shall we do? What shall we do?" Berior whispered. "He will drown for certain."

Maidhien loosed a strangled cry.

"Get the poles. We are going after him," Legolas ordered, pointing to the poles they used to steer the raft, which were leaning on a tree.

Berior sprinted up the bank for the poles.

"No, you will all be killed," Maidhien cried. She tried to pull Legolas's raft towards the shore even as Legolas was pushing it from the pool and into the open river.

"We have to try to help Galithil or he will certainly be killed," Legolas said, shoving her back. "And your brother and cousin did not even have poles with them. They need help too."

Maidhien ignored him and lurched forward again, making another grab for the raft.

Legolas grasped her by the shoulders. "Run and go get our parents. Get help. Tell someone what has happened and get help," he demanded, shaking her, as Berior jumped up on the raft with a pole in each hand.

Maidhien stared at Legolas for a long moment, her brow puckered and jaw set. Then, without a word, she pulled away from him and ran as fast as she could in the direction of the Green, her skirts flying up around her knees as she disappeared amongst the trees.

Legolas and Berior exchanged a grim look as they poled the raft into the current.

*~*~*

River Journeys: Part 2

Aradunnon scribbled awkwardly on the paper cupped in his hand. When he reached his desk, he thrust his quill into the ink jar on its edge, and then spun around to face the map of the forest that he had stuck up on the opposite wall. He paced towards it, glaring harshly. Unfortunately, no matter how threatening he appeared, the little black marks that represented the locations of enemy encampments did not disappear from the map. Only his warriors could make that happen. And so these orders to his captains needed to be finished, and finished soon.

The problem was, he simply could not seem to focus this morning. Something was nagging at the edge of his senses. If he had been in the southern forest, he would have been rallying whatever warriors were with him for certain battle. As it was, he was in the stronghold, and he had not yet determined what was wrong, but he was certain something was. And after these orders were written, he would go find out what.

"Ostarndor can manage the orcs here," he said to himself, pointing with his quill to one black mark. "That leaves Morillion to take care of these," he continued shifting his quill to another mark. "But I admit, I cannot imagine who I will send here," he concluded, jabbing a little spider web symbol with his finger. Then he stabbed at two more unaddressed black marks with a bitter scowl on his face.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang echoing in the corridor outside his office. It sounded almost like the wooden door at the end of the corridor flying open and striking the stone wall.

"Wait just a minute," the guard at the door called.

Aradunnon's eyebrows rose and he turned towards the noise. "What could that possibly be about?" he asked his guard, who was idling near the office door.

Colloth was already making long strides into the corridor, his sword partially drawn by the time he exited the office.

"I said stop," the guard in the hall called, this time more forcefully. Aradunnon heard the sound of boots coming towards his office,  a short scuffle of feet and rustling clothes, and then a sharp thump.

"Ow!" the guard exclaimed, more surprised than pained. "You get back here, you little orc!" he demanded. His order was punctuated by hopping sounds.

Throughout this interchange, Colloth stood, unmoving, framed by the office door. His sword had fallen back into its scabbard. In response to the thump, his eyes widened in astonishment and he put his hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh. Despite he guard's apparent amusement and definite lack of alarm, Aradunnon stepped into the corridor with his hand on the hilt of his own sword, unable to imagine what had caused all the ruckus. His first glance into the corridor only added to his confusion.
The guard in the hall was hopping towards him on one foot and holding his shin with one hand. With the other hand, he was grabbing for the skirt of a young elleth in an attempt to arrest her dash down the hallway. She easily evaded his efforts.

Realization dawned and Aradunnon felt his own laughter rising. He firmly repressed it. "Maidhien!" he cried, recognizing his youngest son's newest friend. "Did you kick that guard? For shame!" he scolded, hands on his hips and at least making an effort, unlike Colloth, to address Maidhien's naughtiness appropriately and defend his guards. His stern demeanor did not quite reach his eyes.

Then he saw the tears on Maidhien's cheeks and he cut off his lecture.

"What is wrong?" he asked, lowering himself to one knee and holding out his arms, as if to hold her.

Maidhien studied him for the briefest moment. Then the determined set of her jaw melted into a sob and she rushed into his arms. "Oh, you have to come help!" she pleaded, her face buried against his chest. "Nana says I am tattling, so she will not listen. But I am not tattling. I am trying to get someone to come help. They need help or they will drown for certain!"

Aradunnon grasped her by the upper arms and pulled her away from him so he could look at her. "Who will drown?" he asked as gently as he could while wiping tears from her face with his fingers. "What are you talking about?"

"Everyone!" she cried. "Anastor and Noruil and Galithil and Legolas and Berior. They are all in the river on their stupid rafts and they will never get out of it since the rope broke!" Deprived of his tunic front, Maidhien buried her face in her hands.

Aradunnon stared at her a long moment. Then he pulled her against him again and picked her up into his arms. "Tell me what happened while we go get more help," he said, keeping his voice calm. "The more we know, the better we can help them," he prompted, when she seemed to collapse into tears. He listened to her story as he and Colloth rushed towards the Great Hall to find Thranduil and Celonhael. His heart raced as he realized the reason why he had felt so distracted all morning was that Galithil was in serious trouble.

*~*~*

Legolas shoved with his pole against one of the rocks that formed the shallow pool sheltering the raft and he kept his eyes fixed on his cousin. They had to get to him and fast! Galithil's arms were flailed out to the side and his face was pointed straight up as he bobbed in and out of the water and gasped for air. He seemed oddly silent to Legolas, neither shouting for help nor yelling in fear. That silence had to be a bad sign. If Galithil could not even call for help...

Legolas never finished that thought. The moment the river current caught the raft, it spun around, whipping Galithil from his sight and forcing both he and Berior to crouch down in order to avoid losing their balance and being thrown into the water. Legolas thrust his pole down into the water, intending to control the raft as he always did by poling against the rocks on the river bed. The pole easily caught on a rock and Legolas braced himself to steer against it. Instead, the bottom of the pole stayed in place against the rock, but the raft never slowed or turned even the slightest bit--it kept right on going down the river. The pole wrenched forward, levered against the rock, and Legolas was thrown forward with it as if he were one of Eirienil's dolls. He pulled the pole up before it was torn completely from his hands and tried again to steer the raft as he normally could. Same result, only this time he was nearly thrown from the raft altogether.

He pulled the pole up sharply and panic seized him. How could he steer the raft if he could not use the pole? His heart raced. And where was Galithil? Had he already lost track of the whole reason he was in this situation? Legolas looked about in an effort to keep Galithil in sight, but as soon as he did, rather than seeing his cousin, his vision was filled by an enormous rock protruding from the water. They were headed straight towards it at an alarming rate. It would smash the raft for certain if they hit it. Instinctively, Legolas stabbed his pole at it like a spear. It took all his strength, but he managed to fend it off, forcing the raft to arch around it.

The raft spun, completely out of control.

Legolas looked about again, trying to spot Galithil, but instead he saw Berior taking his turn, holding the raft off a boulder and grunting with the effort. And before Legolas had a chance to even think, he was again forced to turn his attention to another boulder in their path.

"Try to push us further towards the center of the river," Berior called as Legolas's pole connected with the rock.

Despite the panic in his voice, Berior's suggestion made sense. There were fewer rocks and branches in the middle of the river. Legolas shoved with all his might against the slippery rock and managed to alter their course only slightly.

As the raft spun again, he caught a glimpse of Anastor and Noruil. They were headed straight towards a large boulder themselves.

"Elbereth, save them!" Legolas cried involuntarily. Without poles, Anastor and Noruil could not prevent their raft from smashing hard against the rock and then spinning around it. Somehow it held together. Anastor and Noruil were thrust onto their backsides, but managed to stay on the raft.

Legolas lost sight of them when a dip in the water level caused his raft to drop and tilt as it rushed down a short waterfall. Berior loosed a surprised cry as they were both thrown against the planks of the raft when it finally leveled out. Legolas wedged the fingers of one hand between two planks to keep from sliding off the raft ,while he clung to his pole with the other hand . His shoulder, which had been slammed against the planks, screamed in pain, but he did not have time to think on that before another boulder loomed before them. He barely had time to scramble to his knees and plant his pole against the rock. Berior, blood gushing from his nose, managed to stand in time to pole away from the next rock.

"We are not going to be able to help Galithil or Anastor and Noruil," Berior called, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "We will be lucky to get ourselves back to the shore."

Legolas did not respond to that. He agreed, but saying it would only be a waste of breath. Since his arms already felt shaky, wasting his breath did not seem wise. He pushed against the next rock with a mighty shove and his efforts were again rewarded with very little result.  Tears of frustration, and admittedly, fear, filled Legolas's eyes and he did not even care if Berior saw it.  For moment, he could not breath or think. He had wanted to help Galithil and all he managed to do was get himself and Berior killed! His mind filled with images of his parents and aunts and uncle's grief. Images of them being forced to search for and recover, or worse still, never find, their children's bodies.

It is not going to happen, he determined, and gripped his pole harder, as if doing so would drive those thoughts from his mind. But how could he stop it from happening? A plan. He needed a plan. He took a deep breath and turned to face the next rock as his mind raced. What to do? What to do?  But there was no rock. Instead, he found there were at least a few seconds of clear water ahead of them. He took the opportunity to search around himself for Galithil, for Anastor and Noruil, and hopefully for something that would give him some idea how they could manage to escape the river. He could not see Galithil, but he did spot Anastor and Noruil's raft. One of its planks was missing and another was shattered, split in two at the middle. Anastor was still on the raft, on his hands and knees. It took Legolas a moment to find Noruil--he was in the water, clinging to one of the main beams of the raft. Anastor was trying to hold on to his tunic.

"Hold on," Legolas yelled at them in vain. He knew they would never hear him. And even if they did hear him, they hardly needed to be told to hold on. But, if Anastor and Noruil lost their raft, they lost any hope of surviving along with it. 'What can we do? What can we do?' The question raced unanswered in his mind.

Another rock rose out of the river in their path. As he reached for it with his pole, Legolas saw Berior's pole right next to his. They shoved and grunted together. Their combined efforts were much more satisfactory! The raft still spun around the rock, but it moved significantly further towards the center of the river. Legolas's hopes soared.

"Try it together again," he called. "Until we are lined up with their raft."

They poled against the next several rocks together. It worked! Soon they were nearly directly behind Anastor and Noruil and only a short distance away from them.

That seemed good, Legolas thought. But why? He still could not find Galithil in the water. And though they were right in front of him, Anastor and Noruil might as well have been in Mordor for all the good he was going to be able to do them. 'What to do? What to do?' still rang out in his head.

The exhilaration of gaining some control over the raft was swiftly being replaced by renewed panic when Legolas saw it: a tall tree had fallen across the river. Its trunk was partially submerged and a fair few of its branches were spread out in the water, some of them sticking out enough to be grabbed. And it was right in front of them. They could not help but run straight into it.

"Grab onto it!" Legolas shouted as loud as he could, gesturing wildly towards the tree to attract Anastor's attention.

Anastor saw him. Still clinging to Noruil, he glanced over his shoulder in the direction Legolas was pointing. When he looked back, Legolas could see relief in his eyes as he tried to help Noruil shift position enough to be faced properly to grab a branch of the tree.

Now, what about Galithil? Legolas searched the water between Anastor's raft and his own.

"There!" Berior shouted. His voice was tinged with fear.

Legolas looked to where Berior was pointing and he finally saw a flash of silver-gold. Galithil was spinning uncontrollably in the current, his arms slack to his sides. His hair flowed wildly about him, covering his face, and Legolas could not see if he was managing to hold his mouth and nose out of the water.

"Let him be snagged on one of the branches," Berior prayed.

Legolas nodded, his heart pounding too hard to allow him to speak.

Crack! First Anastor and Noruil's raft hit the tree, mercifully lodging between two branches that rose, close together, from the water. Anastor immediately wrapped his arms around one of the branches and held on for dear life. What was left of his raft was trapped against the trunk. It bobbed violently up and down as water rushed over and under it. Noruil slammed against the tree along with the raft and struggled to pull himself onto the slippery trunk. He scrambled desperately for any hand-hold, pulling himself out of the water only to slip back into it.

Legolas turned attention to Galithil. He slammed uncontrollably into the tree just an arms-length away from Anastor and Noruil. Legolas found his own hands moving as if to grasp for a branch, so hard was he willing his cousin to climb out of the water. But Galithil remained where he was, snagged amongst the branches. He made no effort to to haul himself out or even raise his head. Legolas felt his heart sink, as if it had plunged into the icy water. Next to him, Berior covered his mouth with his hands and a sob escaped him.

They could not spend much time worrying over their cousin, since they were rushing up on the tree themselves at an alarming speed. Legolas stuck his pole out in front of him to help cushion the impact of their crash. Berior did the same and in a moment, they were both seated on their backsides, forced backward when the poles struck the immovable and unavoidable trunk. Their raft hit a portion of the tree that was partially submerged. It ran up over the trunk and stopped suddenly when one of its main beams caught on a broken branch sticking up in the water. Legolas and Berior kept going, sliding forward to the edge of the raft. They both rolled over onto their stomachs, turned, and grabbed a branch.

Legolas pulled hard, drawing himself along the raft until the branch he clutched was pulled up against his chest securely. He looked around. Berior was also safe, stuck to a branch like a bear cub stuck in a tree. Legolas released a long, shuddering breath. His arms felt almost too weak to hold on to the branch and he realized he was shaking all over. He wanted nothing more than to sink down onto the trunk and just collapse, but the sound rushing water reminded him that this was far from over.

What now? Legolas looked around himself. Galithil was too far away for him to reach. Worse, water rushed over the trunk between them, so he could not try to climb over to him for fear of being washed off the tree. He looked in the other direction towards the shore, hoping maybe to go find help. Water rushed over the trunk for a good distance between him and the riverbank as well. Getting to the shore was not going to be easy either. What to do? began to sound again in Legolas's mind. 

Well, before he could do anything else, he had to get Galithil out of the water. He turned back towards him to try to formulate some sort of plan. To his surprise, Anastor was already reaching for Galithil, shoving his hair aside, seeking a good grip on Galithil's tunic, but he remained just out of reach.

"Just pull him towards you by his hair," Berior yelled. At the same moment, Legolas felt a shove on his shoulder. "Move along," Berior added more quietly. He had climbed along the trunk to edge closer to Galithil.

Legolas nodded, released his grasp on his branch and slipped around it, reaching for another branch and sliding himself along the trunk towards it.

All the while, he watched Anastor. He had not given up on reaching Galithil. Instead he straddled the trunk a scooted forward a few inches, using only his legs to hold onto it. Both his hands reached for Galithil. And caught him. He tried to haul him onto the trunk, but instead started to slide off it himself. Noruil's hand shot out and grabbed Anastor by the back of his tunic, steadying him. Anastor gave a mighty tug and Galithil's limp form sagged, face down but out of the water, across the trunk. He did not move.

"Hurry," Berior prodded from behind him.

Legolas had reached the submerged part of the trunk. He inched into the water that rushed over it the slightest bit, leaning forward for a branch sticking up in the middle of it. But the current immediately sucked him off the trunk and tried to reclaim him. Berior caught him by the back of his leggings and pulled him back, using his pole, planted against the riverbed, as leverage to keep from being pulled in as well.

Returned to safety, Legolas held securely on to the trunk and eyed Berior's pole. His own must have washed away when the raft crashed against the trunk.

"Give me that pole," Legolas said, reaching for it. He pulled it out of the water and leveled it along the submerged length of the trunk. It reached Anastor and Noruil. Both of them grabbed the end nearest them without prompting and held onto it. Then Anastor reached to heave Galithil as if he were carrying a large sack of flour.

Legolas shook his head and made a decision. "We cannot get to shore in the other direction. Too much of the tree is submerged. We will be washed away trying to cross it. We should try to get to the opposite bank," he called, pointing over Anastor and Noruil's shoulders.

"The tree does not go all the way across," Anastor called back. "We cannot reach that side for certain."

"It comes close to the opposite bank. And maybe the water will be shallow enough to walk in over there, by the time we run out of tree. But we definitely cannot make it across the submerged parts of the tree in that direction," he pointed back over his own shoulder, "if I cannot make it over even this short submerged part without the pole. We have to try to get to the other bank," he insisted.

Anastor made a sour face, but nodded and steadied his end of the pole.

Legolas turned to Berior, who was holding their end of the pole. "Put it here, against the branches," he said, positioning the pole amongst several branches sticking out of the water. "That should hold it in place so no one will have to hold it on this side and we can both get across." He looked across the length of rushing water. "I will go first." And with a firm grip on the pole, he slipped once more into the rushing water.

The current immediately pulled his legs out from under him, but he held onto to the pole and, hand over hand. edged himself towards Anastor, Noruil and Galithil. When he was within reach of them, two sets of hands seized his tunic and hauled him back onto the trunk. Trying not to shake so hard that Anastor and Noruil might notice, he turned towards Berior.

"It is not too hard. Hold on tight to the pole," he called as Berior was trying to position himself to start across. "With both hands," he added when Berior began to edge into the rushing water with only one hand grasping the pole.

Water pulled Berior's legs down river and he began to lose his grip. As his one hand pulled free, he threw his other arm over the pole and bent it at the elbow, hooking the pole. Then he grasped hands to lock his grip. He stayed like that a long moment and then carefully repositioned himself so that he could pass along the pole as Legolas had, hand over hand. Soon he was pulled back onto the trunk and they were all together.

Legolas again experienced a brief surge of hope. All together seemed to be another large step in the right direction. Especially since Anastor and Noruil had, so uncharacteristically, worked with them rather than making things more difficult.

"Is he alive?" Berior asked, leaning closer to Galithil.

The question brought Legolas harshly back to reality.

Anastor nodded. "I think so, he coughed hard a few times while you and Berior were fussing over where to put the pole," he said, gesturing to the clump of branches where the other end of the pole remained wedged.

Legolas straddled the trunk and pulled Galithil up, leaning him so that he was mostly in a sitting position, propped with his back against Legolas's chest. To everyone's relief, Galithil moaned in response to the shift in position. But Legolas's relief at hearing his cousin make any sound at all was short lived. Galithil was badly bruised over every inch of exposed skin that Legolas could see. Both his eyes were turning black, there was a huge lump on his temple and his left arm hung to the side at a sickeningly unnatural angle.

"We have to get him help," Legolas said, nodding towards the riverbank. "Berior, get the pole. It might help us breach the gap between the end of the tree and the bank." As he spoke, he positioned Galithil so as to pull him along, hands under his shoulders. To Legolas's surprise, Anastor lifted Galithil's legs. Standing between Galithil's knees and holding the lower half of Galithil's body up, he turned towards the bank and balanced on the trunk.

"Ready?" he asked Legolas, looking over his shoulder at him.

Legolas nodded.

"Then let's give this foolishness a try," he said. And he carefully put one foot directly in front of the other and took a slow and steady step forward on the slippery trunk. Legolas moved in unison with him, the better to keep their balance with Galithil between them. Berior and Noruil brought up the rear.

*~*~*

AN: Sorry, decided to split it because otherwise it would be too long. The last part will come around next weekend. :-)

River Journeys:  Part 3

Aradunnon's ankle turned as another tree root caught his foot. Or a rock, perhaps. He did not know or care. He ignored the momentary twinge of pain and kept running. His attention was focused on the river, searching for any sign, anywhere, of Galithil and the other children. Thranduil, Celonhael, and their guards rushed along with him, also searching. Dannenion and Dolwon were just in front of them. Everyone was silent. They had been running along the bank of the river for too long to have any breath left to waste. Their search was too important to risk any distraction.

Aradunnon tried not to think about the fact that they had been at it for hours without finding any sign of the children. He tried not to even acknowledge the fact that his connection to his son's fea seemed, at best, very fragile. He would find him safe, he repeated silently to himself. That mantra kept him going far better than any effort to pace himself and regulate his breathing might have done.

"Look, up ahead," Dolwon shouted, pointing as he ran. "A tree fallen across the river."

"It would surely have stopped them. That is where we will find them," Dannenion cried, doubling his speed to reach the fallen oak.

Everyone followed suit and Aradunnon knew he was not the only parent praying that they would indeed find their sons sitting on the riverbank waiting to be found.

But when they reached the tree, its roots rising into the air taller than the elves, there were no children sheltering under them. Or anywhere else that could be seen.

"Berior!" Celonhael shouted, hoping to hear some response, but the forest was silent save for the sounds of birds and frogs.

"Look for tracks. Any sign that they pulled themselves out of the river here. Perhaps they have already made for the Path to return to the Stronghold," Conuion ordered the guards.

"That makes sense," Dolwon agreed, his tone overly hopeful. "Why wait when you can walk yourself."

Dannenion nodded. "We would not have seen them from the riverbank, and they would not have seen us," he agreed. "So that would explain why they are not here and why we did not see them on the way here." He sounded to Aradunnon as if he were trying to convince himself of the possibility of his own words.

Aradunnon said nothing. He was a good enough scout that if the children had climbed ashore here, he would have already seen the signs of it. And he knew Conuion knew it too--he was a better scout than Aradunnon. They were cushioning the disappointment for Dolwon and Dannenion as they would try to soften any bad news they had to tell to any villager. Aradunnon found himself wishing there was some way to make this less harsh for himself. Lips pressed together in a grim line, he stepped around the roots of the tree to better search its trunk and branches in the water. Thranduil silently did the same. Aradunnon leaned forward, hand on the cold, slippery trunk and gazed sharply at the water rushing against the tree. His gaze followed the length of each branch as it protruded into the air or water and he inspected the trunk between each branch. He was halfway down the length of the tree when he saw a sight that made his stomach tighten so dramatically that for a moment he thought he might be sick.

Green fabric with silver embroidery waved violently in the current, wedged between a branch and the trunk.

"Elbereth, please, no," he whispered and climbed onto the trunk. Balancing himself on its slippery surface, he moved to rush out into the river.

He had not taken a step before Colloth grabbed his right arm and Thranduil seized his left. It was Thranduil that tugged him off the trunk.

"No, Aradunnon. Colloth will go," Thranduil insisted, holding him by one arm and his tunic front.

Aradunnon could not even find words to protest. Looking over his shoulder at the green and silver tunic in the water, he simply pulled away from his brother's grasp, at first as if he expected to be released, and then, when he was not, more aggressively. Thranduil and someone else pushed him against the roots of the tree and held him in place. A root dug painfully into his back and he focused on his brother. Thranduil looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and pity and determination. Fury ignited in Aradunnon's chest and, before he could think about what he was doing, he raised his free arm, hand balled in a fist, intending to force his brother to release him if necessary. That was his son. He had to go help him.

Thranduil did not flinch in the face of that threat. Another hand, Celonhael's, closed around Aradunnon's wrist and dragged it down without a word.

Aradunnon loosed an incoherent cry of rage and threw his weight forward to escape. When he failed to do so, instead of making another attempt, he used all his will to master the power of speech. "Let me go, for pity's sake. I have to go help him," he managed to cry.  

Thranduil only shook his head. Aradunnon noticed the guards, and even Dolwon and Dannenion were gathered around him too, silently watching the spectacle he was making, their faces solemn.

"If he is there, muindor nin," Thranduil said, his voice soft,  "he is beyond your help. I will not lose you along with him. Be still and let us see what Colloth finds."

Aradunnon stared at Thranduil, brows furrowed, not understanding him. Then, as realization dawned, he shook his head and tried again to pull in the direction of the river. But his legs failed him and he collapsed to his knees, held in place by his brother and uncle's hands on his shoulders. He stared at his guard as he climbed along the fallen tree.

When Colloth pulled up an empty, torn tunic, Aradunnon slumped forward, face in his hands.

It seemed like hours before Colloth returned to the riverbank. He used his sword to poke about in the rushing, white water all along the tree near where Galithil's tunic had been snagged. Then he inspected the trunk in two different places, one on either side of the tunic. Then, to everyone's dismay, he crawled further out along the trunk towards the opposite bank, only stopping when it was obvious that the narrowing trunk would no longer support his weight. Finally, he scrabbled back along the trunk to the shore, to be met by seven tense stares.

"Nothing," he said, offering Aradunnon the tunic scrap. Aradunnon took it and held it tightly. "There is definitely no..." His lips formed the word body, but he obviously thought better of saying it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aradunnon wondered what his expression must look like and tried to bring himself under better control. "No one there," Colloth said instead. "I did see scars on the tree's trunk in two different locations. It looks like something, possibly the rafts, scraped over the trunk in both places. But I could not see rafts or the children anywhere in sight down river." He paused and looked down a moment before facing them again and continuing. "There are signs along the trunk that they made for the opposite bank, which would make sense, because parts of the trunk closer to this bank would have been too difficult for a child to traverse. But the trunk at the opposite bank is slender and it does not fully reach the opposite bank. And its furthest tip is broken off. Freshly broken off." He looked down again. "The opposite bank is all river rock. I could not see it well enough from where I stood to detect whether any of the children made it there or not."

Aradunnon tightened his grip on his brother's hand, still resting on his shoulder.

"So they got out on the other side of the river. They are over there, then," Dannenion said. His tone was flat now, holding little, if any, of his earlier determined hopefulness. But Aradunnon gave him credit for at least making the effort to remain positive.

Thranduil sighed and wiped his hand across is face. "Well, they came this far. That much is now certain. We keep looking."

He offered a hand to Aradunnon, to help him stand. Aradunnon had not even realized he was still kneeling on the ground. He grasped his brother's hand and hauled himself up. 'Galithil was not there,' he told himself firmly. 'Neither were Legolas or Berior. Just a piece of tunic, nothing more. They may yet still be alive.' But his son's fea seemed so far away.

*~*~*

A cold breeze on his face was the only sign that he was, for the moment, above water. Spit, half-cough, half-gasp for air until water filled his mouth and nose again. Then clamp his mouth shut and flail his free arm to fight to the surface again. And pray Galithil, who he still tightly held against him with one arm, was also gasping air when the opportunity arose. Rocks along the river bed pummeled Legolas's feet and shins. He slammed against bigger ones every so often. The pain this caused made him gasp involuntarily, whether his mouth and nose were above water or not. When they were not, the result was even more painful.

Only on the very edge of his senses was he aware of anything but rushing water. There he heard Berior and Anastor and Noruil shouting at him as they ran along the bank. Grab on. Catch that. Watch out. And he tried to do as they so desperately wanted him to do. He tried to focus enough to see the things they thought he should be able to grab or avoid. But every time his face was above water, it seemed he barely had time for the briefest of breaths. Not nearly enough time to shake his hair from his face or wipe the water from his eyes. Then he was sucked under again and he needed his arm to try to swim. He had no time to look for things to grab.

But he needed to find something if he was going to get himself and his cousin out of this.

"Look up! Grab a branch!" he heard Berior yelling.

Legolas tried to will his arm to reach straight up. To grab the branch that must be there. But his arm had a will of its own, working solely to leverage his face out of the water. Raising it above his head only made him feel as if he would sink lower into the water. So, it slammed back down against the surface of the water. At least that resulted in the cold breeze that meant he could take a breath.

Legolas sucked in air greedily until something pulled tight against his throat, cutting off his ability to breath entirely. He gagged and his free hand instinctively clutched at his throat. His tunic was caught on something, strangling him. He clawed at it to rip the fabric.

"Stop that, you fool," Anastor's voice shouted. And something seemed to shake him.

Legolas instantly realized what that meant. He let go of his tunic front and reached above his head and slightly behind him, his cold fingers grasping warm flesh. He tightened his grip and pulled up. That caused a sharp cracking.

"Stop it!" Anastor called again, this time his voice a little more panicked.

Something poked Legolas in the side once. And then again, more firmly. It hurt his already bruised ribs, so he twisted away from it, though doing so caused his tunic to tighten even more around his throat.

Anastor's hand on his collar shook him again. "Let go of me and grab the pole," he ordered. "Berior and Noruil will pull you in."

The 'something' poked him again, as if to emphasize Anastor's words.

Legolas shook his head and the hair in his face fell against his shoulders. He forced his eyes open, despite the muddy water in them. He was looking straight up, the better to keep his mouth out of the water. Anastor, clinging to an impossibly narrow branch, filled his vision. Legolas sucked in a little more air and his mind cleared a bit. Anastor's branch was bent past the breaking point it seemed to Legolas. He immediately let go of Anastor's forearm and splashed his hand in the water, searching for the pole. While he did, looked about himself trying to find the shore. A finger grazed the pole. Legolas grasped it as hard as he could, tightening his grip around Galithil even more, and pulled.

As soon as he did, the pole started to pull him towards the bank. Then the hand let go of his tunic and from the corner of his eye he could see Anastor swinging precariously on his narrow branch as it snapped back into place. The release of his tunic allowed him a precious moment of easy breathing before the full force of the water tried to drag him away from the pole and further down the river. He grasped it even harder, absolutely determined that he would never let it go.

Moments later, he was being pulled against rocks on the river bed.

"Stand up!" Noruil called.

And Legolas tried. But between Galithil's weight--miraculously, Legolas was still clutching him--and the fact that he was completely exhausted, Legolas only staggered and fell forward, never releasing the pole.

"He is nearly drowned. He cannot walk," Berior's voice said.

Someone grabbed the back of his tunic and the back of his leggings and hauled him to shore. He sprawled, face down, on the rocks and mud. Next to him, someone was turning Galithil over on his back. Legolas could feel the length of his cousin's body against his. He used the hand that had been clutching his cousin's tunic and shirt front to grasp a handful of mud. And rocks. Little pebbles on the riverbank. Nothing had ever felt so good in his hand than that mud and stone felt now. He pressed his legs and arms and face against the solid ground for a moment, just to make sure it was really there.

"Legolas?" Berior called. His voice, from above him, was quiet.

Legolas drew one more long breath and then pushed himself up to a sitting position. It was far more difficult than it should have been and it made his head spin. He clutched his forehead with one hand and used the other to prop himself up. His arms shook and he could not stop them. "I am fine," he rasped. "Galithil?"

That question was answered by a spasm of coughing. Legolas turned towards his cousin. Berior, Anastor and Noruil all hovered over him fearfully. Galithil sputtered and gurgled, spitting up water as he gasped for a breath he could not catch.

Legolas understood what that meant, having only just suffered it himself. Water was in his cousin's mouth and throat. Flat on his back, he would never clear it out. "Turn him over," Legolas cried. He caught Galithil's far sleeve and tugged, pulling him onto his side.

Water spurted from Galithil's mouth  and nose as he choked and heaved.  But slowly, his gasps no longer gurgled with water. And finally they were normal, if shallow, breathes. Normal if you could ignore the fact that they were often punctuated by soft moanings. Legolas let him roll back onto his back.

"We made it," Noruil whispered. "We all made it."

Legolas looked up at him. He did not appear to believe his own words. Legolas could not deny that he barely believed them himself.

"No thanks to your complete foolishness," Berior exclaimed, rounding on Anastor and Noruil. "How could you think it was a good idea to take your rotten old raft onto the river when it is like this?" He pointed at the raging water next to them.

Legolas shut out whatever Anastor's angry response was going to be. Instead, he focused on mastering himself. He was still shaking from exhaustion and fear. Problem was, this was not over yet. Not until they were home, where Galithil's injuries could be tended. Taking slow, deep breaths, Legolas willed his arms and legs to stop shaking. Then he clenched his fists a few times, to try to bring strength back to his limbs. Then he looked about himself. Still ignoring Berior's argument, he slowly stood and walked to the water's edge, refusing to acknowledge how much his head and ribs and shins pounded painfully, He looked up and down the river. Then he looked down on Galithil's still form. His left arm was broken for certain, as he had thought it was when they had first pulled him from the water.

When Anastor had pulled him from the water, Legolas corrected himself. Just as Anastor had pulled him from the water.  Legolas looked up at the slender branches over the river that Anastor had risked climbing through to catch him.  Legolas was shocked they had held Anastor's weight, much less withstood the pull of the river while Anastor held on to him. 'I would never have done that,' he thought, staring at the branches. 'Not even for Galithil or Berior, much less for Anastor.' Begrudgingly, Legolas's opinion of Anastor slid upward the tiniest bit. And arguing with him was a poor way to repay him.

"Enough," Legolas said quietly, stepping between Berior and Anastor and Noruil. "We still have to find help for ourselves and Galithil. And we are far, far away from the stronghold, so we have to keep working together." He looked directly at Berior.  "Fighting will not help," he added, appealing to his youngest cousin's normally even temper.

Berior made a sour face that he quickly suppressed into a neutral expression and turned away from Anastor. "One or two of us can go for help while the rest of us stay and look after Galithil," he suggested.

"Go? Go where? Where are we?" Noruil countered, not so willing to give up the argument. "Is there a village near here? You do not have the slightest idea."

"I know precisely where every village in this forest is," Berior shot back. And after the number of maps he and his cousins drew in lessons, it was true. "And there are no villages on the river between the stronghold and the raft elves' village. We could not be so far east as to be near their village."

"I would wager we are," Legolas replied. He gestured towards the sun with his thumb. "It is only a few hours before dark. We have been on the river almost the entire afternoon. At a normal pace, barrels make it to the raft elves before dark if they are released just before supper. And we were traveling much faster than a normal pace. It will definitely be faster for us to go to the raft elves' village than back to the stronghold. And at least we are on the right bank of the river for the raft elves. The Path is over there," he said, pointing to the far side of the river.

"Legolas," Berior said with wide eyes, "we are not allowed to go past the tallest beech! If we are all the way to the forest edge, we are so much trouble!"

Legolas laughed out loud in response to that. "You are worried about going out of bounds! Forget about it. That is only the least of the reasons our adars are going to lock us in our rooms, chained to a wall, until we come of age." He shook his head and, sobering, turned his attention back to Galithil. "We are all going together. We need to think of some way to bind Galithil's arm so it does not become worse or pain him too much. And we need a way to carry him."

"I have an idea for carrying him," Anastor said, picking up their remaining pole.

*~*~*

Legolas leaned up against his father and tried not to squirm too much. He really did not want to draw attention to himself or inspire his father to start asking questions again about how badly he was hurt. Anastor and Noruil were doing a fine job of stirring up his father, if his ever-tightening arm around his shoulder was any indication. Normally Legolas would have protested his father holding him so closely--both because it hurt at the moment and because he expected Anastor and Noruil would use it to tease him later. But, for now, he did not resist. No matter how hard he tried, he could not erase from his mind the vision of the absolutely sick, nearly desperate, expression on his father's and uncles' faces as they ran into the raft elves' village. Almost as bad was their utter relief upon seeing their children. These were expressions Legolas never wanted to see on his father's face again, much less be the cause of. So he did not have the heart to deny his father the right to embrace him right now. And besides, he was still cold from the icy water. Even the fire in the hut the raft elves had invited them to spend the night in was not enough to warm him. So he did not mind so much his father's arm around him. Assuming Anastor and Noruil's story did not drive his father to snap him in half.

"And then, after all of us were ashore, and holding the pole, Legolas started across, dragging Galithil..." Anastor explained.

"And just as he was halfway across, the tip of the trunk snapped..." Noruil cut in.

"And even with all of us trying to hold it steady, Legolas and Galithil's weight was too much. We could not do it..."

"And the pole turned down river...."

"And Legolas was not holding on to it hard enough..."

"Because he was trying to hold on to Galithil, probably...."

"So he was pulled away, down the river..."

"And we had to chase after him, holding the pole out there for him to grab..."

Legolas tried to ignore their story. Their far-too-detailed-for-his-taste story. Honestly, no wonder they were always in trouble. If they jumped over waterfalls, hunted boars and sailed rafts on flooded rivers with as much regularity as it appeared, and then told their parents every gory detail of the tale as they were doing now, they were lucky their parents did not send them off to Valinor for safe keeping, woodelves or not. Before they sent themselves off to Mandos.

Legolas loosed a long breath to try to release some of the irritation he was feeling. But he was not nearly as irritated as he normally would have been with Anastor and Noruil, he realized. Before he had time to wonder about that, his father's voice cut off his musings.

"Why ever did you follow them into the river in the first place?" he asked, his tone both sharp and exasperated. "Why not simply come for help as Maidhien did?"

Legolas ran through all his reasons for that decision, for it had been his own and not Berior's. He judged Galithil needed immediate help, not help that wasted time looking for parents and then finding Galithil somewhere on the river after losing sight of him.  And, in the heat of the moment, following on the river seemed a faster method, more likely to stay within reach of Galithil--though Legolas was no longer certain he had been correct on that score. But he was certain that if Aradunnon had been there, shoving off on one of the rafts would have been exactly what he would have done. Thranduil might have even done the same. Somehow, Legolas did not think any of those excuses were likely to satisfy his father at the moment.

"Because Galithil is our cousin," Berior said softly when Legolas did not speak.

Legolas looked at him and nodded. That was all the argument necessary. Then his gaze drifted to Anastor and Noruil. "And because Anastor and Noruil are our friends," he added, much to his own surprise. And apparently to the adults' as well.

That statement made Thranduil and Aradunnon--both in mid-breath, and clearly ready to argue the foolishness of sailing flooded rivers--draw up short, close their mouths and stare at Legolas. So did Dannenion and Dolwon. Theirs was more of a glare.

"When did that happen?" Thranduil finally managed to ask.

For a moment, Legolas wondered the same thing. "When Anastor pulled Galithil out of the river," he answered. "When Anastor risked his life to pull me from the river."

That left Thranduil silent.

But not Dannenion. "You did what?" he demanded, turning his glare on his son.

Anastor only shrugged. "Legolas and Galithil and Berior are our friends," he replied, copying Legolas's earlier answer.

"When did that happen?" Dannenion exclaimed.

"When Galithil risked his life to stop our raft and Legolas and Berior risked their lives to sail after us and help us," he answered.

Thranduil and Dannenion both looked as if they had swallowed vinegar instead of wine, but they said nothing more.

Aradunnon shook his head. "Adversity makes strange bedfellows. It even makes enemies into allies, the old wives say. All warriors know that. Apparently our children have already learned it."

"To their credit," Celonhael added softly. "Their willingness to work together saved their lives."

Legolas noticed his father and Dannenion remained silent. Well, Legolas had seen enough of his father's reactions to his traditional enemies to know that he did not easily trust those that had once injured him. That was not likely to ever change and it was an instinct that had undoubtedly served his father well, else Legolas trusted he would not persist in it. But in this one instance, Legolas was more willing to agree with his uncle's appraisal of the situation. If they had not worked together, at least some of them would not have survived. That seemed worth a truce with Anastor and Noruil. He would try it if they would. Only time would tell if they would. And, if they did, if it would be worth it in the end.

*~*~* AN: That is the end of River Journeys. I hope you enjoyed. I will add more short stories from different points in Thranduil and Legolas's lives to this series, as I intend for it to be a place where I can put unrelated short tales. But before I add more here, I will continue with another story in the Interrupted Journeys series. I hope to start posting that soon.