I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

1.  Currents of Change

“Mae govannen, Thranduil,” said Elrond with a smile.  “Welcome to Imladris.”

Thranduil slid from his horse and reached to clasp Elrond’s arm. “Mae govannen, Elrond.”  Behind him, he could hear his advisor and guards dismounting too, with perhaps the hint of a groan from Thrior.  It had been a long two weeks of travel, and Thrior was far more used to a seat in a council chamber than one on horseback. Thranduil had to admit that even he was grateful to be at the end of their journey with a hot bath and a soft bed in his near future.

Elrond waved attendants forward, and the Mirkwood party was relieved of their horses and their packs. “Your people will be shown to their quarters,” Elrond told him, “and perhaps you, too, would like a chance to refresh yourself before evening meal.”

“I believe I would,” Thranduil acknowledged. He glanced around him.  He had not been in Imladris since the White Council was formed nearly seventy years ago.  He had remembered the beauty of the airy buildings set amid the waterfalls but not the way that peace was a palpable and soothing presence. Spring was well-advanced here in the sheltered valley.  The forget-me-nots had just begun to emerge in the woods at home and here the lilacs were already in flower.

“Come then,” invited Elrond.  He signaled yet another servant, and the Elf gestured down a hallway.  “You will hear the bell for evening meal,” Elrond added. “I look forward to seeing you then.”

Thranduil paused before following the servant. “Are the others here?” he asked.

“We await only Curunír,” Elrond told him, a small smile on his face. Thranduil supposed that his host found him abrupt, but he did not care. He had come to this meeting of the White Council only after much debate, both with his advisors and within himself, and he did not wish to be away from home any longer than was strictly necessary. 

“Good,” he responded and then turned to follow the servant to his guest chamber.  The servant opened a door and ushered Thranduil into a room.  His packs were already on the bed. Thranduil dropped his cloak on a chair near the door, and the servant hurried to pick it up and hang it in a cupboard.

“A bath has already been drawn, my lord,” the servant murmured, indicating a door on the other side of the room.  “I will tend to your belongings while you bathe.”  He opened one of the packs and began to put things away.

Ignoring the servant, Thranduil looked about him with appreciation.  He had forgotten how open to the outside the rooms of Imladris were.  One entire “wall” of his room consisted of a balcony overlooking a treed slope, descending to the river below.  “I have lived in a cave too long,” he thought with regret and then firmly put the thought from him and turned to seek the comfort of a hot bath and clean clothes

He sat on the bed to pull off his boots and then went through into the bathing chamber, unlacing his tunic as he went.  True to the servant’s word, a deep tub of steaming water stood waiting for him. He peeled the tunic over his head and tossed it into a corner, circling his shoulders to stretch out the stiffness in them. No doubt the solicitous servant would come around while Thranduil was at evening meal and spirit all his travel-stained clothing away.  Good, Thranduil thought, a little waspishly. Let these dwellers in peaceful Imladris earn their keep.  Having tested the water, he unfastened his leggings, pulled them off over his lean hips, and then climbed into the tub and sank back with a groan of pleasure.

He had to admit that Elrond certainly knew how to make a guest comfortable. The tub was actually big enough that Thranduil could stretch out to his full length.  The hot water soothed the muscles of his thighs and backside, sore from two weeks of traveling on horseback and sleeping on the ground.  I am becoming as soft as Thrior, he thought. I need to get away from the Great Hall and into the woods more at home.

At the thought of home, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He hated not knowing what was happening there, and he doubted if the comforts of Elrond’s house would cause him to feel any differently.  It was not that he did not trust Ithilden. His oldest son had urged him to come to this meeting, for he had far more faith in the powerful members of the White Council than Thranduil did.  And Thranduil had known that he could leave his realm in Ithilden’s hands and be certain that it would be carefully governed.  Ithilden was nothing if not responsible.

But times were perilous and he felt as if he were neglecting his duty by coming to Elrond’s pleasant refuge to attend a council that he doubted would result in anything useful. Moreover, while the Woodland Realm was slipping deeper and deeper into Shadow and thus needed any help that the Council could provide (always assuming that it would provide any), it galled Thranduil to ask for such aid from outsiders.  In his experience, when outsiders provided help, they too often believed that they were then entitled to also offer advice that they expected to have heeded.

From the next room came the sound of a door closing, and he assumed that the servant had finished his fussing about.  He sighed and reluctantly pulled himself out of the cooling water.  He toweled himself off and then padded on bare feet into his chamber to dress for evening meal.  He would accomplish what he could at this council and then he would go home.  At any rate, he needed to be back in time for Legolas’s coming of age, a scant month away.  If the White Council could not agree on what action to take in two weeks, then it was unlikely to do so at all.  As it happened, he thought that endless debate was the most probable action in which the Council would engage.

The servant had laid his formal robes out on the bed, and he quickly pulled on loose trousers and a silk shirt and then slid the green velvet robe over them.  He knew that weapons were not usually carried in Elrond’s house, so he contented himself by shoving a dagger into the sheath in his boot. He would no more have gone about with no weapon at all than he would have gone about naked.  Finally, he donned a gold circlet, feeling what a poor exchange it was for a wreath of spring flowers.

A bell sounded, calling the inhabitants of the house to evening meal, and he went out into the corridor to seek the Great Hall.

***

Thranduil sat back in his chair and watched the other people at Elrond’s high table over the edge of his wine goblet.  He had ruled the Woodland Realm for a long time, and was familiar with the way that meetings among the powerful worked, so he knew that the opinions of these people and the influence they could exert on one another would determine what the White Council did.  He wondered idly how wrought up Elrond’s steward had been when he tried to determine the seating arrangement.  His own steward would have been clutching his head at the thought of having to arrange so many powerful people and strong personalities without giving offense.

“Did you have a difficult journey, my lord?” asked Arwen, who sat to Thranduil’s left, between him and her father.  She sat in the place that Celebrían had filled the last time Thranduil was here.  The maiden was poised and unusually lovely, but her presence was a reminder of the loss that Elrond had suffered only twenty years previously when his wife sailed west. Thranduil had been widowed since his last visit to Imladris, and he knew the pain that Elrond must still be in.

“Not particularly,” Thranduil answered.  He had no intention of telling her about the Orcs they had met in the Misty Mountains.  Their numbers had not surprised him because he had been receiving regular intelligence reports, but seeing the growing numbers for himself had nonetheless been sobering. His party had evaded most of them, and his guards had dispatched those they could not avoid with minimal difficulty, but for Arwen, such an encounter would be bound to recall painful events.

“And how are your sons?  I do not see Lord Ithilden.”

Thranduil smiled at her.  Ithilden had accompanied him on his last visit to Imladris. “They are well.  And I am happy to say that Ithilden has given me a daughter-in-law and a grandson since last we visited here.”

She smiled delightedly back at him, sending a jolt even through Thranduil’s experienced and very married heart.  “How wonderful!”

“I do not see your brothers either,” Thranduil noted, and a shadow flitted over her face.

“No, they are away,” she said.  He did not know why the topic of her brothers was painful, but he let the matter drop.  If the activities of the sons of Elrond were important for him to know, he would soon find out about them.

His eye was caught by the sight of Elrond’s head bent near that of Galadriel.  He supposed it could be a coincidence or a simple recognition that he and Galadriel were both rulers of their own realms that had led to their being seated on opposite sides of their host and hostess, but he doubted it.  He and Galadriel had never openly quarreled but he had made no secret of his unwillingness to subject himself or his people to her influence.  For a fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be like to be Elrond and have Galadriel as his mother-in-law.  He shuddered.

Galadriel had now turned to speak to Círdan, who was seated on her other side, and Thranduil considered possible alliances.  He, himself, had had very little interaction with the ship maker, but he knew that Elrond had been raised in Círdan’s household, and the two of them and Galadriel looked to be very much in one another’s confidence.   Thranduil wondered if it would be possible to draw these three to his point of view without somehow submitting himself to them.  Away from his own woods, he felt less certain of his power to control events, and that made him very uneasy.

“I cannot think what is keeping Curunír,” said Mithrandir, who was seated to Thranduil’s right.

“He has far to come from Minas Tirith,” said Radagast from Mithrandir’s other side.

Thranduil turned to eye them appraisingly.  Radagast he immediately dismissed.  His experience led him to view the wizard as a harmless but useless inhabitant of the forest.  But Mithrandir was another matter, and in him, Thranduil placed what little hope he had, for it had been Mithrandir who drove Sauron from Dol Guldur almost five centuries ago, and for that alone Thranduil would have respected him.  Beyond that, Mithrandir seemed to be genuinely uninterested in power, a fact that led Thranduil to trust him as much as he trusted anyone who was not family.

“Tell me of your travels, Mithrandir,” he invited, settling back with his wine.  Perhaps the Council would take action and perhaps it would not, but Thranduil would learn what he could and build what friendships he could while he was here.  One never knew what might be useful.

***

“Settle him down, Legolas,” called Thelion warningly.

“Come on, Pilin,” Legolas murmured to the horse, who was prancing sideways beneath him.  “We have done this before.  I am still here, even if the saddle is between us.”  Despite his coaxing, his sympathies were with his horse.  The saddle and bridle made him feel as if a barrier had been raised between him and his mount, and his normal ability to sense Pilin’s every impulse had been muffled.   The horse stopped dancing but he continued to toss his head and snort.  He did not like the bridle any more than he liked the saddle.

“Ready?” the blade master asked.  Legolas raised his sword and nodded.  “Go!”

He kicked Pilin’s flanks, and the tense horse sprang forward to gallop straight at the line of four targets ranged across the training field.  From the corner of his eye, he could see the other novices behind barriers ready to operate the wooden sword arms attached to each armored, warrior-shaped target, but he ignored them and concentrated on the sword arms themselves and the vulnerable areas of the targets. 

As he approached the first target, its arm swung high and he braced his feet in the stirrups, parried the blow and then plunged his sword into the target’s exposed armpit.  Pilin galloped on without breaking stride, and Legolas managed to thrust his sword into the second target’s throat and move on before whoever was operating the sword arm could take a swing at him.  He felt a flash of satisfaction at his horse’s speed.  Pilin might not take well to wearing tack, but he could fly when he wanted to.

The sword arm of the third target came at him high, and again he used his own sword to deflect the blow and then strike at the target’s throat and speed on toward his last objective.  In a move that he knew enough to watch for but hated to see nonetheless, the last operator swung not at him, but at Pilin.  The horse shied, and he had to shift his weight and tighten his thighs to keep the animal under control while he whirled his sword around to drive the target’s sword up and out of the way.  Momentum carried his weapon around and down again to slice at the target’s face.

Still alarmed, Pilin galloped on and slowed only gradually as Legolas drew gently back on the reins and called to him.  They wheeled and trotted back to where Thelion was waiting. The other novices, too, had now left the targets and were gathering around the blade master, for Legolas’s run had been the last one of the day.  Legolas slid from Pilin’s back to join them and released his horse to roam with the others cropping grass peacefully at the edge of the field.

“Your swordwork was nice, Legolas,” Thelion said, “but if you expect to use that horse when you join the warriors’ ranks, you need to spend more time riding him under tack.”

“Yes, Thelion,” Legolas nodded. He knew that Thelion was right, but he truly hated the saddle and bridle nearly as much as Pilin did.  He would make the effort, though, for he did intend to take Pilin with him when he was finally finished with his novice training and went to serve under his brother, Eilian, who commanded the Woodland Realm’s Southern Patrol, and that much anticipated event was only a few weeks away.

Thelion turned to the group.  “You all did well today.  Our warriors do not engage in mounted combat very often, but you need to be prepared for it anyway.”  He smiled at them, and they responded in kind.  Thelion was a favorite among the novices.  “Tomorrow, most of you are working with Maldor on unarmed combat, I think. I will see you the next day.  Put the targets away before you go.”  He turned to Annael, who was standing quietly next to Legolas.  “I will see you this evening, Annael.”  Annael nodded, and Thelion gathered his gear and started down the path that led to the masters’ hut.

The five of them began gathering up the targets to haul them into the shelter that stood on the edge of the field.  “What did Thelion mean by that?” Elrál asked Annael.

“He is going to stand guard for me tonight when I keep my vigil,” Annael answered.  Legolas had already known that.  The next day was Annael’s fiftieth begetting day, the day he would come of age.  He would keep a vigil in the forest tonight, and tradition required that two adult males stay with him to guard him and support him.  His father would be one of them, but he had no other adult male relatives, so he had asked Thelion to be his other guard.  The next day, along with his father and Thelion, Annael would engage in a ritual hunt, providing part of the meat for the feast that would be held in the evening.  Legolas was looking forward to the feast, for, as Annael’s closest friend, he had been invited.

“I wish I were coming of age this year,” Tinéldor said plaintively.  “I am not sure I can tolerate another full year of Maldor getting me in a choke hold on a regular basis.”  The rest of them laughed, only too familiar with what Tinéldor was talking about.

“I think we are supposed to practice silent killing again tomorrow,” Elun told him, “so you will be lucky if you are only choked.”

Tinéldor cringed.  “The last time we did that, my neck was sore for a week.”

“You poor thing!” Elrál cried, mussing Tinéldor’s hair.  “Perhaps you can get your naneth to tell Maldor to leave us alone.” They all laughed again, and Tinéldor rolled his eyes. His mother was notoriously protective of him, and he fought a constant battle to keep her away from the novice masters.

They stowed the last of the targets in the shelter and called to their horses. Legolas gave a piercing whistle and Pilin began to gallop.  As the horse swept by, Legolas leapt toward him and was in the saddle in a single fluid motion.  He ignored the reins, now looped onto the saddle, and putting his hand on the horse’s neck, he slowed and turned the animal using his voice alone.  He trotted back toward his friends who were now mounted on their own horses.  “Show off,” Elrál accused without rancor, and Legolas laughed, knowing that he had indeed been flaunting his skills.

“Synia seems to like that move anyway,” Annael said dryly, and the others grinned.

“Is that the only move she likes?” Elrál teased.

“She admires my mind,” Legolas claimed, raising his eyebrows at them in an imitation of his father.  They continued to grin but said no more, and he was once again grateful for the ability to intimidate that Thranduil had unconsciously taught him.

They rode off toward the warriors’ stables and spent half an hour or so grooming their horses and cleaning their tack. By the time Annael and Legolas were finished, the cool late afternoon sunshine was beginning to fade. They walked together in the direction of their homes.

“Are you excited about tonight?” Legolas asked.

Annael smiled. “Yes,” he admitted.  “I am looking forward to being treated as an adult. I almost cannot believe it will happen.”

“You are ready to be an adult,” Legolas told him sincerely, “although I am not sure you will feel like one so long as the novice masters have us in their clutches.”

“True enough,” Annael laughed.

They rounded a bend in the path and there, on a fallen log, they found two female figures waiting for them.  The slender, dark haired maiden on the left rose and came forward to kiss Annael’s cheek.  He kissed her forehead and then put his arm around her waist.  “How were the elflings?” he asked. Beliniel was almost done with her training to teach small children. 

“They were good today,” she smiled.  “Hello, Legolas,” she added.

“Hello, Beliniel,” he responded, reaching to clasp the hand that Synia offered.  “And was my adar’s library exciting today?” he asked her.

She grinned at him. “I enjoyed myself,” she said.  “The fact that you are too barbaric to want to spend time with ancient scrolls does not automatically make it a boring task. I only wish your adar’s library were more extensive.”

“I read,” he said defensively.  “I just cannot imagine doing it all day.”

“No, you would far rather swing a weapon at Orcs,” she retorted.  She stopped on the path and looked back to where Annael and Beliniel had lingered in close conversation. She was silent for a moment watching them and then turned back to him.  “Will you be coming to visit tonight?” she asked.

“No,” he answered.  “I am going to Annael’s coming of age feast tomorrow night, so I will stay home tonight.”  He, too, watched the couple behind them.  Annael bent to brush his lips gently against Beliniel’s and then looked up at Legolas.

“I will see you tomorrow night,” he called and left Beliniel and started down the small path that led toward his family’s cottage.

“May the stars shine upon you tonight,” Legolas called after him, and Annael turned back for a moment to wave.  Beliniel came toward them, and Synia released Legolas’s hand.

“I will see you tomorrow then,” she said regretfully, and she and Beliniel also took a path that branched off from the main one, leaving Legolas to continue alone toward the palace. As he walked along, his thoughts were all on Annael.  Between star opening tonight and the same time tomorrow, his friend would cross over into the world of adult freedom and responsibility.  In a month, Legolas would follow.  A month or so after that, they would complete their training and become warriors in his father’s forces. Their lives were changing, and he could hardly wait to take up the roles for which he had trained for so long.

*******

AN:  Because I used the Elven name Mithrandir, instead of Gandalf, it seemed reasonable to use Curunír instead of Saruman.  “Unfinished Tales” has a wonderful essay on the Istari that tells us that after many travels, Saruman went to live in Gondor.  He did not go to Isengard until 2953 TA.  My story is set in 2530.

Nilmandra reminds me to tell you that we do not know for certain that Elrond was raised in the house of Círdan, but it does seem to be a reasonable assumption. 

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

2.    Freedom

“My lord,” said the Man, “we understand your desire to respect the forest, but Esgaroth needs more timber than you are proposing to allow us to cut.”

Ithilden shrugged.  “Esgaroth’s needs are not my concern,” he said coolly.  From just behind the Man’s left shoulder, Thranduil’s chief forester shot him an amused glance, so he assumed that he had caught his father’s tone nicely. He rose to signal that the audience was at an end.

The Man blinked.  “What about the other area you spoke of, my lord?” he asked hastily. “Might we not take wood from there?”

Ithilden eyed him but did not resume his seat.  “I thought Esgaroth’s trade council had decided that that area was too far away to be useful to you.”

Knowing when he was beaten, the Man looked resigned.  “Perhaps I can persuade the council to reconsider.”

“If you can, we will discuss the matter further,” Ithilden told him.  “You may return then.” He signaled to one of the guards, who came forward and touched the Man’s elbow.  With a grimace, the Man bowed and withdrew.

The forester laughed softly.  “I would wager anything you like that the trade council thought they could take advantage of the king’s absence. They will not make that mistake again.”

With a half smile, Ithilden sank back into the chair he was using.  It would never have occurred to him to sit in his father’s carved chair on the dais behind him.  “I suppose they do need the timber,” he said.

“And they can have it,” the forester said calmly, “but they will have to cut it where and how we tell them.”

“Of course,” Ithilden agreed.  “I will let you know when we hear from the Men again.”

Recognizing his dismissal, the forester bowed and left.  The advisor who was responsible for scheduling Ithilden’s day appeared at his side again.  “Who is next?” Ithilden asked.

“Your captains are waiting for you in the small meeting room.”

Ithilden took a second to reorient himself to being a troop commander instead of his father’s stand in.  “You may go, then,” he told the advisor, rising to go to the meeting room.   “I will see you later this afternoon so we can prepare for tomorrow’s petitioners.”

The advisor took his leave, and Ithilden turned toward the door that led from the Great Hall to the small meeting room, his mind already busy with troop deployment and his warriors’ pressing need for better information about the increasing number of Wargs in the forest.

***

Weary to the bone with the tiredness that comes from spending all day sitting still and dealing with problems, Ithilden entered the suite of rooms he shared with his wife and son.  Perhaps he would have time to share a glass of wine with Alfirin before they had to go to the royal family’s dining room for evening meal.

“Ada! Ada!” cried a sharp voice, and Ithilden lunged forward to catch the dark-haired bundle of energy that launched itself toward him from atop the back of a chair.

“Sinnarn!” scolded Alfirin, exasperation evident in her voice.  “I told you not to climb on the furniture.”

“I knew Ada would catch me,” said the child, sounding surprised by her annoyance.

“You must do as Nana tells you,” Ithilden said, and then hugged his son and kissed him on the cheek before putting him down.  “Are you going to stay off the furniture?” he asked, keeping hold of Sinnarn’s shoulders.

“Yes,” the child said with a frown and then squirmed free.  “I found a snake’s skin today, Ada!” he cried, his face lighting up again.  “I was going to show you at mid-day meal but you were not there.”  He paused and frowned at Ithilden. “I will show it to you now if you like,” he said generously.  At Ithilden’s nod, he ran off down the hallway leading from their private sitting room.

“We did wait for you, you know,” Alfirin said.

Ithilden turned to kiss her forehead. “I know,” he said apologetically.  “I should have sent word sooner.  I am sorry.”

She eyed him critically. “You look exhausted. Did you eat mid-day meal at all?”

He thought about it and finally decided that he had not. “I did not have time,” he said, a little defensively.

She frowned at him.  “Tomorrow I will come and feed you myself if you do not turn up in the dining room.”

He laughed.  “That would startle Adar’s advisors.”   Then he added seriously, “I know that I have been absent too much of late, but it will all be worth it if Adar manages to convince the Council to take action against Dol Guldur.”

She hesitated. “I know that is more important than anything else, of course, but Sinnarn misses you now, Ithilden.”

“I will be there at mid day tomorrow,” he promised and then changed the subject. “Did you have a good day?” he asked.

She smiled.  “Yes, I did.  Nimloth came to watch Sinnarn for two hours this morning, and I was able to spend the time working on the new wall hanging.”  Alfirin was a talented weaver, an artist whose work was valued by many for its subtle colors and textures.

Sinnarn came running back into the room. “See!” he held up his fragile treasure in a surprisingly delicate grip, and Ithilden sat in one of the chairs near the fireplace and pulled his son onto his lap.  He glanced up to see Alfirin smile at them and then disappear toward their own sleeping chamber, presumably to dress for evening meal.

“Where did you find it?” Ithilden asked, examining the skin. He easily identified it as that of a harmless river snake.

“In a hole in the rocks by the river,” Sinnarn answered.

“You did not put your hand in the hole, did you?” Ithilden asked, a little alarmed. This snake was harmless but occasionally there were others around who were not.

“How else would I know what was in it?” Sinnarn asked, his dark brows drawing together.  For a moment, Ithilden saw his brother Eilian again at the same age.  Then Sinnarn’s face changed and the vision faded.  “Can we go swimming tomorrow, Ada?  I am sure it is warm enough now.”

“No, we cannot,” Ithilden said firmly. “The river water will still be too cold, and anyway I am too busy while your grandfather is away.  You may not go in the water.  Do you understand?”  He held Sinnarn’s chin so that he was forced to meet Ithilden’s gaze.  Reluctantly, Sinnarn nodded. “And,” Ithilden added, keeping hold of him as he tried to wriggle free, “you may not put your hand in any hole into which you cannot see. That is a rule.”  He had found that when he labeled admonitions as ‘rules’ they were more likely to be followed.

“Nana already said that,” Sinnarn responded impatiently and slid from his father’s lap to the floor.

Alfirin came back into the room. To his surprise, she had loosened her hair from its customary braid and was dressed in a loose gown that she usually wore only in their own chambers.  She saw his look and smiled. “We are eating in here tonight,” she told him. “Legolas is going to Annael’s coming of age feast, so it is only us.”  He reached for her and drew her into the lap that Sinnarn had recently vacated, with waves of her thick, fragrant hair flowing over his arms.  Their son dropped the toy horse he had been galloping around the room and ran toward them.

“Me too!” he begged and Ithilden laughed again and lifted him up to sit in the circle of his mother’s arms.

There was a knock at the door.  “Come in,” he called, keeping his arm firmly around his wife’s waist despite her efforts to rise. The door opened and Legolas entered.  He stopped and raised an eyebrow when he saw all three of them piled together in the chair.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked.

“Uncle Legolas!” Sinnarn squealed and slipped from the chair to run at his uncle.  Legolas scooped him up and swung him high in the air, eliciting delighted shrieks.

“No, you are not interrupting because I intend to keep right on with what I was doing,” said Ithilden with a grin, still keeping hold of Alfirin.

Legolas laughed and settled Sinnarn on his hip.  “I wanted to tell you that I am leaving for Annael’s feast now.”

“Do not be too late,” Ithilden admonished him.  “Annael may be excused from tomorrow’s training, but you are not.”

Legolas grinned at him.  “Do not worry. I will be ready to face the masters in the morning, but tonight is for celebrating Annael’s coming of age, and I mean to celebrate.” With Thranduil’s apparent permission if not exactly his blessing, Legolas had been enjoying himself with his friends rather often lately and was increasingly impatient of restrictions that he saw as too stringent for someone his age.  Ithilden remembered feeling the same way when what he had thought of as the ‘freedom’ of adulthood had loomed on the horizon, but their father had not been nearly so easy with him.  Remembering the glimpse of Eilian he had just caught on his son’s face, he smiled rather wryly to himself.  Raising Eilian had undoubtedly taught his father to pick his battles more judiciously. Legolas kissed Sinnarn and set him down on his feet.

“Have a nice time,” Alfirin called after him as he departed.  Sinnarn picked up his horse again, and Alfirin leaned against Ithilden’s chest.  “He will be late, you know,” she observed mildly, “and will probably have drunk too much wine.” 

“I know he will,” he said, pausing to nuzzle gently at her sensitive ear and then to delight in her soft laugh.  “The novice masters will sort him out tomorrow.  They recognize a hang over when they see one.”

“Ada?” Sinnarn had suddenly appeared at his elbow.

“Yes?”

“I was lonely in my bed last night. I want to sleep with you and Nana tonight.”

He looked at his son in dismay while Alfirin smothered her laugh in his neck.

***

Legolas walked around to the back of Annael’s family’s cottage to find a small crowd gathered under the trees there.  The scent of roasting venison was in the air, so Legolas assumed that Annael’s hunt had been successful today.  Annael was nowhere to be seen, but his mother was greeting the arriving guests.

“Good evening, Legolas,” she said, smiling at him and reaching to draw his head down so that she might kiss his cheek.

“Good evening, Elowen,” he smiled fondly back at her.  He had been in and out of Annael’s cottage since he was very small and had clear memories of sitting at Elowen’s kitchen table eating bread and jam.

“The young people are over there, I think,” she said, gesturing to one side, and he went in the direction she had indicated as she turned to greet another guest.  In a small group on the edge of the gathering, he found Beliniel and Synia, along with the other three novices from his and Annael’s current training group, and Tonduil, who had recently become a horse master in the warriors’ stables and had once spent a year as a novice warrior with Annael and Legolas before deciding that his true course lay with horses.  He was also part of Legolas’s extended family, for Alfirin was his sister.

For a moment, Legolas missed the presence of those who had been ahead of them in the training and were now all serving somewhere in the Woodland Realm.  Coming of age would mean greater freedom, he thought, but it would also mean fewer chances to gather with friends and family on occasions like tonight.

They all greeted him, and Synia left Beliniel’s side to come and put her arm through his. “Are you all right?” she asked concernedly.  “Elrál says that the training was rough today.”

Legolas shot a reproving glance at Elrál, who grimaced at him apologetically. In Legolas’s opinion, events in the novice training should not be loosely talked about with those not involved.  Outsiders did not always understand the need for the discipline involved, and they really did not need to know that he and his fellow novices had spent the day practicing breaking someone’s neck using only their bare hands.

“I am fine,” he told Synia.  “Elrál was exaggerating to impress you and Beliniel. The novice masters are seldom really rough.”  The statement was literally true, but Maldor, the unarmed combat master, was the exception to the rule. The other novices smiled wryly, and Tonduil raised an eyebrow at him.  He had had several unpleasant encounters with Maldor during his brief time as a novice warrior and knew exactly how rough the Elf could be.

A sudden stir indicated that the ceremony was about to begin, and Legolas turned to see Annael coming from the cottage with his father on one side of him and Thelion on the other.  He looked serious and his face was pale.  Legolas knew that he would have been fasting since this time on the previous day, and he had, of course, kept vigil during the night. But he thought that it was the solemnity of the occasion rather than the lack of sleep or food that made his friend look so grave.

Legolas felt a small stir of uneasiness.  Annael looked foreign somehow, as if he had spent the last twenty-four hours changing into someone whom Legolas did not know.  But that was surely an exaggeration.  When Legolas thought about it, he knew that Annael had been changing gradually for the last year and more.  For Annael, this ceremony was overdue, Legolas thought. His friend had left childhood some time before.

Elowen came forward and took her husband’s hand, and the two of them followed their son through the crowd, with Thelion still in attendance.  They reached the far end of the little clearing and then Annael turned to face his parents.  From the corner of his eye, Legolas could see Beliniel, whose face had softened as she looked only at Annael. Silence fell and then Annael’s father stepped forward and began asking his son the four ritual questions.

“Are you ready to take your place as an adult and put aside the freedom of childhood?” asked Siondel.  Legolas inhaled softly.  How odd that adults thought of children as free, he thought.

“I am,” Annael answered steadily.

“What do you surrender?” Siondel’s eyes were shining, but his voice too was firm.

“I surrender my right to protection and guidance, but not my right to love and counsel,” Annael’s voice rang clearly.

“What do you accept?” Siondel asked.

“I accept responsibility for my own choices and my own actions.”

“What do you promise?”

“I promise to listen to my own wisest voice and to be a source of strength for my family and my people.”

Siondel looked at his wife, and Elowen stepped forward to face her tall son.  “Annael,” she began, and then paused to steady her quavering voice, “I acknowledge you as an adult of this household. I give you this gift as a token of my love and my respect for the person you have become.”  She reached up, and he bent his head slightly to allow her to put a thin chain around his neck.  A small charm hung from it, and Legolas knew that it was probably a rune of protection since that was the gift that most warriors’ mothers gave them.

Elowen stepped back, wiping her eyes, and Siondel stepped forward again. “Annael, I acknowledge you as an adult of this household. I give you this gift as a token of my love and my respect for the person you have become.”  He extended both hands to offer Annael a sheathed knife. Even from where he stood, Legolas could see that the handle was intricately carved, and he suddenly recognized the weapon as one that had always hung in a place of honor in Annael’s cottage, for it had belonged to his grandfather, who had been one of the first of Thranduil’s warriors to die when the Shadow had returned to Dol Guldur.

Thelion stepped forward then in his role as representative of the community.  “May the Valar’s blessing be with you,” he told Annael, with a smile growing on his face. “May the stars shine upon you. Be strong, be courageous, be wise.”  Suddenly, Annael’s solemnity shattered, and he grinned back at Thelion.

Siondel extended his hand to Elowen and then put a comforting arm around her shoulders, for she was still having trouble maintaining her composure. The two of them turned to the assembly of family, friends, and neighbors. “We present to you our son, Annael,” said Siondel, “who now takes his place as an adult among us. Come and feast and rejoice with us.”

The crowd surged toward them to congratulate Annael and laugh and cry with his parents.  Unexpectedly moved, Legolas stayed where he was for a moment, with Synia still clinging to his arm.  She tugged lightly at him. “Come,” she said, looking at him curiously, and the spell broken, he advanced to clasp arms with Annael.

“Congratulations,” he said awkwardly.  Annael’s eyes met his and then suddenly they both burst out laughing and embraced.  Legolas pounded Annael on the shoulder.  “I expect you to share your wisdom with me now,” he declared, and Annael laughed again.

“I must eat before I enlighten you,” Annael declared. “I have just realized that I am starving.”

They all devoted the next little while to obtaining food and wine and then settling under the starry sky to eat and drink.  Legolas found Synia at his side again and felt a momentary flicker of annoyance, for he had been looking forward to talking to Tonduil, whom he saw less often than he liked and with whom he could talk comfortably because of the family bond they shared. But Synia’s presence had led him and the other novices to sit some distance away. They had moved off not because they disliked Synia, he knew, but because they were politely trying to give Legolas and her some privacy.  He liked talking to Synia well enough, but he already had plenty of opportunity to do that.

She inclined her head across the clearing to where Beliniel sat next to Annael and his parents. “Do you think they will bond?” she asked.

The question made Legolas uncomfortable for it made him feel as if he were prying into things that were precious and private.  “Perhaps,” he said noncommittally.  In truth, he thought that Annael had allowed himself to become very attached to Beliniel, and he sometimes regretted it, for he feared that Annael would want to stay near her and would choose to serve in the Home Guard rather than with Legolas in the south.

They ate in silence for a few moments.  Legolas got up to get them more wine, and when he returned, Synia was studying the other couple again.  Annael was bending his head over Beliniel’s so that she could speak in his ear.  “They look very romantic,” Synia sighed, and then she flicked a sideways glance at Legolas.  “Perhaps it would be nice to take our wine into the woods a little way,” she suggested and then smiled slightly.

He met her eyes and smiled slowly back.  He had found that Synia enjoyed kissing him at least as much as he enjoyed kissing her, and he saw no reason they should not both enjoy themselves for the little time he still had at home.  He would never deceive Synia and let her think he wanted a permanent attachment, but she knew his plans.  “Perhaps it would,” he agreed and the two of them rose and walked off into the trees.

They stopped when they reached the overhanging shelter of a large willow tree.  He handed her his wine and then sat down against the tree and drew her onto his lap, laughing as she struggled not to spill the wine. She handed him his goblet, and then leaned against his chest. He inhaled the scent of her hair as it brushed against his chin, and his pulse accelerated slightly.

For a stretch of time that he did not measure, they both sat sipping wine and contemplating the stars that were visible thought the willow branches.  Then she put her empty goblet down and took his from his hand too.  With her eyes wide and solemn, she turned her face up to his, and he bent his head to kiss first her forehead and then her mouth.  She parted her lips, inviting him to deepen the kiss, and all the breath seemed to leave him as he responded.  She tasted wonderfully of the wine.  When he finally pulled back a little, she caught his lower lip between her teeth and nipped at it gently.  He broke away and, drawing in great, ragged breaths, he let his head drop back against the tree. She continued to look up at him for a moment and then leaned against him again.

Even in his dazed state, it occurred to Legolas that they should, perhaps, return to the feast.  On one level, he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of the evening kissing Synia, but he was also faintly uneasy, for he knew that he did not want to bond with anyone right now. And even more distressing, he knew that if had intended to bond, he probably would not have chosen her. “We should go back,” he said, rising with her in his arms and then setting her on her feet.  He scooped up the wine goblets and stood waiting for her, as she first stared at him immobilized and then took his hand and began the walk back with him.

When they returned to the feast, the fire had burned low and most of the guests were reclining on the grass, blending their voices in song.  Across the clearing, Annael’s parents were chatting quietly with some of their neighbors, and Annael sat against a large oak tree with Beliniel leaning against him. He gave a small wave when he saw Legolas, but Beliniel seemed not to see them.

Suddenly, Tonduil was at his side. “Where have you been?” he asked with a frown.  “We were offering toasts to Annael, and his adar wanted you to give one, but you were nowhere to be found.”

Legolas was dismayed, and it suddenly occurred to him that he and Synia had been rude to leave this celebratory gathering and go off on their own.  Even more than most of his companions, he had had good manners drummed into him all his life because Thranduil believed that his sons’ positions made any rudeness from them seem like a potential abuse of power.  How could he have forgotten?  Legolas did not think that his offense was great, but he nonetheless flushed at the idea that he had been less than courteous to Annael’s parents or to Annael himself, whom he would not have hurt for any reason.

“We had no way to know,” Synia protested.  Tonduil’s face was impassive as he looked at her, but Legolas could read him well enough.

“Let it go, Tonduil,” he said in a low voice. “I will apologize to Siondel and Elowen, and Annael needs no toast from me to know how I feel.”

Tonduil looked at him and nodded once, the matter over so far as he was concerned.  “Come and sing with us,” he invited, and the three of them went to join the group.

*******

Oh, wow. What a wonderful response!  You all make my day. Thanks to all who reviewed at www.storiesofarda.com, or ff.net, or via email.

I have to go out of town tomorrow and won’t be back until Saturday, so the next update will be slower.

Caz-baz:  Legolas’s coming of age ceremony will be in a later chapter, but I think he still has some growing up to do. Thank you for the review.

Lera:  Well, you see Ithilden and Alfirin as parents here. I think they have their hands full.  I thought about Amdir but decided he probably won’t appear in this story. I have so many OCs already that I don’t want to drive away new readers by including even more.  Amdir would be about 25 now, I think, the equivalent of a human 10 year old, so he’s too young to be a novice or to be out much (although that never stopped his older brother!).

Angelbird: I’m glad you liked the start and hope you continue to like the story. I am normally a fast updater, but have been out of town for the last week.  I am hoping the next chapter will be along soon!

LOTR Lover:  I am really enjoying writing about Thranduil on his own. He’ll be back next chapter.

Nikki:  Synia is new in this story.  I expect all those readers who hated Miriwen to go down on their knees now and beg to have her back. ;-)

Alice:  Terry B. suggested that I write about Thranduil away from his family, so I tried it and it’s really been interesting to try to work out how he would act in the situation I have created.  He’ll be back next chapter.

Lamiel:  Once I started thinking about the people on the White Council, I really had sympathy for Thranduil. They all have secrets and alliances and none of them looks to be too interested in his problems.

StrangeBlaze:  I think people might, indeed, be mean to Synia. ;-)  We will see.

Elemmire:  Fangirls for Thranduil, yes!  I have to admit I enjoyed writing about him getting naked.  I picture him with a flat stomach, lean hips, long legs, powerful chest – ahem.  Excuse me while I go get a cold drink.

Jay of Lasgalen:  I think that Thranduil is a guy who very much likes being in control.  I can’t imagine that he would be very happy with all these other powerful people all having goals of their own.

Feanen:  Glad you liked the chapter.  Thank you for taking the time to review.

Das Blume:  I have a series of stories with these characters.   Writing about Thranduil has turned out to be fun, as well as a little tricky. I had to really think about how he would react to all these folks. He’ll be back in the next chapter.

Dot:  Thranduil is really a complicated character, I think, far more so than most fanfic writers show. I think of him as very smart and cagey.  He would be looking to get whatever advantage he could while giving away as little as possible.  As for the coming of age ceremony, Nilmandra needed one for “History Lesson,” and we brainstormed about what it would be like. Then I varied it here because these are Wood-elves and they are not on a battlefield, as her elves were.

Legolas4me:  I’m glad you’re excited and I hope you continue to feel that way.  I love writing this stuff. It’s hard for me to stop and do the things I need to do in Real Life.

Angaloth: Having Galadriel as a mother-in-law would be enough to make anyone shudder, in my opinion.  I hope you liked the coming of age ceremony here. I had a good time writing it.

Dragon-of-the-north:  I am hoping the Thranduil stuff remains interesting. I started writing it just to see what it would be like to have Thranduil apart from his family, and it turned out to be fascinating to try to figure out what he would think and want.  He’ll be back next chapter.

JustMe:  I don’t know how “diplomatic” Thranduil is, but he certainly intends to get what he can at the White Council meeting.  And the “boys” are, indeed, growing up, although Legolas is not quite there yet, I think.

Wild Iris:  When I started to make notes for myself about each White Council member and what they were like, what they would want, and who they were allied with, it became clear to me that Thranduil is in a difficult situation.  My name generator gave me ‘Synia’ and I went with it.  Maybe I’ll claim it’s a Silvan name.

Arbelethiel: Naked Thranduil was actually quite a lot of fun to write, so I’m glad you enjoyed reading about him too.  I love Annael and I am afraid I have plans for him in this story.

Fadesintothewest:  I don’t think I will get to Legolas’s first patrols in this story, but lots of other stuff will happen.  I, too, love his older brothers and that’s a little embarrassing under the circumstances.

Nelsonia:  Eilian will turn up eventually and you see Ithilden and his family here. I think that all of Thranduil’s sons have learned to do the “look.”  It would be so useful!

Antigone Q:  Here’s the coming of age ceremony. I hope you liked it. I see Thranduil as somewhat isolated from the Noldor powers that be. I don’t mean that he’s hostile to them but that he finds them threatening, maybe thinks that they might move in on his sylvan people as they have in other areas. If his father was at Doriath, which I think he was, he would really have learned to mistrust the returning Noldor and Dagorlad couldn’t have helped!

Brenda G:  Hey, really good guesses about why Thranduil mistrusts Galadriel!  Tolkien does say that Oropher moved north in Mirkwood to avoid her influence, so he may just have picked up the hostility from his father.

Draekon:  On the topic of elves using tack, I’m going to quote JastaElf: “I f you ride into battle bareback, you deserve what you get. In other words, lots of bruises on your butt and thighs from falling, and from bracing your weapon against your own body rather than the TACK.” That made sense to me.  He doesn’t need it to control the horse at all, just to brace himself with. Notice that he can stand in the stirrups, for instance.

The Karenator:  On the question of the Southern Patrol, all I can say is that we are seeing Legolas’s plans, not Ithilden’s.  Hope you liked the coming of age ceremony here.

TolkienFan:  You made me laugh by saying that even Legolas’s horse has a personality.  Apparently it’s not a completely cooperative one either!

Tapetum Lucidum:  Galadriel as a mother-in-law appalls me.  Elrond had quite a lot to bear in his life, I’m afraid.  I hope you enjoyed the coming of age ceremony here.  We will get to Legolas’s eventually.

Melika:  Going from a story in which Legolas is little to this one has been a bit odd for me too.  I wish I had written all these stories in order. I wouldn’t have painted myself into as many corners.  If you have read all my stories twice, then I want to give you some sort of reward!

JastaElf:  I think that Annael is, indeed, very serious about this girl.  He is going to come of age with a vengeance, I’m afraid.

Elfie5:  First reviews! Yeah!  I’m glad you liked the story and hope you continue to like it. If you can picture it all, that’s great.

Frodo3791:  If Thranduil isn’t allied with Gandalf, then he is really on his own at the White Council!  What a group.  All the elves except Thranduil are, or have been, ringbearers.  And everyone else is a wizard.  That might be a little intimidating. But for our Thranduil?  Nah.

Naneth:  I so hope I don’t disappoint you.  I am setting things up and starting to let them run, but we’ll see how it all goes.

French Pony:  Draekon asked me about the tack too, and I answered above. See if you think that makes sense.  I have to admit that it amused me to have Thranduil break the Imladris rule with a concealed weapon. No one tells him what to do for long!

Nilmandra:  Thranduil on his own has been much more fun to write about than I anticipated.  And Legolas is working on getting ready to be an adult, but he’s not quite there yet, I think.  Like Eilian, he may take a while.

Tiger Lily: Your family, professors, etc. must have been talking to my boss who has this silly idea that my work is more important than fan fiction. Is he kidding??

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

AN:  The ff.net chapter alert for the previous chapter did not work, so if you rely on it, you may have missed that chapter.  If you go to www.storiesofarda.com, you can get notices sent to you for free that always work.

We go back to the White Council in this chapter, so I’d like to take this opportunity here to say that we don’t know if Thranduil was a member of the Council.  The Council was formed in 2463 TA.  We are told that it consisted of Mithrandir, Elrond, Galadriel, Cirdan, Saruman and other lords of the Eldar.  I am assuming that Thranduil was one of those lords.  Meetings are recorded in 2851, 2941, and 2953.  My story is set in 2530, so this meeting is my creation.

*******

3.  Friends and Enemies

“The Dúnedain patrols have seen Orcs in all the places I have marked,” Elrond said, indicating the map of the Misty Mountains that was spread out on the table around which the White Council was gathered.  “The red markers indicate large groups; the black markers indicate smaller ones.”

Thranduil scanned the map with interest, mentally comparing what it showed to the intelligence he had from Ithilden’s scouts. Elrond’s information was far more complete, he noted, which was not surprising given both that Imladris lay in the mountains’ shadow and that Ithilden had had his best scouts concentrating on gathering news of Dol Guldur.  He would get one of his aides to make a copy of this map today after the Council had dispersed.

“How sure are you of the accuracy of the Men’s reports?” Thranduil asked.

Next to Elrond, Glorfindel raised an eyebrow, apparently offended by Thranduil’s tone, but Elrond answered calmly. “I am quite sure. My sons were members of most of the hunting parties.”

As Thranduil watched, something flickered momentarily in Elrond’s face, and then disappeared, leaving only his customary composure. So that was where the sons of Elrond were, Thranduil thought, turning the fact over in his mind to look for any implications it might yield.  So far as he knew, Elladan and Elrohir had not ridden on such hunts with Men when Thranduil had attended the first White Council meeting here almost seventy years ago.  He was reasonably certain of this because Ithilden had spent time with the twins and would have told him if they had been riding with war parties.

He looked at the map again and considered the number of patrols that must have been necessary to supply this much information in six months. Thranduil’s previous observations of Elrond’s warriors had suggested that they were well-trained but functioned primarily as a defense for Imladris rather than seeking out trouble beyond the sheltered valley.  Yet now Elrond was apparently allowing his sons to spend what was surely almost all of their time away from home hunting Orcs with Men.  What did the change mean?

From under half-lowered eyelids, he glanced again at Elrond’s shuttered face and thought of Celebrían and the unhappiness he had seen in Arwen’s face when she had sat next to him at evening meal.  Then he recalled his own sons’ behavior after their mother’s death.  Perhaps Elrond was not the one who had changed. Sometimes what one ‘allowed’ one’s grown sons to do made very little difference.

“If the Orcs’ numbers continue to grow at this rate,” Mithrandir observed with a frown, “it will soon become impossible to cross the mountains.”

“The end of travel across the mountains would divide our forces in an unfortunate manner,” murmured Galadriel.

“Orcs have always lived in the mountains,” Curunír responded somewhat impatiently. “Surely it was not this that led you to insist we all travel for weeks in order to meet.”

Thranduil noted, not for the first time, that Curunír was even less willing than he was to give ready acceptance to Galadriel’s judgments.  Thus, he wanted to sympathize with Curunír, but the wizard’s skepticism seemed to extend also to Elrond and even to Mithrandir. In truth, Curunír was beginning to annoy Thranduil.

“Orcs may always have been in the mountains,” Thranduil put in, “but the enemy has not always been at Dol Guldur, and certainly his reach has not always extended as far into the forest as it does now.”

“Have you information for us, Thranduil?” Elrond asked, as the attention of the entire Council turned toward him.

“I have,” said Thranduil grimly. “When I received word that this Council would meet again, I sent scouts further south than my warriors usually go. They did not go all the way to Dol Guldur, but two of them managed to creep within three leagues of the place.”  He did not say that one of the two had been his son Eilian or that the other scout had not returned from the mission.  Nor did he say that, although Eilian had returned with no wounds to his body, he had spent weeks afterwards in a dark despair brought on by what he had seen and even more by spending too much time with the Shadow working on his mind and heart.

“They report that the trees are twisted and dying, even ten leagues north of the place,” Thranduil went on. “We fight the giant spiders even close to my stronghold, but their webs choke almost all other life from the forest there. Even the Orcs are forced to drive the spiders back so they can move about, but move about they do.  My scouts found them on the march in large numbers. Indeed, I believe that Dol Guldur controls the Orcs in the Misty Mountains, as much as anyone can control Orcs.” Thranduil paused to scan the somber faces around the table. “It would be to all our advantages to drive the enemy away from Dol Guldur, as was done once before.”  He watched their reaction. It was to argue for this course that he had come to Imladris.

There was a moment of silence and then Curunír asked, “Drive the enemy out to go where? There would be no point to simply shifting the burden from the realms of Elves to those of Men.  Gondor suffers already from constant attacks from Orcs by land and from Corsairs by sea.  Her soldiers manage to defend her borders for now, but I do not think we should take any action that would add to her burden.  We need a permanent solution, and I do not believe we know yet what that would be.”

Thranduil glanced around the table and saw reluctant agreement on the faces of many.  Anger flooded him and he gripped the arms of his chair so hard that he felt splinters being driven under his nails.  These people behaved as if they had all the time in Arda to take action, but the Shadow was devouring his realm now.

From across the table, Radagast spoke quietly. “The forest creatures suffer,” he mourned.

A wave of despair suddenly replaced Thranduil’s anger. If Radagast was his strongest ally, then there was very little hope indeed that his people’s plight would ease any time soon.

***

“They are coming!” Elrál reported, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Good,” Legolas told his lieutenant and found, to his surprise, that he actually did welcome the approach of Annael’s team of attackers. At least all the waiting will be over, he thought. He glanced around him at the group of novices he was captaining.  “Stick to our plans,” he admonished them. “The other team beat us in the fall exercise, and I have no intention of losing to them again. Take up your positions.”

They scattered in response to his order, and he felt once again both the satisfaction and the weight of command. He too moved into position, high in a large oak that was clustered with others at the top of a rise that dropped away sharply on one side and was guarded by a wide stream on the other.  Knowing that Annael was uncannily good at tracking, Legolas and Elrál had chosen the position with care and a certain amount of daring that had made the novice master raise his eyebrows when they told him their plans.

“That is a risky choice,” Lómilad had observed, and the two of them had grinned at him.

“Annael will never expect us to use the same site he used in the fall,” Legolas had explained.

“Besides,” Elrál had been unable to resist crowing, “we can cover our tracks by wading up the stream for much of the way there.”

And their strategy had worked.  The attacking team had taken two and a half days to find them, meaning that Legolas’s team had already held their position for more than half the time they needed to in order to win the war game.  Annael must be furious, Legolas thought, grinning to himself at the picture of his normally even-tempered friend’s reaction to being out-foxed.

He glanced around to be sure that his novice warriors were all in position.  He was particularly concerned about Galor, who was participating in a war game for the first time, having become a novice only three months earlier. Galor was willing enough, but tended to daydream and get distracted, particularly during periods of waiting. Legolas hoped that he would be more focused once the battle started.  Legolas had positioned him next to Elrál off to the far left and now could see his lieutenant speaking quietly to the younger novice, who was nodding earnestly. Then they all settled in to wait in absolute stillness and watch the trees that stretched away below them.

They had waited for no more than half an hour before a slight movement in the branches caught Legolas’s eye. Then he had a quick glimpse of an archer leaping from one tree to another. The attackers were approaching slowly, he thought. They must still be uncertain we are here.  He felt an almost unbearable urge to give the order to shoot. Wait, he admonished himself, and held his urge to action in check for one minute and then another.  Now! he thought, and sounded the signal.

As one, his group rose to their feet and loosed blunted arrows down at the targets they could glimpse through the leaves. To Legolas’s glee, two of the attacking novices dropped from the trees to the ground, having already been ‘killed.’  Perhaps his team would win the game by ‘killing’ two-thirds of the attackers and would not have to hold their position until sundown tomorrow.

Almost immediately answering arrows came flying toward them, but Legolas knew from his experience in trying to attack Annael’s team in the fall that the upward angle the other team was now forced to use made it fiendishly difficult to hit one’s target and shortened an archer’s range.  His own team continued to shoot, and the attackers hastily retreated.  Legolas made a quick check of his warriors and found to his relief that they were all unharmed.

From experience in previous war games, Legolas knew what the contest would now be like and indeed the rest of the afternoon passed as he would have predicted.  Annael’s team repeatedly attempted to approach them from angles that might be safe, and from their positions on the rise, his team drove them back. The hardest part of his team’s task was to keep their attention from wandering during long periods of waiting, but even Galor managed to stay focused on the trees below them and dodge incoming arrows while getting off several good shots of his own.

Legolas spent most of his time in his elevated command post making sure that his troops knew which way danger lay. By the end of the day, he had lost only one of his warriors while he had seen at least two more of the attackers fall.

As always, the coming of darkness brought an end to activity, and the novice masters who had been watching from the sidelines move in to make sure that all was well and then withdrew to their separate campsite where they would set the ‘dead’ novices to cooking the evening meal for everyone and keeping watch on the edge of the battleground.  Legolas’s team moved to the tiny clearing they were using as a campsite.

“We have to hang on for only one more day,” Legolas encouraged them happily.  They smiled back at him, obviously tired from the strain of the long afternoon, but happy to be on the verge of victory.  They had not liked losing in the fall any more than Legolas had.

He paused next to where Galor lay, gazing up at the night sky. After waiting a moment to be acknowledged, he realized that Galor had not noticed his approach.

“Wake up!” he said in exasperation.

The youngster jumped, focused on Legolas, and then sat up. “Sorry,” he mumbled, a flush creeping up his neck.

Legolas drew a calming breath and then said, “You did well today. Perform like that again tomorrow, and you will have had a very good first war game.”

“Thank you,” Galor answered, smiling shyly, and Legolas went on to sit next to Elrál.

“I just told Galor he did well,” Legolas murmured. “I hope that was true.”

Elrál grinned.  “Yes, he managed to pay attention which is really his only problem.” He glanced over to where Galor was leaning against a tree and singing softly to himself. “He is a Wood-elf,” Elrál said simply.

Legolas smiled. They were all Wood-elves, but he knew what Elrál meant.  Galor was probably so attuned to the song of Arda that other matters intruded on his consciousness only with difficulty.  Legolas had seen enough new novices by now to know that Galor might settle down and become a useful warrior, if only because the assault of the enemy on the forest would disturb him deeply.  On the other hand, he might never adjust.  Legolas knew that he would be asked to assess each of his team members when the exercise was over, and he was paying particularly close attention to this dreamy newcomer.

He and Elrál sat in silence for a few moments, listening, like Galor, to the night song of the forest. “So,” Elrál finally said, “are you looking forward to serving in the Home Guard?”

Legolas blinked in surprise. “I am not going into the Home Guard. I am going to join the Southern Patrol.”

Elrál looked surprised in his turn. “But I thought - ,” he began. “That is, Synia said - .” He broke off again.  “I must have misunderstood,” he finally finished.

“What did Synia say?” Legolas asked, beginning to feel apprehensive.

Elrál hesitated. “She said you were going into the Home Guard. And really, Legolas, that made sense because Ithilden always does post the new warriors there. And she seemed to imply - .” He stopped again.

Legolas was now looking him full in the face, apprehension shading into alarm at Elrál’s obvious embarrassment. “Imply what?” he demanded.

“I thought she implied that you and she had reached an understanding so that you would want to be in the Home Guard,” Elrál responded reluctantly. “As I said, I must have misunderstood.”

Legolas could feel the heat creeping up his neck and into his face.  “We have no understanding,” he said stiffly, realizing as he said it that it was only too true.  He and Synia had apparently failed to understand one another at all.

He lay back, wrapped his blanket around him, and tried to look as if he were going to sleep. But in his head, he kept seeing himself and Synia at Annael’s coming-of-age feast.  Surely he had not misled her.  He had been so careful to tell her what his plans were. But when he thought about it, she had not acted as if she expected him to leave. How could he not have realized that? he wondered.  But even as he raised the question, he knew the answer and felt himself flushing again.  He had been enjoying himself far too much to think beyond the immediate moment.

With an effort, he pushed all thoughts of the maiden from his mind. He would deal with Synia later. For now, he needed to sleep and then tomorrow he must keep his attention focused on the war game. But despite his resolve, it was long before he drifted away to walk the path of Elven dreams.

He woke in the morning feeling groggy, but he flung cold water from the stream over his head and then set about getting ready for the final day of the novice exercise.  Once his group had all eaten, he called them together for a brief meeting. “We will use the same strategy we used yesterday,” he told them.  “All you have to do is keep alert, so that they do not creep up on us.” Then he sent them to their posts and took up his own.

The attacking team took their time coming. At least it seemed that way to Legolas, who controlled his impatience only with difficulty. Concentrate, he reminded himself, and even as he did so, he caught a glimpse of a tiny flutter of leaves in the trees off to the left below him.  His shout of warning came at the same time that arrows flew toward them, and just as he drew his own bow, he saw Elrál lower his bow and drop from the tree to the ground, signaling that he had been hit and was now out of the game.

Legolas loosed his arrow, as did the others around him, and the attackers fell back, but a call from Legolas’s right told him that more of Annael’s group were now approaching from that direction.  He looked but could see only one attacker, who was ducking behind shelter even as Legolas saw him. He was frantically searching for another target when a sudden thought made him look left again. His heart leapt into his throat as he saw movement in several trees.

“There!” he shouted. “Look out, Galor!” Galor had been standing with his bow lowered, watching the action on the other side of the rise and had been caught completely unaware by the attackers coming up behind him.  Even as Legolas watched, a blunted arrow struck him in the back. He looked startled and then dismayed, and then he dropped to the ground. The other defending novices were now sending arrows raining down on the attackers who had gotten far too close, and under the arrows’ relentless fall, they were finally forced to withdraw.

A few moments later, just as Legolas had finished rearranging his forces, a sharp whistle pierced the air and all of them turned toward its source. The novice masters were signaling to both groups that the game was over.  We have won, Legolas realized suddenly.  We must have taken out enough of Annael’s forces to win. After a second of silence, the novices around him broke into an exultant cheer and Legolas found himself grinning. They had won.

Both groups now emerged from the trees and began to gather around Lómilad. Bow in hand and a rueful expression on his face, Annael approached Legolas and grasped his forearm. “Congratulations,” he said a little dryly.  “You are more devious than I would have believed.”

Legolas grinned. “Thank you,” he said.  Annael laughed.

Lómilad approached. “Congratulation, Legolas. It was a near thing though.  What happened to your left flank?”

From the corner of his eye, Legolas could see Galor looking unhappy and bracing himself for Legolas’s answer.  He looked squarely at Lómilad.  “I failed to deploy my forces properly,” he answered.

Lómilad nodded. “I will expect a report tomorrow,” he said and went to speak to Annael, who was now congratulating Elrál.  Legolas turned and found himself face to face with Galor.

“Why did you do that?” Galor asked. “That was my fault. I was not paying enough attention and they nearly overran us.”

Legolas shook his head. “It was my fault,” he corrected.  “I should have known what was happening. Moreover, as soon as Elrál was hit, I should have sent someone more experienced to stand with you. I failed to support you properly and you were ‘killed’ as a result.  The blame is mine.”

Galor hesitated and then seemed to accept Legolas’s explanation.  “Thank you,” he said simply. Then, as Legolas was starting to turn away, Galor caught his arm and added awkwardly.  “I just want to say that I admire the way you live up to your responsibilities, Legolas. There were times in the last few days when I let myself get distracted by the pleasure of being in the forest, but watching you reminded me that there are things I should do, even if they are not what I enjoy doing.” Then he walked off, leaving Legolas standing with his mouth open.

Galor’s words echoed in his head: “There are things I should do, even if they are not what I enjoy doing.”  He grimaced and then turned to finish exchanging polite congratulations with the other team.

*******

As always, an enormous thank you to all those who are reading this story and especially to those who encourage me with reviews.

Frodo3791:  I love seeing Ithilden with his family. He deserves to have people love him. But I think he has quite a lot of responsibility right now, including his son.

Wild Iris:  Elven sexuality is hard to make sense of.  I am happy with the more active sex lives that other authors give Elves, but seem to be stuck with this one for mine.  I have concluded that their depth of attachment would determine the depth of physical desire, but that physical desire was real too.

Luin: There are only so many baths I can have Thranduil take!  Eilian will be in this story but not for a little while yet. And I have to agree with you that Annael has always been the more mature of the two. I think Legolas’s maturation is complicated by his loss of his mother and the pressured position he lives in as the king’s son.

Legolas4me:  Legolas did back off from Synia, even when he was enjoying kissing her, so he’s not completely irresponsible, thank goodness.

Fadesintothewest: I am working on making Legolas and Annael look older in this story than they did in “One Year.”  They are an interesting pair, I think.  Annael is probably a more “normal” Elf, but then, a normal Elf would not have gone on the quest.

Lera:  In all truth, I don’t like Synia much either.  I think she’s predatory. But then, I may be overprotective of Legolas.

Lamiel:  I am so glad you liked the coming of age ceremony.  I am sappy enough that I actually made myself cry.  How’s that for an involved author? You and Luin should get together on the Thranduil/bath topic.

Alice:  Sinnarn amused me. I think he is his Uncle Eilian all over again and his parents are going to have a long, harrowing effort to see him through to adulthood.

Dot:  I too think that Legolas is mistaken to think of adulthood as “free.” Surely he has only to look at Ithilden, weighed down with responsibility, to know that that’s wrong.  I like Tonduil too. I do worry that I have too many OCs and that anyone new to my stories must be reeling trying to keep them all sorted out.

Tapetum Lucidum:  You are so nice to do that long review all over again!  Ithilden can really do a nice imitation of his father, which must come in handy. And while Legolas thinks he told Synia what his plans were, I doubt if she told him hers!

Bryn:  You are so right.  Ithilden should enjoy Sinnarn now because once he hits adolescence, he and his son are going to be at odds.  Ithilden is used to having people obey him. Eilian will be along eventually.

Jebb:  Glad you liked the coming of age ceremony.  I made myself teary eyed writing it.  I can only imagine what Annael’s mother must have felt.

Nelsonia:  Synia is a problem, I think.  She wants more from Legolas than he is willing to give.

Lady Berenice:  Ithilden is a great crown prince. Thranduil is lucky to have him, as is Mirkwood in general.

Nikki1:  Glad you liked the chapter.  Curious is good!

Camp6311:  I liked writing about Thranduil in a different setting too. I had to rework that scene several times to figure out for myself what the tone of it should be because, as you say, we don’t see him out of his own realm and interacting with peers much.

French Pony:  Actually, the concealed weapons scene reminded me of the scene in Esgaroth in the movie “The Two Towers.” The door warden tells Aragorn, Legolas, and Mithrandir that they have to leave their weapons and they all spend about three minutes disarming, pulling out knives, swords, bows, and Valar knows what else.  I thought it was funny.

Antigone Q:  I think that Annael is ready to bond.  He has the model of his parents in front of him and they seem to me to be a really nice couple.

Nilmandra:  Legolas knew he and Synia needed to get back to the ceremony.  He can be honorable, even when temptation is near.

JastaElf:  I’m sure that Thranduil will tell you that Eilian and Sinnarn are just like wife’s troublesome uncle!  Not his side of the family, oh no.  No rash, independent, curious folks there!

Brenda G:  I figured that Legolas could put the brakes on physical intimacy with Synia because he is an elf, and physical and emotional closeness go together for him.  She cares for him more than he does for her, which happens.  I wrote on the plane both going and coming!

Just Me:  I think there is a clear contrast between Annael and Beliniel and Legolas and Synia.  Annael and Beliniel are in sync and are ready to bond.  Legolas is definitely not, even though Synia would like it.

LKK:  Legolas did not behave well when he disappeared with Synia.  His father would be horrified if he knew.

Strange Blaze:  When Annael’s mother had to pull Legolas’s head down to kiss him, I thought of another scene I had written when she kisses the top of his head because he has bumped it.  It was such a nice contrast.

Feanen:  Sinnarn is cute but he’s a handful!

The Karenator:  I made myself cry a little when I wrote the coming of age ceremony too. I think all us parents feel like that.  Ithilden is wonderfully capable and Thranduil should be grateful for his presence.

Tigerlily713:  Legolas tries to be honest with himself, and I think you’re right.  When he can admit his own feelings and then act accordingly, he’s admirable.

Naneth:  The coming of age ceremony was satisfying to write.  I was pleased by how it came out and I’m glad that other people liked it too.

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

4.  Negotiating

Legolas looked straight ahead and tried to ease the strain on his arms by bending them slightly and then straightening them again.  Maldor’s feet passed in front of his face.  “Are your arms shaking already, Tinéldor?” Maldor demanded sharply, stopping by the novice who was next to Legolas.  “An hour is not an excessively long time to hold a handstand, and you will be holding it for a while yet.  Put some muscle into it.”

Legolas looked from the corner of his eye at the four other novices all in a row standing on their hands. They were all stripped to their leggings, both to keep their tunics from falling into their faces and also to allow the unarmed combat master to see how they were faring. When he was satisfied that their arms were exhausted, he would let them up and set them to sparring using only their legs.

They had done this exercise before, and Legolas knew that he would probably be the last one released from the handstand.  As a consequence of years of work with a bow, he was strong through the arms and shoulders, but so were all of his companions.  The length of time he would hold this position was really due to his dislike of Maldor and his reluctance to let the unarmed combat master get the better of him.

Settling in for a long contest, he deliberately tried to make his mind go blank, for he had found that the time passed more easily if he could blur his awareness a little.  Today, however, his mind would not obey him, for he kept thinking of Synia, whom he would see that night and with whom he intended to have matters out.

Elrál’s account of what Synia was apparently claiming about them had caught him by surprise.  Synia was by no means the first maiden he had spent time with in the last few years.  He had found, rather to his embarrassment, that maidens were attracted to him.  He suspected that that was as much because of who he was as of what he was like himself, although that was an idea that Annael discounted.  “I would not have credited it myself,” Annael had recently teased him, “but Beliniel says you are good looking.”

Legolas had watched his older brother Eilian keep maidens at a distance by flirting with many of them and refusing to take any of them seriously, but Legolas had found that he was uncomfortable doing that himself.  Unlike Eilian, he liked being friends with one maiden at a time. He had found that maidens were easier to talk to than most of his male companions, and he could not deny that he enjoyed exchanging kisses with them.  Synia had been more enthusiastic than most about such exchanges, but it had never occurred to him that she might be reading much into them.  He supposed now that it should have.  He had read that Men were able to separate emotional and physical intimacy, but it was not so for Elves.

He sighed, and Maldor walked to stand in front of him.  “Do you find this tedious, Legolas?” he demanded sharply.

“No, master,” he answered woodenly. “I enjoy it.”

Maldor’s lips tightened.  “We will see if you enjoy sparring as well,” he snapped and walked away.

That was stupid of me, Legolas thought with a twinge of regret, knowing without a doubt that when the sparring started he would be facing Maldor and, unpleasant as he was, Maldor could fight.  Ah, well, Legolas mentally shrugged.  Perhaps today would be the day he would defeat the master.  He moved his right hand slightly so that a small stone was no longer digging into his palm.

His thoughts went back to Synia again.  The one thing he had to be grateful for was that his father was away, for Thranduil seemed to know everything that went on in his realm, and if he had caught wind of a rumor of a match between Legolas and Synia, he would have been in a fury.  Like all Elven parents, Thranduil expected his children to seek his approval and permission before becoming betrothed, and he would not be happy if he thought that Legolas had done otherwise.

Moreover, Thranduil was unlikely to be placated by Legolas’s protestation that there was no such match in the offing.  He was unlikely to accept without question the excuse that Synia had misunderstood Legolas’s intentions and would want to know just what had occurred that she could misunderstand. Legolas found that that was an explanation he did not want to have to give.   And in the long run, his relationship with Synia was his own responsibility anyway. He would see her this evening and break it off with her entirely.

“That is enough, Legolas,” Maldor’s voice interrupted his unpleasant thoughts.  Legolas let himself down and then flexed his aching arms.  He looked over to where Annael was already sparring with Elun, and Elrál was kicking at Tinéldor.  It was just as he had anticipated, he thought glumly.  “Come,” Maldor said.  “We will work together.”

Legolas climbed to his feet, saluted his opponent, and then took up his stance. In a blur of motion, Maldor’s bare foot landed squarely in his chest and sent him sprawling.  He dragged air back into his lungs and then stood up again. It was going to be a long afternoon.

***

Thranduil inhaled deeply.  Lilacs of all shades bloomed in a fragrant mass in this secluded corner of the gardens of Imladris.  Spring wildflowers grew in messy disarray under the flower laden bushes.  A small pond had been built here and benches had been placed in several spots so that a wanderer could seek shade or sun, depending on the weather. On this fine spring afternoon, he seated himself in sunshine and then allowed the life of the garden to calm him a little as he thought about the events of that morning’s council meeting.  Or perhaps, he corrected himself, it would be more accurate to say the non-events of that morning’s council meeting.  He had never had much hope that any action would grow out of this meeting, and he was increasingly sure he had been right.

He was beginning to think it was time for him to go home.  Legolas’s coming-of-age ceremony would take place soon, and he needed to be present for that.  He thought with satisfaction about his youngest son, who was growing into a formidable warrior and a responsible young adult.  He had been lucky in his children, he thought.

A soft step stirred the pebbles in the path, and he stiffened slightly as he became aware of the approach of Elrond, who stopped at the entrance to the little garden, evidently surprised to see Thranduil there.  Then, courteous as always, Elrond asked, “Do I disturb you?”

“Not at all,” Thranduil answered, gesturing for Elrond to join him on the bench.  He might as well take advantage of any opportunity to learn what he could about Elrond’s concerns and perhaps those of Galadriel and Círdan, with whom he seemed to be allied.  There were secrets among these people, he thought, and he had found that things worth keeping secret were usually things worth knowing.

Elrond lowered himself gracefully to the bench and then looked around at the flowering shrubs as if seeking something he could not find.  Thranduil watched him from under lowered lids.  He had had very little contact with Elrond since Dagorlad and had been only too happy for the distance between them.  After the slaughter of his father’s forces, he had had no desire to form friendships with those who had failed to support them.  Thus, he had been unprepared for the sympathy that Elrond’s appearance had called forth in him since his arrival in Imladris.  It seemed to him that Elrond looked weary, as if he carried a burden that was almost more than he could bear.

“All of Imladris’s gardens are beautiful,” Thranduil observed finally, as Elrond continued to contemplate the lilacs, “but I think I like this corner the best.  It has the feel of the woods about it.”

As if coming back to himself with an effort, Elrond turned somber eyes upon him. “Celebrían created this spot,” he said.  “She sometimes found the other gardens too formal.”

Thranduil studied him.  He was a private person himself and did not like to intrude upon the private grief of others, but he had been widowed too recently not to feel Elrond’s pain.  “I was sorry to hear that Celebrían had been hurt and then that she felt she had to sail west. I know what it is like to be parted from a wife.”

“Yes, of course you do,” Elrond answered, evidently distressed by his failure to have mentioned Thranduil’s loss.  “And I was sorry to hear about Lorellin.”  He seemed to hesitate.  “Thranduil, have you ever wondered if perhaps the enemy knew whom they were stalking?”

Thranduil blinked. “You mean that Celebrían and Lorellin were deliberate targets rather than random victims?”

“Yes.” Elrond looked away into the distance, and Thranduil wondered what he saw.

“That would mean that Sauron has spies who are even more effective than I already believe them to be,” Thranduil frowned and then shook his head. “The Shadow is spreading ever more widely, Elrond, and we at this council are doing nothing to stop it.”

Elrond shifted restlessly. “I am afraid that Curunír is right. We must be patient.”

“Is that what your sons think too?” Thranduil asked sharply, all sympathy suddenly gone.

Against every fatherly instinct, he had sent Eilian and another warrior to Dol Guldur.  That it had not been his son who died was a matter of sheer good fortune.  Was that sacrifice to be wasted?

Elrond turned bleak eyes upon him. “My sons are none of your affair,” he said icily and then rose.  “I will see you again at evening meal,” he said and then was gone.

Thranduil looked after him and then leaned back against the bench and blew out an impatient breath.  Elrond was suffering, and that was regrettable.  But he was also unlikely to take action any time soon, and from Thranduil’s point of view, that was even more to be regretted.

***

“I missed you when you were gone on the novice exercises,” Synia said.

Legolas leaned back against the tree, and she snuggled up next to him.  Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.  They would not be able to stay out for long, and once they went to one of their homes, they would have no privacy at all.  He needed to speak up now.

He drew a deep breath. “Synia, there is something I must speak to you about.”

She looked up at him and then stretched up to kiss his cheek. “You are so serious,” she said.  She began to fiddle with the laces on his tunic.  He caught at her hand and held it immobile.

“This is serious,” he said firmly.  Then he paused, uncertain exactly how to begin. When he had been planning this conversation, he had had a vague hope that it could be held without great unpleasantness, but now, with Synia clinging to him, he was beginning to think he might have been overly optimistic.  I must just get it out in the open, he resolved. “Did you tell Elrál that we were going to be betrothed?” he finally blurted out.

She tensed and then sat up a bit straighter.  “No, I did not.”  She sounded indignant.

“Did you imply it then?” he persisted, at the same time thinking that if Elrál had gotten this wrong, he would kill him.

She started to speak and then paused.  “I may have said something that could be taken that way,” she finally admitted.  She looked up at him from under her lashes.  “Perhaps I should have been more discreet.  I am sorry.”

“It is not a question of discretion,” Legolas replied in exasperation. “Well, it is,” he amended, “but it is not only that.  Synia, there is no such agreement between us.”

She froze, staring at him with her lips parted.  “What do you mean?” she said stiffly.

He cringed at her tone, but he could not stop now. “I told you that when I become a warrior in another few weeks, I will be going south to serve under my brother.  I cannot bond with anyone right now.”

She was still so close to him that he could feel her trembling slightly.  “But Annael said that that would not really happen,” she said.  “He said that Ithilden would never allow you to join the Southern Patrol without any experience.”

Now it was Legolas’s turn to stare at her.  Could Annael really have said that?  He felt a moment’s anxiety but then recovered himself with an effort.  “Annael is wrong,” he said firmly. “It is what I have always planned to do. I have spoken to Eilian about it several times.”

“I do not believe it,” she declared.

He stiffened. “I beg your pardon,” he said with as much arrogance as he could manage. He surely had done nothing to merit being called a liar.

She flinched slightly and then drew a deep breath and put her hand on his arm.  “I am sorry,” she apologized, and her voice was coaxing now. “I did not mean that the way it sounded.  But, Legolas, do you really want to go away?”  She leaned toward him, biting her lip. “Think about it. You could join the Home Guard, as Annael says most new warriors do. There would be nothing dishonorable in that, and we could be together.”  She stretched up to kiss him, sliding her tongue along his lips which he involuntarily parted in response.  She touched her tongue to his, sending a jolt through him that seemed to go straight to his groin.

With a desperate effort, he drew back.  “I am a warrior, Synia.  And I am the son of the king.  I have obligations to the realm, and I want to defend it.”

She stared at him for a moment, and then, to his utter astonishment, she took his hand and slid it into the unbuttoned neck of her gown, laying it against her left breast.  “Do you really want to leave?” she asked softly.

Thunder rumbled again, closer this time.  She stirred, and he felt the lace at the edge of her chemise on the back of his hand and the warm softness of her under his fingers.  What am I doing? he thought, and then, unexpectedly, anger swept through him. With an almost violent effort, he snatched his hand away.  “There is no agreement between us, Synia,” he said, struggling for breath, “and there will not be one.”

Disbelief twisted her face, and then, with a cry of rage, she struck him full across the face, snapping his head back, for she was surprisingly strong.  “What is wrong with you?” she cried.  She drew her arm back to slap him again, and he caught her wrist.

“Stop it!” he demanded.  She glared at him for a moment longer, and then suddenly, her face crumpled, and she began to cry.  He wrapped his arms around her and drew her close, stroking her hair.  “I am sorry,” he said simply.

“Leave me alone,” she ordered, pulling away.  She swiped at her eyes with her fingertips.

“It is going to rain,” he said, reluctant to leave her by herself.  “Come. I will see you home.”

“I can get home by myself,” she declared. “Just go away.”

He hesitated for a moment longer and then turned to leave the glade in which they had sheltered and stride up the path toward home.  As he neared the bridge to the palace, lightning forked through the night, a clap of thunder sounded, and the clouds opened.  He broke into a run and raced through the Great Doors as rain began to pour down.

“Nasty night,” commented one of the guards, who stood just inside the doors.

“Indeed,” Legolas agreed, wondering if Synia had gotten home before the rain started.  He grimaced to himself.  What a mess! What had he been thinking that he had not realized what she had been hoping for?  He entered the hallway in which the royal family’s quarters lay.  As he moved along toward his own room, he passed the door to the suite where Ithilden and Alfirin lived and he paused, recalling Synia’s assertion that Ithilden would never agree to send him south.

He had to admit that he had never spoken to Ithilden about his plans for joining the Southern Patrol, but he had talked to Eilian, who captained it, and he had assumed that Eilian would see to it that he was posted there.  That had seemed the better course to take because Ithilden listened to Eilian in a way he never did to Legolas.  He tried to remember exactly what Eilian had said the last time Legolas had talked about his plans, but found that he could recall only vague comments about crossing that bridge when they came to it.

He had a sudden strong urge to talk to Ithilden.  Under ordinary circumstances, he would wait until the next day and ask to see his brother in his office near the training fields.  Ithilden usually declined to talk about such business at home and, indeed, refused to talk to Legolas at all about things that he would not share with any other novice.  But with Thranduil gone, Ithilden was so busy that he was conducting all his affairs from the palace, and the novices were kept busy enough that Legolas would not be able to go home during the day. With the end of his training drawing near, surely he had a right to reassure himself as to where he was going to be posted.  He raised his hand and knocked on the door of Ithilden’s suite.

“Come in,” his brother’s deep voice called.

Legolas entered to find Ithilden seated at a desk to one side of the room, apparently going through dispatches.  He looked up and then smiled, sat back, and stretched.  He looked tired, Legolas thought.  Carrying their father’s responsibilities as well as his own was beginning to wear on him.  Alfirin and Sinnarn were no where to be seen, and Legolas suddenly realized that it was late and they had probably already gone to bed.

“Am I disturbing you?” Legolas asked tentatively.

“Not at all,” Ithilden answered, waving him to a chair near the desk. “Did you have a good evening?”

A sudden vision of Synia’s angry face flashed before him, and he could feel himself flushing.  “Yes,” he said hastily.  He certainly had no intention of telling anyone what had occurred between him and her tonight, and he fervently hoped that she would hold her tongue too.  Ithilden cocked his head and raised an eyebrow.  It was hard to fool him; he had been commanding troops for a long time and was quite good at reading people. Legolas hurried to speak.

“I know you do not like to discuss warrior business here at home,” he began, watching for Ithilden’s reaction, “but I wanted to ask you something.”

Ithilden’s smile fled, and he sighed and ran his hand wearily over his hair.  “What is it?” he asked reluctantly.

Legolas leaned forward eagerly.  “Has Eilian talked to you about my serving under him after I finish my training?”

Ithilden blinked. “No, he has not,” he said emphatically.  “Surely you do not think you are going to the Southern Patrol immediately?”

Legolas felt as if Maldor had just landed a kick to his stomach.  “But I have spoken to him about it, and he has agreed that I can serve there.”

“I doubt that,” Ithilden said dismissively, “and if he has, then he has overstepped his authority.”

Frantically trying to think of just what Eilian had said, Legolas was opening his mouth to protest when a small voice cried “Ada!” and Sinnarn ran into the room and jumped into Ithilden’s lap to bury his distressed face against his father’s chest.  He was wearing a sleep tunic and clutching a multi-colored blanket that Alfirin had woven for him before he was born.  The blanket was beginning to unravel, but Legolas had heard him adamantly refusing to let his mother mend it.

“What is it, iôn-nín?” Ithilden asked, embracing him.  “Did you have a bad dream?”

The elfling shook his head without raising it.  “The thunder woke me up,” he said in a voice muffled by Ithilden’s tunic.  He raised his face then, and they both could see the alarm in it.  “I am not afraid,” he declared stoutly, “but it was too loud.”

Ithilden kissed the top of his dark head.  “Thunder will not hurt you,” he murmured.

“I know,” Sinnarn said, “but I want it to be quiet.”

Ithilden looked up at Legolas, who knew that any discussion of his own future was over, at least for now.  “I could take him if you have work to do,” Legolas offered, stretching his arms out for his nephew.

But Sinnarn dug his fists into his father’s tunic and Ithilden shook his head.  “Go on to bed,” he said.  “Sinnarn and I will go to his room and rock for a while.” With his son in his arms, he rose and Legolas did too.

“May I talk to you about this some more at another time?” Legolas stopped in the doorway to ask.

Ithilden frowned at him. “I always talk to the new warriors about where they will be posted a few days before the ceremony in which they pledge their faith.  I will do the same with you.”

Legolas bit his lip. This was not a satisfactory answer, but he knew he was going to have to accept it.  I will write to Eilian, he thought, as he walked toward his own room.  Perhaps he can convince Ithilden that I belong with him.

*******

As always, I thank everyone who takes the time to read this story and especially those who review it, whether at ff.net, at storiesofarda.com, or via email.  I love hearing from you.

Antigone Q:  Well, the “presumptuous little twit” has been sent on her way.  She was bad for him, but I can sort of understand her point of view.  And you are a good reader because right here in my notes for the last chapter it says I should write about the war games to show Legolas becoming a leader.  So it’s nice to know someone saw that.

Caz baz:  I think Ithilden thinks like you do and intends to have all new warriors start in the Home Guard.

Nelsonia:  I hadn’t planned on doing any more on Eilian scouting near Dol Guldur this time.  But I think he may be going there in my next story too!

Lera:  My goodness, you’re a sharp reader.  The only thing I would add is that Synia is not the only one who apparently heard what she wanted to hear.  Legolas seems to have done that too with regard to his posting.

White Wolf:  I’m glad you like “coming home” to my characters, although maybe that means I need to do something different!

Dot:  I was kind of charmed by the idea of Ithilden and the twins too.  Maybe I’ll write about that someday.  There would be lots of canonical characters after all.  If Galor came across as a little creepy, then I did it wrong. I just meant for him to be too wrapped up in the woods to be a good warrior.

Bryn:  I hadn’t thought much about writing Cirdan, but he and Thranduil would make an amusing little pair.  Radagast is offended: “crazy old bat” indeed!  And I suspect that if you say more unkind things about Elrond, you will be in trouble with more than Glorfindel!  My beta is a BIG Elrond fan.

Legolas4me:  He’s trying to be more responsible. He’s better at doing it in his warrior role than in his personal life right now, but he’s getting better.

Brenda G:  Legolas was good, wasn’t he?  And he move quickly to put a stop to the Synia rumor mill.  Thranduil is smiling benevolently at you.  If he weren’t married, he would come to visit.

French Pony:  I love your assessment of Legolas as a commander. He is good with people, I think, and his loyalty is one of his strongest traits, even in the Fellowship.

LKK:  The council is turning out to be surprisingly fun to write about.  These people are all so complicated and powerful that it’s very tricky to figure out how they would all act with one another.

Lamiel:  I have to admit that I hesitated to write about the novice exercises again.  I had already done it and I was afraid that readers would be bored so I didn’t want to describe them too fully. But then, there are sometimes new readers (I hope) and I needed to say enough that the whole thing made sense to them too.  It’s one of the consequences of a long series of stories, I guess.  I’m glad you find them consistent.

Feanen:  The training is kind of fun to write about too.  I thought it would be a mix of pretty strict discipline with adventuresome fun.

Princessofthelandofgreenleaves:  I think you can cross Synia off your list of worries. But sadly, Legolas has to save Middle-earth before he can come and see you.

Nikki:  It must be nice for Legolas to have people looking up to him.  He’s been the youngest at home for a long time.

Erunyauve:  You always have such interesting background from Tolkien. I think your reasoning is right on.  And while Synia isn’t evil, she’s not good for Legolas either. She’s pretty selfish, I think.

TigerLily:  It was fun to cut back and forth between Thranduil’s strategy at the council and Legolas’s strategy in the war games.  And in this chapter, they’re both trying to negotiate with others who are pretty resistant!

Alice:  Legolas does seem to have gone from elfling to commander over night!  At my house, he actually did because I finished a story of him getting his first big bow and immediately started thinking about this one. I have to keep reminding myself to make him grown up. Eilian will be along eventually.

Frodo3791:  I think love is more complicated for Legolas than for Annael, for instance. As you say, who he is means that he has lots of obligations.

Fadesintothewest:  Oh yes, you are so right about Synia.  She understood what she wanted to understand and I think she was doing what she thought it would take to get what she wanted.

Nilmandra:  I really thank you for your help with this story.  It’s hard to get the tone right with Curunir and also with Legolas (although it seems wrong to put them in the same sentence).

Tapetum Lucidum:  Is Saruman evil yet?  That is an excellent question.  Here’s what we know.   The Wizards show up in the Tale of the Years for the first time around 1100 TA.  Cirdan gave his ring to Gandalf and we are told that Saruman learned about this and was jealous.  We don’t know exactly when he learned but when the White Council formed in

2463, Saruman became head but Galadriel had wanted Gandalf as leader and Saruman resented it.  This all sounds to me as if he is gradually becoming corrupted by his desire for power and jealousy of Gandalf.  So in the year I’m writing about, 2530, he’s probably somewhere on the road to perdition but isn’t there yet.

JustMe:  Legolas acknowledges the fact that you warned him. He is sorry he didn’t listen and promises to do so next time.

Jay of Lasgalen:  I like the “wood-elf” would be warrior too, but I’m not sure he should be a warrior.  Maybe a minstrel!  And thank you for your kind words about Ithilden as his father’s stand in and Annael’s coming-of-age ceremony.  Both of these OCs are close to my heart.

Arbelethiel:  I think that Synia just wants what she wants. I think she likes Legolas more than he likes her. She would like to be married to him and believes she would settle down very happily to be Thranduil’s daughter in law and live in the palace. But it would be a shallow relationship.

The Karenator:  Not to worry!  Ithilden is unlikely to send Legolas into more danger than he thinks he can handle.  It’s a good thing that Thranduil is away so that Legolas can break from Synia before he gets back.

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

5. Treacherous Ground

“Vilmar asks to see you, my lord,” the aide said.

Ithilden looked up from the dispatch he was writing to his brother Eilian.  “Send him in,” he said, and his father’s chief forester came into the office. “Sit down,” Ithilden said, waving him to a chair.

“My lord,” Vilmar began without preamble, “we have a problem in the forest to the southwest.  Lightning from last night’s storm started a fire there, and it is burning toward one of the settlements.”

With a smothered groan, Ithilden leaned back in his chair. Thranduil’s people did not ordinarily try to stop forest fires. They accepted them as part of the cycle by which the woods were renewed and space was cleared for new growth.  Only when the fire threatened their homes did they did take action.

Ithilden knew that the part of the forest of which Vilmar was speaking constituted a recurring problem for Thranduil; he had certainly heard his father complaining about it often enough.  It was thinly inhabited by settlers who had moved there during the Watchful Peace and now refused to withdraw to safer areas near Thranduil’s stronghold.  They had been deeply affronted when the king had refused to send some of his too few warriors as permanent guards for the settlements. They would certainly expect some action to be taken for their protection now.

“Sérion,” Ithilden called, and the aide appeared in the doorway.  “Send for Siondel,” he instructed, and the aide hurried off to summon the captain of the Home Guard.

Ithilden returned his gaze to Vilmar, who waited patiently with only a hint of amusement in his eyes.  He knew exactly what kind of recurring problem the settlements caused for Ithilden and his father.  “I assume you will want to use Home Guard warriors to fight the fire,” Ithilden said, rather belatedly.

“Yes, my lord,” Vilmar nodded.  “We can muster a half dozen or so foresters, but that will not be enough.”

Ithilden nodded and the two of them waited in a short silence before Siondel appeared in the doorway and put his hand over his heart to salute Ithilden.  “Sit down,” Ithilden instructed and then went on to tell him about the fire. “How many Home Guard warriors could you spare to fight it?” he asked finally.

Siondel thought for a moment.  “I can send perhaps a dozen without spreading the remaining troops too thinly,” he said with some reluctance.

Vilmar frowned. “Is that all?  Five or six more than that would make it much easier to cut a fire break of a sufficient width.”

Siondel held firm. “To send any more would be to leave the Home Guard dangerously shorthanded.”

Ithilden hesitated and then reluctantly said, “In the past, we have sometimes sent the oldest of the novices to fight fires too.”

Siondel looked at him sharply.  “Lómilad would have to agree,” he said, but Ithilden shook his head.

“I would inform the novice master, of course, but this would be my decision,” he said soberly.

Siondel grimaced. His son, Annael, would be among those sent if Ithilden chose this course of action.  Of course, thought Ithilden, so would Legolas.  For a fleeting moment, he was glad that Thranduil was away so that there was no chance he would have to tell his father that he had sent Legolas into the unpredictable situation a fire represented.  Thranduil still tended to be overprotective of his youngest child.

“I would keep the novices as far from the fire as I could, my lord,” Vilmar said gently.  He must have known exactly what was going through the minds of the other two Elves.

Ithilden sighed.  “Very well,” he agreed. “You may have the five oldest novices and the warriors that Siondel can spare.”

“I will go along to command them,” said Siondel firmly.

Ithilden raised an eyebrow at him but said only, “The novices will be under your command too.” He smiled slightly as his captain’s tension obviously eased at the news.  “Vilmar will be directing your actions, of course.”  Siondel nodded.

“We need to be underway within the hour,” Vilmar urged.

“Go,” Ithilden dismissed them and then wrote a brief note that he sent to the novice master.

He turned to his dispatch again, but found himself thinking about Siondel’s reaction to the idea that the oldest novices would be sent into a chancy situation.  When Legolas had asked him last night about being posted to the Southern Patrol, Ithilden knew that he could easily have put an end to what was probably now going to be a recurring argument with his youngest brother.  All he would have had to do was declare that Legolas would be posted to the Home Guard and then forbid any further discussion.  Legolas would not have liked it, but he was enough of a warrior by now that he was unlikely to challenge the decision of his commanding officer.  At least not openly, Ithilden amended wryly, for he had commanded troops for enough time to know that warriors found many ways to try to change the minds of their commanders.

But Ithilden had not made such a declaration because, in truth, he was hesitating about where to send Legolas.  Not that there was any chance he would go south, of course.  And Ithilden still might decide to put him in the Home Guard.  What to do with Legolas was really a secondary problem; the primary problem was what to do with Annael, and Siondel’s reaction to the idea of sending the novices to fight the fire had just confirmed the nature of the problem for Ithilden.  Siondel captained the Home Guard; putting his son under his direct command was probably not a good idea.

Thus Ithilden had been contemplating sending Annael to one of the safer border patrols, the one on the eastern border perhaps or the one to the north.  And if he did that, then he would probably post Legolas to the same patrol.  The two of them had been friends since they were Sinnarn’s age.  They would support one another well as they learned what they would need to know to survive as warriors of the Woodland Realm.

Ithilden grimaced and put the decision aside for another time.  He had enough responsibilities today without having to borrow more from the future.  He turned his attention to the dispatch he was writing to Eilian, which would now have to be sent out immediately by the fastest messenger Ithilden had.  Eilian would need to know about the forest fire and the movement of Elves in the area.  It was possible that Orcs would be attracted by the situation, seeing in it the potential for vulnerability among the fire fighters and the settlers.  Depending on what the Border Patrol was doing, the Southern Patrol might have to assist in guarding it.  Ithilden would let Eilian work that out with the captain of the Border Patrol.  They were both experienced warriors who got along well. He could trust them to do what was needed and keep him informed.

He paused as a sudden thought about the settlement occurred to him.  Then he grinned to himself.  He would wager his new soft leather boots that he would soon be hearing that Eilian had talked the Border Patrol captain into letting the Southern Patrol guard the settlement. Eilian would have made a reasonable argument for the arrangement, of course, but the rationale he offered would have little to do with his real motives.  Ithilden looked forward to hearing the explanation his brother would concoct.

***

Siondel raised his arm, and the line of warriors ahead of Legolas came to a halt.  Pilin pranced a bit beneath him, and he patted the stallion’s neck and spoke to him softly.  He had known they must be drawing near to the fire because, for the last hour or so, the air had been growing increasingly smoky, blurring the mid-day light and stinging his eyes and his throat.  Moreover, the forest was uneasy here, whispering of death and danger.  Now Legolas could see Siondel consulting with Vilmar, who was gesturing toward an area directly in front of them.  Siondel turned slightly and gave the signal for them all to dismount.

“We will make our camp here,” he called.  “Stow your gear and take care of the horses.”

They all slid to the ground and hastened to obey.  Legolas dropped his bedroll next to Annael’s, and Elrál, Tinéldor, and Elun joined them.  The five of them had hardly been able to believe their luck when Lómilad had approached the practice fields the previous afternoon and taken them out of Maldor’s clutches with orders to get ready to go on this mission with fully-fledged warriors.  Granted, they would be fighting fire rather than Orcs, but the mission was still the most exhilarating event Legolas could recall happening in a long time.  And truth be told, after the previous night’s encounter with Synia, he was happy to be going where he would have no chance of running into her.  They had ridden through the night and apparently had now reached their destination.

He looked around to find that Siondel and Vilmar were talking to two Elves he had never seen before.  He assumed they must be from the settlement that was supposed to be somewhere nearby.  They were agitated, and Siondel seemed to be reassuring them. Finally, the conversation seemed to be over, and he gestured for the group of warriors, foresters, and novices to gather.  The two Elves from the settlement stood nearby to listen as Vilmar gave them their instructions.

“The fire is still some distance in front of us,” he said, “and we are fortunate, because there is little wind and it is moving slowly.  We are going to advance to a stream that is between the settlement and the fire and cut the trees on this side of the stream. Together, the stream bed and the cut area should leave the fire nothing to burn and turn it aside from the homes of the settlers.”  He looked them all over soberly.  “You need to stay alert, though.  Fire is unpredictable; it is possible that we will not have time to clear an area that is wide enough, for instance, and that the fire will leap across it through the tree tops.”

Legolas suddenly felt much more somber.  Perhaps there were worse things than standing on his hands in a field in the pale spring sunshine.

“Make sure your water skins are full, because you are going to be thirsty,” Vilmar told them. Then he gestured toward a pile of axes that had been unloaded from one of the horses.  “Everyone take an axe and then follow me.”  They each took one of the sharp tools and set out toward the stream.

As he emerged from the woods, Legolas saw that Elves were already at work cutting trees here.  They must be from the settlement, he realized.  Directly in front of him, a maiden was wielding an axe on a tall oak tree, with the sleeves of her gown rolled up to her elbows.  He puzzled for a moment over her filthy face, and then something fluttered down and settled on his sleeve, and when he tried to brush it off, it smeared.  The smoke had become thicker as they approached the stream, and it dawned on him that soot was sifting down and blackening everything around him.

“Over here,” Vilmar directed and led Legolas and Annael along the edge of the streambed. The stream itself was not very wide, but over the years, it had cut a gully that was a good ten feet across and would make the basis of the fire break they were going to create.  “Cut as many of these trees as you can,” the forester said grimly.  “Make sure they fall away from the streambed.  We will get the horses to help drag them clear.”  Then he shepherded the other novices a bit further along and set them to work too.

Legolas glanced at Annael, who was already approaching a beech tree, and then hefted his own axe and eyed the tree nearest him.  “Forgive me,” he thought, touching the tree lightly with his fingertips, and then he backed off and swung the axe to begin making the undercut that would help him control the direction of the tree’s fall.

He had felled trees before, although he had not done it often, and he worked rapidly now, cutting a wedge from one side of the tree and then moving around to make the back cut on the other side.  When the tree began to shudder, he took one more cautious swing and then, as the tree toppled, he moved away and shouted “Falling!”  The Elves around him looked up at the warning, but the tree fell away from them, and they returned to their tasks. Dragging his sleeve across his already sweaty forehead, Legolas started immediately toward the next tree.  They did not know how long the fire would take to reach them, and they needed as long and wide a fire break as they could create.

The next few hours passed in an increasingly unfocused blur.  The smoke grew ever thicker so that his throat became sore and his eyes stung and ran with tears. Soot settled on everything.  Legolas caught glimpses of Annael’s blackened, sweat-streaked face and knew that his own face must look much the same.  Moreover, while he had thought that weapons training had left his arms and shoulders strong and his hands calloused, he found that whatever he had been doing had taken different muscles than he was using now.  Each blow of his axe against the tree jarred all the way up his aching arms, and blisters gradually formed on his palms. And always, the forest’s rising cry of pain and loss sounded in his heart.

The air grew warmer, but when he stripped off his sweat soaked tunic, Vilmar immediately appeared at his side with orders to put it on again.  “If the fire fools us, you want something protecting your skin, even if it is only a tunic,” he declared, and Legolas grimaced and pulled the garment on.

He was more than ready to stop by the time Siondel declared that it was too dark to continue working in safety.  He dragged his way back to their camp, swallowed the food put in front of him, and then stumbled to his bedroll. He was asleep almost before his head touched the ground.

Vilmar woke them at first light.  Legolas washed off as much of the previous day’s grime as he could in the tiny stream near their camp and ate some of the porridge that had been boiled in the cauldron over their campfire.  Then he pulled bandaging from his pack and was beginning the clumsy process of binding his own blistered hands when Annael approached with his own roll of bandaging and held out his damaged palms for Legolas’s inspection.

“Shall we trade?” he offered with a grin.  Legolas grinned back at him and the two of them exchanged care and then picked up their axes and followed their companions to start another round of the same grueling work.

When they reached the streambed, Legolas was surprised to see an Elf he did not know emerging from the trees on the other side.  The Elf, who was presumably from the settlement, slid down the side of the streambed, waded through the water, and then scrambled up the near side, where Siondel, Vilmar, and the two Elves who seemed to be leaders of the settlement waited for him.  He must have been scouting the current state of the fire, Legolas realized.  He had heard his father make occasional exasperated remarks about the settlement Elves, but he had been impressed by the way they had all turned out to defend their homes.

When the conference was finished, Vilmar set Legolas and Annael to work felling trees near where Elrál, Tinéldor, and Elun were using some of the horses to clear a deadfall, a tangled pile of dead trees that had accumulated in a small hollow near the stream.  “Have you tried using Pilin for this?” Legolas asked curiously as he paused at one point to catch his breath and found Elrál nearby doing the same thing.

Elrál rolled his eyes.  “You will be interested to know that Pilin objects to dragging dead trees. Indeed, he objects rather violently.”

Legolas laughed. “That does not surprise me,” he admitted.  “Be careful with the deadfall.  That kind of pile up can be treacherous to climb around on.”  Elrál nodded and he and Legolas both turned to their assigned tasks.

Legolas had been cutting trees for what seemed like hours when someone touched him lightly on the shoulder, and he turned and, to his amazement, found his brother Eilian grinning at him.  “Mae govannen, brat,” Eilian said.  “You are incredibly filthy.”  And then ignoring the soot that was transferred from Legolas’s clothes to his, he drew his younger brother into an embrace.

“What are you doing here?” Legolas asked, somewhat dazed by this unexpected apparition.

“The Southern Patrol is guarding the perimeter of the area,” Eilian told him.  “We would not want Orcs to take advantage of you while you are busy playing in the dirt.”  He looked around the area.  “Where is Siondel?”  Legolas pointed in the direction where he had last seen Annael’s father, and Eilian clapped him on the shoulder. “I will see you again later,” he promised and set off to speak to Siondel.  Legolas stared after him for a moment and then, with a half smile, turned back to his work.  At least something good has happened today, he thought.  He sorely missed Eilian and would treasure whatever time they could spend together later.

As the day wore on, the scene at the streambed grew increasingly confused, the hazy air obscuring his view of laboring Elves, struggling horses, and falling trees.  He paused to take a long, lukewarm drink from his water skin.  Something moved in the trees on the other side of the stream, and then, to Legolas’s amazement, a large stag came into sight.  It hesitated for only a second at the sight of the Elves and then gathered itself and leapt across the streambed.  It landed so close to Legolas that he could have touched it, and then it bounded away into the forest.  The fire must have driven it out, he realized, staring after it.

“Falling!” called Annael’s, and he turned to see the tree that Annael had been felling dropping away from the stream, crashing through trees they still had not cut.  The branches tangled together, and the falling tree caught for a moment and then continued its downward plunge. Suddenly, Legolas realized that in its descent, the tree had dislodged a large dead branch from the still standing tree and that the branch was plummeting straight toward him.

Alarmed, Legolas kept his eyes on the falling branch as he jumped frantically to one side and realized too late that he had jumped toward the deadfall.  His foot plunged through the accumulated dead limbs and caught there, sending him sprawling awkwardly into the pile.  He had time only to feel the pain in his right foot before something hit him hard across the upper back and, almost simultaneously, hot agony exploded from the back of his head. Then he slipped away into darkness.

***

“Eilian!” called Siondel.  At the sound of the other captain’s tense call, Eilian paused in mounting his horse and turned to see what the matter was.  “Come!” urged Siondel, his dismay written large on his face. “Something has happened to Legolas.”

Eilian’s heart stopped beating for a moment and then resumed with wild acceleration.  “What is it?” he demanded.

“Come,” Siondel repeated, and Eilian followed him as he ran toward where Legolas had been working.

They arrived on the scene to find Vilmar directing Elves as they tried to shift a newly fallen large tree branch off a deadfall of old wood.  It took Eilian a moment to see the blond hair through the branches and realize that Legolas was caught in the deadfall.  With an incoherent cry, he leapt forward only to have Vilmar catch him by the arm.

“Be careful, my lord,” he warned.  “The deadfall is unstable.  We do not want to cause anything else to fall on him.”

Eilian turned frantically, looking to where Home Guard warriors had tied ropes to the fallen tree limb and then to the neck of one of the horses.  Siondel was with them now, and with a soft call, he urged the horse forward.  The animal strained against the weight and then with painful slowness, the limb began to move.  But when it had been cleared away, Eilian could see that Legolas was still in trouble.  He seemed to be unconscious, for his eyes were closed, and his foot was twisted beneath him, caught between pieces of the deadfall.

Eilian jumped forward again and began to grab pieces of the deadfall and drag them to one side.  Again, Vilmar intervened, waving other Elves toward them to help.  With every bit of self discipline Eilian possessed, he forced himself to listen to the forester as he selected which fallen wood was to be moved in what order.  With what seemed like unbearable deliberation, they worked their way carefully toward Legolas until, at last, he was free, and, assisted by Annael, Eilian slid his brother’s limp form onto a clear, grassy spot.

“Is he all right?” Annael asked frantically. “I am so sorry.”

“It was not your fault,” Eilian said as steadily as he could, and Siondel came up to put his arm around Annael’s shoulders and draw his son way.

“Let me see,” ordered one of the settlement Elves, and he first lifted each of Legolas’s eyelids to peer into his eyes and then slid his hands gently over his body.  “Give me a knife,” he ordered, and when Eilian handed his dagger over, he slit Legolas’s right boot and carefully removed it.  A raised, rapidly bruising area was visible along the outer edge of the foot.  “I think it is broken,” the Elf said.  He looked up at Eilian.  “This is your brother?”

Unable to speak, Eilian nodded. This was indeed his little brother.

“We will take him to the settlement, my lord,” the Elf said. “He will be well cared for, I promise you.  And with all of you working here, the settlement is still safe, at least for now.”

Eilian hesitated.  He wanted Legolas completely away from any danger at all. Indeed, he wanted him home in his bed.  But he knew that it was unwise to move him very far until he regained consciousness and they could assess his injuries better.  “Very well,” Eilian agreed, feeling as if he were choking.

“I will go too,” Annael declared, but Siondel caught his arm again. 

“Your duty lies here,” he said gently. “You need to go back to work, Annael.”  Eilian could see Annael waver and then draw a deep breath and accept his father’s counsel.   Siondel patted his shoulder reassuringly.

The settlement Elf rose with Legolas in his arms, and Eilian had a sudden vision of Thranduil carrying a very small Legolas off to bed.  What would he tell their father if Legolas did not wake up? he thought in sudden despair.

He watched until the Elf carrying Legolas had disappeared into the trees.  Behind him, he could hear Siondel ordering the warriors and novices back to work.  Like Annael, he longed to follow after Legolas, but he knew that he needed to check on his own warriors first.  Orcs had been seen not far away and his first obligation was to make sure that these people were safe from the enemy as they worked to make the settlement safe from the fire. He stood for a moment, feeling the weight of obligations that sometimes left so little room for personal choices that he felt as if his life had all been given away.

Reluctantly, he returned to where his horse was patiently waiting.  He mounted and set off through the smoky afternoon air to answer the call of duty.  He would wait to go to see Legolas until he was finished.  And who else are you hoping to see? asked his treacherously undutiful heart, but he pushed that thought aside with guilty haste.

*******

AN:  I planned the forest fire in this chapter before the fires in California blew up.  I have never seen a forest fire and know that my ignorance must now be showing to those of you who have been living through them.  Be gentle!

As always, I cannot thank readers and reviewers enough.  It’s enormously gratifying to me to know that people are enjoying this story.

WhiteWolf:  Sinnarn is dark-haired like both his father and mother. And like his Uncle Eilian too, to whom he bears an unfortunate resemblance in all ways!

Frodo3791:  I love dogs. Puppies are wonderful, but it’s like having a baby.  I think that Legolas really knows he hasn’t room in his life for a true romance right now, but he likes the company of girls anyway. I read somewhere that both men and women say they prefer talking to women.

Legolas4me:  I think that Legolas is at a tough spot in his life. I think transitions are often hard and he’s at a big one.  And you’re right, Synia more or less proved that Legolas was right to dump her.

Nikki1:  Not so many confrontations in this chapter, I think, unless you count the confrontation with the fire.  I hope you enjoyed it anyway.

Dragon-of-the-north:  Oh you have been so busy with your own and Treehugger’s wonderful story (“The Silver Peacock and the Skulking Cutpurse,” folks. Read it. It’s a pure gift).  I think that Maldor has his students’ interests at heart, really.  He wants them to survive.  And Synia is much worse than Miriwen, in my opinion, but then, I liked Miriwen. ;-)

Feanen:  Maldor is a slave driver and I would not want to be one of his students.  But he means well, I think.  He just believes that his students will have to be tough to survive.

Naneth:  It is sad that Legolas thinks girls are attracted by who he is.  I mean for him to be very unassuming, but I think he’s going to have to get more confident if he is ever going to command troops.

JastaElf:  Elrond and Thranduil do seem to need our help!  I like the idea of whacking their head together until their circlets lock. Then they could be left that way until they sort things out. Or fight to the death, I guess.

Nilmandra: I think “selfish” sums Synia up well. She just doesn’t even see anyone else’s agenda as existing, much less as being of any importance.

Meckinock:  As I say, that was the best non-review I have ever gotten!  Thank you for taking the time to tell me you liked what you saw.

Jay of Lasgalen:  Thranduil and Elrond do have lots in common and they’re on the same side, so why is it so hard for them to get together?  It’s puzzling actually.

Brenda G: The hardest part of writing about the council is trying to imagine how all of these people who are top dog in their home territory would react to one another. Who would defer? What would they each put up with?  Elrond apparently draws the line at his sons (which I would guess Thranduil would too, actually).

Jambaby1963:  Welcome back!  I don’t think that Ithilden would be surprised to know that Legolas is writing to Eilian.  He’d wait to see whether Eilian joined in the fight before he got mad.

Alice:  Thranduil does seem to be doing better than Elrond but his wife has been dead for 40 years and Celebrian sailed 19 years ago.  Maybe those time differences don’t mean anything to an elf, but I thought they might.  You wished for Eilian, and here he is.

The Karenator:  Thinking about whether his family is a targeted group certainly gives Thranduil an excuse to be overprotective, doesn’t it?  Elves’ minds are supposed to be in control of their bodies, but that doesn’t mean there is nothing to control!  Poor Legolas.

Tapetum Lucidum:  “It is good for him to get knocked down every once in a while.”  I’m not sure Legolas would agree with that!  And sometimes it does seem as if Legolas has no one to talk to. I think the fact that his home life and work life get mixed together is a problem.  I have planned answers to two of your three questions in this story.  ;-)

LOTR Faith: I think Synia would have made him unhappy eventually. She’s pretty self-centered and seems to have no idea of Legolas’s obligations and values. And I think she might have found being Thranduil’s daughter-in-law was more than she bargained for.

Erunyauve:  I was very interested in your speculations over Legolas’s temperament and whether he is suited for the Southern Patrol.  He might find it hard, I agree.  I also liked your assessment of the different senses of time between Elrond and Thranduil. That’s what the story title is supposed to refer to actually, that and the stopping of time the rings cause.

JustMe:  You are so right. Thranduil would go ballistic if he thought Ithilden was sending Legolas south, and Ithilden has never had any intention of doing it.   He is still the baby, so far as Thranduil is concerned especially.

Molly:  Maldor does not appreciate being disagreed with and asks you to please report to the training fields at dawn tomorrow. ;-) (Actually I put in the “please” part.)

Lily:  Oh yes, poor Synia in a way. I suspect she went home and kicked herself for a while. That had to hurt.

Lera:  Most of my novice exercises I find by browsing the internet, actually.  I personally liked the thought of muscular young elves dressed only in their leggings as they sweated away.  Ahem.  And I am pleased that Ithilden is turning out to be a good ada, at least of an elfling.  I think he might have more trouble with an adolescent.  He is too much like his own father.

Antigone Q:  I use a name generator I downloaded from the internet.  Supposedly, it uses “rules” to form Elven names and that’s where I get all of my minor characters’ names. The major ones I create from a Sindarin/English dictionary, but it would take too long to do everyone that way.  Anyway, this name generator apparently glitched with Synia because you are not the first one to ask me where in Arda it came from.

Dot:  Of course, I wasn’t offended.  How could I be when you give such thoughtful reviews?  You ask for Eilian and I produced him!  Elrond and Thranduil will be back next chapter.  They have so much in common, but they can’t seem to connect.  They are very different temperamentally, I think.

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.  Her suggestions made it much better.

*******

6.  In Another Time

“Surely you agree that all signs indicate Sauron has returned to Dol Guldur?”  Galadriel’s voice was calm, but her tone was that of a tutor addressing a singularly slow pupil.

“I do not agree,” Curunír protested in his pleasant, soothing voice.  “We do not yet know what lurks there.”

“I fail to see that it matters whether it is Sauron or some of his minions who inhabit the place,” snapped Thranduil.  He found that Curunír’s reasonable tone set his teeth on edge. “The Shadow over the woods grows with every passing day.  The only question is whether the Council is going to act or continue debating endlessly.”

“We cannot act intelligently until we know what we are acting against,” Curunír argued. “And as I have already said, even then it is not easy to know what action to take.”

For the third time in an hour, Thranduil bit his tongue in order to avoid telling some member of the White Council that he was a fool.  He stirred restlessly.  The endless and to him seemingly pointless arguments were wearing on him even more than usual this afternoon.  He could not shake the feeling that something was amiss at home.  He knew that Ithilden was capable of managing just about anything that could conceivably occur, but he found himself worrying nonetheless.  His tie to his woods felt troubled.

“We know that Orcs are multiplying in the Misty Mountains,” Elrond said with careful restraint.  “Elladan and Elrohir tell me that the High Pass is increasingly dangerous.”

Thranduil looked at him, and his uneasiness grew.  In the last few days, it had become clear to him that the sons of Elrond spent most of their time hunting Orcs and that while Elrond tolerated their actions, unlike Thranduil, he did not send his sons into battle himself.  Elrond and his sons did not appear to be at odds, but they were dealing with their grief over Celebrían in ways that were separating them.  Thranduil disapproved of that.  His own experience had been that the unbreakable ties of family were the strongest basis upon which to build trust and extend one’s might.

With a suddenness that startled him, his uneasiness came to focus on his own youngest son.  He drew in his breath sharply, causing Mithrandir, who was seated next to him, to glance at him in concern.

“We cannot hope to change what is happening over the length of the Misty Mountains,” Curunír said with an elegant shrug, his fingers moving through the air gracefully in tandem with the motion of his shoulders.  “I urge restraint and patience, for only with time can we hope for our watch upon this evil to bear fruit.  A cautious approach will benefit all of Middle-earth as we seek to know the motives of those who would threaten our people, while we attempt to establish peace with all of our neighbors.”

Thranduil blinked, feeling for a moment that it would be foolish to argue with this well-spoken wise one.  He shook himself a little and his animosity returned.

In his seat across from Thranduil, Círdan leaned forward a little.  “Thranduil has told us what his scouts found, Curunír.  What further evidence would you wish to have before you would consider acting?”  His grey eyes rested appraisingly on Curunír, and even in Thranduil’s current preoccupied state, something in them brought him to attention.  Could that possibly have been distrust in the Shipwright’s gaze?

Curunír leaned back in his chair.  “His scouts did not actually see who or what inhabits Dol Guldur,” he said.  “I would have more than the suspicions and imaginings of two frightened scouts before I start a war.”

For a moment, Thranduil stopped breathing and then his last vestige of restraint exploded.  “And how close would you have me send my warriors, Curunír?” he hissed.  “How many more would you have me send to their deaths?  How many times should I send my own son to look in the face of despair?”  He was on his feet now, scanning the whole table, unable to contain his anxiety or his contempt any further.

“You all behave as if you have as much time as you wish to debate these matters and decide what action to take.”  He gaze swept over Elrond and then Galadriel. “In places like Imladris or Lorien,” he said scornfully, “you live as though time stood still, but I tell you that outside these borders, time flies on and evil grows.”

“We are aware of the growth of evil, Thranduil,” Elrond’s voice was sharp.  “You are not the only one who has suffered from it.”

Thranduil turned to look at him, and for a moment pity stopped his tongue.  Elrond’s face was grim and his eyes were shadowed.  But then the increasing alarm he felt for his realm and his youngest son made him speak his mind while he still could, for he knew that he could stay in Imladris no longer.

“You have been touched by evil indeed, Elrond, and I would that it were not so,” Thranduil said.  “But still you shelter here in this protected valley while your sons go out to do battle where time is real.  The land is suffering now.”  Elrond’s face grew pale, but he did not respond. Perhaps he recognized the truth what Thranduil told him, or perhaps he was only too angry to speak. Thranduil did not know and no longer cared.  He raked the assembled council members with angry eyes.  “You may all continue talking until Arda ends for all I care. I will not waste my time any longer.”  He shoved back his chair and strode from the room, followed by his fluttering advisor, who had been seated behind him.

“My lord,” murmured Thrior in distress once they were outside the council chamber, “you have offended them all.”

Thranduil snorted in disdain.  “Go and tell our guards that we will be leaving within the hour,” he commanded, cutting off any further expressions of dismay.  Thrior stood in open-mouthed amazement for only a moment before starting off to do as he was bid.  He had been an advisor to the king for a long time and knew when argument was useless.

Thranduil strode purposefully toward his own room and was throwing his belongings into his packs when a knock sounded at the door.  “Come,” he ordered irritably, assuming that the servant wished to fuss over packing his things.  But it was Mithrandir and not the finicky servant who entered the room.

They regarded one another for a moment, and then Mithrandir asked mildly, “Is all well with you, Thranduil?”

Thranduil grimaced. “No, Mithrandir, all is most decidedly not well with me.” He turned back to his packing.  “These people will sit here and debate for the next age.  I do not have time for that. I am needed at home.”

Mithrandir approached him and began folding tunics and handing them to him.  “You are right, of course,” he said.  “But you are also thinking only of your own realm and people.” Thranduil glanced at him sharply but said nothing and continued with his preparations for departure.  “Galadriel and Elrond both live in sheltered realms,” the wizard acknowledged, “but they pay a price you cannot imagine for the peace they have created.”

Thranduil shrugged.  “You may be right.  You usually are.  But I cannot linger here any longer.”  He closed the last pack and fastened it.

Mithrandir nodded.  “I do not think the council will last much longer,” he said.  “Círdan has announced that he too is leaving.” Thranduil raised an eyebrow at him and Mithrandir smiled dryly.  “He has not much patience for this sort of meeting either,” he observed.

Thranduil suddenly smiled back and picked up his packs just as the horrified servant bustled in and took them from him with exclamations of apology.

“With your permission,” Mithrandir added, “I will come to you when the council is finished and tell you what more has occurred. I would like to visit the Woodland Realm again.”

“You will always be welcome,” Thranduil told him and started toward the door. It would be a long trip home, and with every passing moment, he felt a stronger need to be there.  Something was the matter in his woods.  And even more immediately frightening, something was the matter with Legolas.

***

Of course Legolas would end up in Celuwen’s cottage, Eilian thought ruefully.  He might have known that he would have to confront both of his personal concerns at the same time.  He drew a deep breath and knocked at the cottage door, noting in passing that while he had washed the grime off his hands, the sleeve of his tunic was still smeared with ash.

The door opened, and Celuwen stood before him with a half smile on her face.  For a moment, he stopped breathing.  She had not allowed him near her for years now, but she still had the power to make him forget everything else at the sight of her.  “Come in,” she said, opening the door wider.  “I have been expecting you.”

At her words, time began to flow again, and his fear for Legolas blotted out all other thoughts, even those of this maiden who held his heart in her hands.  He pushed through the doorway, which opened directly into a small sitting room.  “Where is he?” he demanded.  She led him to one side of the room and opened a door.  Eilian stepped through into a tiny bedchamber and saw Legolas lying on his side, with his eyes still frighteningly closed.  Eilian heard a small dismayed sound, and then realized that he had been the one to make it.

His face deathly pale, Legolas was propped on his side by rolled blankets and covered to the waist by a sheet.  Someone had stripped off his filthy clothes and tried to wipe the worst of the grime from his face and body, but his hair was still darkened with ash and the pillow was smeared with it.

Celuwen stood beside him looking at the motionless figure.  “I knew it had to be Legolas as soon as I saw the blond hair.  And he is the right age, of course.”

Eilian advanced toward the bed, his eyes sweeping over as much of Legolas’s body as he could see.  His brother’s chest was scratched and torn, having probably been scraped by the branches he had fallen on when the tree limb struck him.  Some of the scratches were oozing a little blood, but Eilian could see that they were minor.  He caught his breath, though, at the sight of the large, purple bruise that covered Legolas’s upper back and shoulders.  Eilian had seen warriors crippled by blows to the spine. There was no way to tell how much damage this one had caused until his brother regained consciousness.

Eilian hesitated and then bent to touch the back of Legolas’s head lightly.  He found a raised spot and his fingers came away slightly sticky.  He straightened up and then, with ever increasing concern, he lifted the sheet to see his brother’s foot wrapped with bandaging and tied to a board to keep it straight.  It was propped on another pillow.

Celuwen had left the room and now returned with a straight-backed chair, which she put by the bed.  “Sit down,” she said. “You look tired. When did you last eat?”

He obeyed her and then tried to answer her question. “This morning, I think,” he finally said.

“I will get you some bread and cheese,” she said and left the room again.

Eilian turned his attention back to Legolas.  He reached out tentatively and stroked his brother’s hair with a feathery soft touch.  With the rational part of his mind, Eilian knew that Legolas was almost an adult now, but when it came to his younger brother, he knew that he was not always rational any more than Thranduil or Ithilden were, and that to all of them at times, Legolas was still an elfling who needed their protection.

Celuwen returned and put a plate of food in his lap and a mug of cider on the floor next to his chair.  She regarded him for a moment and when he did not immediately pick up the food, she said, “It is up to you, Eilian, but you know you should eat something.”

He caught at her hand, suddenly acutely aware of and comforted by her nearness.  “How are you, Celuwen?” he asked.

She gently drew her hand free and patted him on the shoulder. “I am the same as I have always been,” she said and then left the room.

He turned back toward the bed and ate some of the bread and cheese while he watched his brother’s chest expand and contract in shallow but steady breathing.  “Wake up, brat,” he murmured softly.  “I do not want to have to explain this to Adar.”

And to his surprise, as if in answer to his demand, Legolas’s eyes fluttered open.  “Legolas!” Eilian breathed.  “Legolas, talk to me.”  But his brother’s eyes slid over him blankly, without registering any recognition, and then closed again.

Eilian leapt to his feet, jerked the door open, and strode out into the sitting room, and then, finding it vacant, went out the front door to find Celuwen and her mother washing clothes in a large tub near the corner of the cottage.  The water was already dark with soot from the garments.  Only years of his mother’s training allowed Eilian to greet Celuwen’s mother before he turned to Celuwen.  “Where is the healer?” he asked sharply.

She blinked at his abrupt tone.  “She went home to have her evening meal.”

“Where?” he demanded.

Celuwen looked as if she were going to protest, but then her face softened.  “Her cottage is the first one west of here.  The path by the side of our cottage leads directly to it.” She pointed to the path she meant.

He charged down the path to the healer’s cottage, where he pounded on the door with his fist.  When it opened, he wasted no time.  “The injured youngling in Celuwen’s cottage is my brother.  I want you to come and see him now.”

She frowned.  “Is something the matter?”

“Yes, something is the matter!” he exploded.  “He opened his eyes but did not recognize me.”

She grimaced sympathetically.  “Just a moment,” she said and disappeared to return wearing a cloak and carrying a healer’s bag.  She walked toward Celuwen’s cottage with him behind her urging her to hurry.

Legolas lay exactly as Eilian had last seen him. The healer lifted his eyelids to inspect his pupils and then began poking and prodding at the rest of his injuries.  Eilian shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other.

Finally, the healer straightened and turned to him. “You know that one of the bones in his foot is broken,” she said, and Eilian nodded.  “That should heal cleanly,” she went on, “although he will need to stay off it for a week or so.”

“Staying off his feet does not look as if it will be a problem at the moment,” Eilian said in clipped tones that she ignored.  She had undoubtedly dealt with anxious family members before.

“The scratches on his chest are minor,” the healer went on, “and he moved his leg while I was setting the bone in his foot, so I do not think the blow to his back did serious damage either.”  Eilian sat down abruptly, overwhelmed at the relief that piece of news brought him. The healer smiled and patted his shoulder reassuringly. “We cannot know about the effect of the blow to his head until he awakens,” she said, “but his eyes do react properly to light and that is a very good sign.”

“He opened his eyes and did not recognize me,” Eilian said a little unsteadily.

She nodded.  “That is normal.  He was not really awake, but he is coming closer to being so.  Be hopeful,” she added with another smile and then gathered her cloak and left.

“Eilian,” said Celuwen tentatively, and he turned inquiringly toward where she stood in the doorway.  “Siondel is here for you.”

Eilian drew a deep breath and stood up. He and Siondel needed to speak to the leaders of the settlement about preparing to evacuate if the space the fire fighters had cleared did not stop the fire’s approach tonight.  He took a last look at his oblivious younger brother and then turned to go.  “I will be back later,” he told Celuwen, and she nodded.

“I will take good care of him,” she promised.  He paused for a second to drop a kiss on the top of her head and then he went on his way.

***

Legolas swam slowly up from the darkness in which he had been drifting.  He was aware first of an agonizing headache and then of soreness over what seemed like his entire body.  Bewildered by the pain, he stared fuzzily at the odd shape a foot or two in front of him.  He tried to lift his head and then grunted at the pain the movement cost him and dropped his head down again. That hurt too.  Indeed, any movement at all seemed to hurt.

He closed his eyes and let himself drift a little, but the pain was still there, and after a moment, he opened his eyes again.  The blurry shape still hovered before his face.  He let his gaze rest on it, and it faded in and out of focus in a most alarming manner, but he still did not know what it was. Strange voices were speaking nearby but he could not make out what they were saying, and he was sure that they were not speaking to him anyway.  Unexpectedly, the shape in front of him resolved itself into the back of a straight chair. He blinked and the chair back blurred and then crystallized again.

With an effort, he focused his eyes to look around him, being careful not to raise his head as he did so.  He was lying on a narrow bed in a small room.  There was a window in the wall at the foot of the bed, but it was closed and the panes were very dirty.  He contemplated that fact.  Someone should wash the window, he thought.  He had not even known he had a window.  He had thought that there were none in the caverns of his father’s stronghold.

He slid his eyes further along the wall and let them come to rest on a chest with a mirror and a set of carved combs on top of it.  Legolas stared stupidly at them for a moment, trying to understand how a set of maiden’s combs could have been left in his room, and it dawned on him only slowly that it was he who had been left in someone else’s chamber. He was not at home then, but where was he?  Next to the chest, a door led to what was presumably the rest of the house.

He lay still for a moment trying to puzzle out where he was.  The fire, he thought. I was cutting trees.  Then he frowned, for he had no memory at all of how he had landed in this strange room.

The voices were talking again, and he realized they came from the other side of the door.  He considered calling out to them but felt that would somehow be undignified, so he tried to sit up, intending to go in search of answers. He found, however, that when he moved, his head spun and his stomach roiled.  With a low groan, he collapsed back on the pillow only to discover that whatever had happened to him had included a bruising blow to his back and a knock to the head that had left a spot sore enough to bring tears to his eyes when he landed on it.  He clamped his mouth tightly shut, fighting to control the wave of nausea that swept over him.

“Thank the Valar.  You are awake,” observed a feminine voice, and he held his head steady and cautiously slid his eyes toward the voice’s source.  A slender, dark-haired maiden stood at the bedside, watching him keenly.  “I expect your head hurts,” she said sympathetically.  “Do you feel sick?”

“Yes,” he answered shortly and then shut his mouth again. He closed his eyes too, for he was having trouble focusing them, and he thought that maybe shutting out the sight of the slightly blurred world would help his stomach.  For reasons that he could not name, he felt an almost instant animosity toward this helpful maiden.  He knew he should be ashamed of such an irrational reaction but he was too sick to care. He could hear her moving about and then she set something on the edge of the bed.

“You can use this basin if you need to vomit,” she said. “You cannot get up and walk around.  Your right foot is broken.”

He frowned and tested the truth of her claim against his various pains.  When he moved his right leg, he found that his foot was bound to what felt like a board. He lay as still as he could for a few minutes, trying once again to recall how he had come to be here while he waited for his stomach to settle a little.  Cautiously, he cracked his eyes open to find that the maiden was sitting in the chair next to the bed watching him appraisingly.

She studied his face, a small smile on her own.  “You do not remember me, I expect.  You were very small when last we met.  I am Celuwen Sólithiell.  I am a friend of your brother Eilian.”

Legolas continued to regard her, saying nothing.  Many maidens were friends of Eilian.  “What happened to me?” he finally asked.

“I was not there, but I am told that a tree branch fell on you and you caught your foot in some branches trying to get out the way.  You are in a cottage in the settlement,” she added, apparently guessing at his further confusion.

He thought about this. What this Celuwen said seemed right, but he could not remember it happening.  A sudden spasm of nausea tightened his stomach, and this time he could not control it.  He clutched the basin to him and leaned over it, emptying his stomach in great, painful heaves.  Celuwen caught at his hair, and when he was done, she wiped his face with a cold, wet cloth, earning his grudging gratitude.  Closing his eyes, he fell weakly back against the pillow and once again learned that his shoulders and head were badly bruised. He rolled onto his side and lay as still as he could, listening to Celuwen moving quietly about the room.

Her footsteps approached the bed, and he cracked his eyes open to see her putting a clean basin beside him.  “You should sleep if you can,” she said.  “Eilian will be back to see you again soon.”

He drew a deep breath.  I hurt too much to sleep, he thought, and then he drifted away.

*******

Thank you, thank you to all readers and especially those who review, whether at www.storiesofarda.com, ff.net, or via email.  I cannot believe how perceptive you all are!

Dot:  Ithilden really does have a hard job.  No wonder he sometimes feels weighed down with responsibility.  I don’t think informing Thranduil that Legolas is hurt is going to be a problem!  The issue will be whether anyone’s head rolls because of it.

White Wolf 1:  Annael does feel guilty, poor guy, even though he shouldn’t.  And letting Legolas go must indeed have been extremely hard for Eilian in the last chapter. He makes up for it here, I think.

Dragon-of-the-north:  I think Legolas probably needs to prove himself as a warrior and an adult away from his family before he can operate as one near them.  That’s assuming they let him out of their sight.

Fadesintothewest:  I think that Eilian is going to have to learn not to call Legolas “brat” in public but I suspect that he might always do so in private.  We all like to torment our siblings a little.

Brenda G:  “If he is lucky, Legolas may get posted to his own front yard, and even then, he'll have a bodyguard with him at all times.”  Funny you should say that!  PS How are you?

French Pony:  Thank you for the information about fires.  It sounds as though what the Elves would have on their hands is a fire in the underbrush that the break should steer away.  That is, the fire probably would not crown.  At least, that’s what I’m going to go with.  I did research on the Web but that takes me only so far, I find.

Erunyauve:  The settlement elves are a real pain for Thranduil, I think, and this fire is just one example.  Perhaps they are Californians?  ;-)

Nikki1:  It was hard for me to imagine how Wood-elves would cut down trees. I thought that apologizing was the least Legolas could do.

Emjo:  You cannot imagine how happy I am to hear from first time reviewers.  Synia kind of shocked me too.  She is what my grandmother would have called a hussy.  Don’t worry about Eilian. He is safe for a while.

StrangeBlaze:  You know, sick as it is, sweaty, sooty Legolas kind of caught my eye too. So I took his clothes off in this chapter.  Cleanliness is important, don’t you think?

Antigone Q:  Eilian’s clothes are still on, but Legolas is naked. Isn’t that enough?

Tapetum Lucidum:  “I think I know why Ithilden expects Eilian to show up at that settlement. And her name is not Legolas.” This made me laugh.  Ithilden will still have some issues in placing Annael and Legolas but they are not what he thinks they will be.

Nilmandra:  Many thanks for your help with this chapter. I always say that but in this case it’s even truer than usual.  Angst is good!

Frodo3791:  Duty vs. personal desires is a strong theme in this story and I think it is in Tolkien too.  Poor Eilian and Annael. And Celuwen really. And Thranduil and Ithilden. What a way to live.  Where is joy?

JastaElf:  Dealing with friends and relatives in danger had to have been one of the realities of Middle-earth. And it had to have been hard.

Feanen: Trouble seems to follow Legolas around. If it didn’t, where would my plot be? ;)

Arbelethiel:  What a good memory you have!  Yes, Legolas is the Home Guard captain by the time of the quest. He has several hundred years to get there though. Many things can happen between now and then!

The Karenator:  It seems to me that Thranduil and his sons are increasingly caught up in their obligations to Mirkwood. As evil spreads, it squeezes out all space for just living.

JustMe:  Oh, I think that when Ithilden has to deal with Sinnarn as a warrior, his worries about Eilian and Legolas are going to seem trivial.   Can you imagine having to send your son into such dangerous situations? Of course, Thranduil does it now.  These poor people!

Molly:  I think we are still at the hurting stage here, and more comfort will come for some of these folks than for others, I’m afraid.

Meckinock:  So this made sense to you?  You could sort out all the OCs?  That is comforting because I fear that new readers will just wind up wondering who they all are.

Jay of Lasgalen:  As you know, something always has to happen or there is no plot!  Witness, the twists and turns in “The Search.”

Luin: I hope you are feeling better.  Nilmandra was sick for most of a week too. There must be something going around.  Thranduil stayed clothed here, but Legolas is naked. Is that OK?  I amused myself for a while trying to picture what Synia’s life would be like with Thranduil as her father-in-law.  LOL.  She is lucky Legolas dumped her.  It’s really pretty ironic that Annael would probably like to be in the Home Guard because he want to bond, but can’t be.

Naneth:  Multiple readings are good!  I’m glad you enjoyed that chapter and hope this one pleases you too.

Lamiel:  So does a naked Legolas add to this chapter for you?  I appreciate your comments on how I handled the fire.  I did internet research but that’s chancy.  I think that Legolas’s family will eventually see him as a skilled adult warrior, but not yet.  He needs some experience (and so do they!).

Tiger Lily:  I’m glad you liked the fire. I wanted something that would get the novices into the woods and I’ve used so many other devices that I needed a new one.

Legolas4me:  Eilian is a wonderful brother! And you see here just exactly how much it hurt.

Lera:  I know, poor Annael.  It really wasn’t his fault. This is one of those things that just happen.  And it turns out that you and I are not the only ones who liked Celuwen; Eilian does too. ;-)  I have no idea why Legolas would think that Ithilden would make an exception and post him south.  He just let his wishes override his common sense.  And for Ithilden, common sense rules.

Caz-baz:  I broke my foot once too, but in a much less dramatic way than Legolas did.

Camp 6311: Well, Thranduil agreed with you. It was time to go home.  Legolas is gradually growing up. I think he probably needs to be away from his family for a while to really get there and, even more, to have his family realize it.

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.  Her suggestions made it much better.

*******

7.  Making Plans

“The settlement leader’s name is Félas,” Siondel told him as they walked toward the building that the settlers used as their public space.  His mind still on the unconscious Legolas, Eilian nodded.

He was uncertain whether to knock at the door, but did so and then, at an invitation from within, he entered, with Siondel right behind him. Two Elves sat slumped at a table to one side, their ash smeared clothing and weary postures suggesting that they had spent the day cutting trees in an effort to protect their homes.  Eilian assumed that the Elf he did not know was Félas. To his dismay, he recognized the other Elf as Sólith, Celuwen’s father.  Eilian generally tried to steer clear of Sólith, for Celuwen’s father did not believe that Eilian was likely to make his daughter happy and had made that judgment plain on a number of occasions.

Bracing himself, Eilian approached the two Elves, signaling that they should not get up.  “Mae govannen,” he greeted them politely.

“Mae govannen,” returned Félas with a slight bow of his head and gestured for them to be seated at the table.  Sólith looked stony faced and said nothing.  Eilian had not really expected anything else, although that did not make the situation any less awkward.

“We wished to ask you what plans you have for evacuating the settlement if the fire jumps the cleared space tonight,” Eilian began.  Vilmar had told him that the fire was likely to arrive near midnight.  “If you need help that we can render, you have only to ask.”

Félas frowned.  “We have been talking to your forester, and we do not believe that evacuation will be necessary,” he said.

Eilian blinked.  What could Vilmar have told them?  Could the course of the fire have changed while he was with Legolas?  No matter.  They needed to be prepared for all eventualities.  “You know as well as I do that fire is unpredictable,” he said.

“We know,” Sólith put in, “but we have made preparations for the fire’s approach that will enable us to stay even if it crosses the cleared area.”

Eilian could scarcely believe his ears.  What was Sólith talking about?   He clamped his mouth shut, worried that he might say something intemperate and thus aggravate what was shaping up to be a more difficult discussion than he had anticipated.

Siondel glanced at him and then, evidently reading Eilian well, he spoke hastily.  “What preparations might those be?”

“We have cleared the underbrush from around our cottages and will begin dousing them with water as soon as the fire draws near,” Sólith said.   “We believe that will protect our homes even if the fire does jump the break.”

Eilian was so astounded that it took him a moment to find his voice. “You ‘believe’ it will protect your homes!” he cried.  “Are you telling me that you are willing to risk the lives of your people because you ‘believe’ this will work?”  Siondel cleared his throat in warning, and Eilian bit back the rest of what he wanted to say.  He was not here to quarrel with these Elves, and in particular, he was not here to quarrel with Celuwen’s father.

“Your own forester will tell you that this method can protect homes from fire,” Félas said rather stiffly.  He had not liked Eilian’s tone any more than Sólith had.

“It can,” Siondel put in before Eilian could speak, “but it does not always do so.  Surely you do not want to take a chance that any of your people will be killed?  The only safe course of action is to evacuate the settlement.”

“Our people are all needed here to soak the cottages down,” Félas said earnestly.  “If the fire jumps the break and we leave, there is no chance our homes will survive.”

Eilian could no longer keep silent. “Homes can be rebuilt,” he said sharply.

Sólith glared at him. “That is very easy for you to say, Eilian.  Are you going to come and help us do it?”

Again Siondel leapt into the conversation before Eilian could answer.  “The choice is yours, of course.”  He shot Eilian a quick, hard look, and Eilian knew he was speaking the truth.  Neither Eilian nor Siondel had the right to tell these people what to do.  “But at least be prepared to send away anyone who is not needed,” Siondel pleaded.

There was a moment’s silence.  “Everyone here is needed,” Félas finally said.  “We sent the children away long ago.  We do not have the luxury of extra hands.”

“You refuse to evacuate, even if the fire jumps the break?” Eilian asked incredulously.

“We do,” Sólith answered shortly. “We do not believe it will be necessary.”

Eilian stood, and Siondel too rose.  “I understand the desire to live in the forest,” Eilian said, his voice tight with the effort it took to control his temper.  “But I do not understand the willingness to sacrifice lives so that you can preserve cottages.”

“The lives of my wife and daughter are dear to me,” Sólith responded, his voice equally tight. “Unlike you, Eilian, I am with them daily, and I know and respect what matters to them.  I have no intention either of sacrificing them or of forcing them to give up what is precious to them.”

For a silent moment, the two of them glared at one another. Then, at a touch on his sleeve from Siondel, Eilian managed a minimally polite nod, spun on his heel, and went out into the darkening evening.  He heard Siondel murmuring farewell and then following him.

“That was interesting,” said Siondel dryly, after the door had closed behind him. He looked at Eilian. “You should have told me that you and Sólith disliked one another, Eilian.”  He sounded annoyed.  “I could have done this by myself, and I might have gotten further with them.”

Eilian grimaced. Siondel was probably right.  Then he shrugged; it was too late now. He looked up at the sky, where rain clouds and smoke were drifting across in front of the moon and the emerging stars. Perhaps they would be lucky, and rain would take care of the fire. They would be foolish to count on that, however.  He turned again to Siondel.  “When you go back to your camp, you might speak to Vilmar,” Eilian said.  “Find out exactly what he told them, and see if you can get him to talk some sense into them.”  Siondel nodded.

As they walked away from the building, two figures detached themselves from the shadows around a large pine tree and came toward them.  Both captains turned toward them, and in the fitful moonlight they saw that the two were Annael and one of Eilian’s warriors, an older Elf whose name was Maltanaur.  Eilian flinched a little at the sight of the latter. With darkness approaching, he knew he needed to get back to his patrol so that they could take up their watch for Orcs.  Maltanaur hung back a little, however, letting Annael approach.

Annael’s face was creased with worry as he held a worn leather pack out toward Eilian. “I brought Legolas’s pack,” he said. “I thought he might need his things.”

Eilian took the pack.  “Thank you.”

“How is he?” Annael asked anxiously.  “Can I see him?”

Eilian thought of Legolas’s pale, inert form and decided it would be far better if Annael did not see him quite yet.  He had not forgotten Annael’s assumption of guilt for the accident that had caused Legolas’s injury, and he did not want to add to the pain of his brother’s friend.

“Not just yet,” he said gently. “Tomorrow perhaps.”

“Come,” Siondel told his son. “We will return to camp.”  Reluctantly, Annael allowed himself to be drawn away.

“Siondel,” Eilian stopped him, “I want to make sure that Legolas, at least, is evacuated if the fire comes.  Can you see to it?”  He knew his voice was pleading, but he did not care.

Siondel nodded. “Of course. I will send a warrior with horses to wait near the cottage where he is being cared for. He can be brought to our camp. Vilmar says we are situated so that the fire is unlikely to come our way.”

“He may be difficult to move,” Eilian warned him, glancing quickly at Annael and trying not to say too much.  “His foot is broken.”  He did not think it necessary to mention that, so far as he knew, Legolas was still unconscious.  Siondel’s warrior would manage well enough.

“I will see to it,” Siondel reassured him and started away again, with his son at his side.

Eilian caught at his sleeve; a plan had just occurred to him and he meant to make it happen.  “Tell him to be ready to take the maiden, too,” he said.  “She is caring for Legolas.”

Siondel raised an eyebrow but nodded and said nothing.  He had once served as Eilian’s lieutenant when Eilian was temporarily commanding the Home Guard, and he knew Eilian fairly well.  It probably did not surprise him that Eilian had a maiden on his mind, although, thought Eilian, Siondel could not possibly know what this particular maiden meant to him.  Siondel and Annael set off and were almost immediately lost to sight in the murky darkness.

Maltanaur approached.  “The youngling was worried,” he commented.  “How is your brother really?”

Eilian sighed. “I am about to go and find out.  The healer was reassuring but you know how they all are. They will not really tell you anything you want to know.”

Maltanaur smiled sympathetically and patted Eilian’s shoulder. By Thranduil’s orders, he had served at Eilian’s side from the day the king’s son had first pledged his faith as a warrior.  He had been responsible for Eilian’s training and his safety and he knew his charge well.  “Do you want me to go back to the patrol by myself while you stay here?  We can let you know if anything comes up.”

Eilian hesitated for a moment, but knew what answer he had to give. “I will be a few moments,” he said, “but then I will come back with you.”  Maltanaur nodded and drifted away again to take up his post near the pine tree.

Eilian walked down the narrow path to Celuwen’s cottage and knocked at the door, which, after a short wait, she opened.   She smiled at him and, as if she had been eagerly waiting to do it, she immediately told him what he had been longing to hear. “Legolas is better, Eilian.  He woke for a little while.  He was sick, but he was coherent and he could move his legs.”

Eilian’s breath came out in a relieved sigh and he sagged against the doorframe.  “That is good news!” he said jubilantly.  He straightened and entered the room. Her mother was no where to be seen but wet laundry was hung on racks near the fire.  A pallet had been arranged on the floor in one corner of the room, and he assumed that she would sleep in here, given that the room in which Legolas lay was certainly hers.

He started toward it, but then remembered his plan and turned back to her.  “The fire should be here by midnight,” he told her, and she nodded soberly.  “We hope the fire break will hold it at bay, of course, and we may even get some rain, which might extinguish it.  But if the fire crosses the break, will you see to it that Legolas is evacuated to the Home Guard’s camp and go with him to care for him?  Siondel will have horses and a warrior here to help you, but you are the one I trust to see to it.”

She paused, and from the tension in her face, he knew what she was thinking.  She could be as unreasonable as her father on the subject of the settlement.  She had probably been planning to stay if the fire crossed the cleared space.  “Please,” he begged her, watching her reaction.  “I do not trust anyone else as well as I trust you.” That was true enough, but it was also true that he wanted her away from the settlement if the fire came.

Reluctantly, she nodded. “I will do it,” she promised.  “You do not need to worry about him.”  He felt a mixture of triumph and relief.  The two people here whom he cared most about would be safe, no matter what else happened.  “Thank you,” he told her and then entered Legolas’s room.

To his intense gratification, Legolas’s eyes were just fluttering open as he entered the room.  He settled himself in the chair that still sat next to the bed.  “How do you feel?” he asked, as he gently stroked his brother’s hair.  He could hear Celuwen quietly closing the door to give them some privacy.

Legolas blinked at him. “Not too bad,” he said slowly.

Eilian was certain he had just been lied to, but he decided that if Legolas was well enough to deny being sick, then that was cause for rejoicing.  “You had me worried,” he said. “Adar would have had my hide if anything had happened to you while I was supposedly on guard.”

For a moment, Legolas appeared to grope for words.  “What is happening with the fire?” he finally asked.

“It will be here by midnight,” Eilian told him.  “We will know then if the cleared area is wide enough.”  He smiled encouragingly. “The good news is that there are rain clouds in the distance.  Perhaps the weather will give us some help.”

Legolas frowned slightly, and Eilian suspected he was having trouble concentrating enough even to carry on a conversation.  Reluctantly, he stood up.  “You should sleep,” he said.  “I will come back tomorrow.”  Legolas made no protest, so Eilian knew he had to be tired.  He kissed his brother gently on the cheek and then went out into the sitting room.

Celuwen had just opened the front door to Maltanaur.  He looked at Eilian over her head.  “We need to go, Eilian,” he said with urgency in his voice.

Eilian kept his face impassive, but his heart quickened.  “I will be back tomorrow, Celuwen,” he told her.  “Thank you for looking after Legolas.” She nodded and closed the front door behind him.  “What is it?” he asked Maltanaur as the two of them walked rapidly toward where their horses grazed.

“Our scouts report that a large troop of Orcs is coming this way,” Maltanaur told him.  “The fire is probably driving them out of their dens too, just as it is the forest animals.”

Eilian nodded grimly.  Orcs. That was all they needed. The two of them leapt onto their horses and rode off toward where the Southern Patrol was camped, on the opposite side of the settlement from the Home Guard.

***

Celuwen closed the front door behind the two warriors and then leaned her forehead against it.  What was she going to do?

Trying to protect herself, she had kept him at bay for years now. She had found that if she let him visit her, she would be unhappy for weeks after he left. The only way to maintain her serenity was to ask him to stay away. But the peace created by the time apart had disappeared as if it had never existed the minute she had seen him standing in the cottage doorway.

It was not so much his flirting with every female in sight that made her back away.  She knew he kept company with many maidens when she was not around, and it was possible he would find one that he preferred to her. If that happened, she would feel pain but she would want him to be happy. But she also believed that if they bonded, he would be loyal to her, so his attention to other maidens was not what made her cautious around him.

No, her vigilance came from her belief that they were both obligated to fight the Shadow in their own ways, indeed that in these times everyone was so obligated.  And as long as she and Eilian responded to that obligation, they would both be in danger.  Moreover, Eilian was inclined to be reckless.  Under those circumstances, it would be both selfish and stupid of her to accept his pressing desire to bond.  She would not leave him desolate, and she would not be left so herself.

And yet, with a sinking feeling of despair, she knew it was already too late for her.

The sound of retching came to her from the bedchamber she had abandoned to Legolas.  He was sick again and he needed her.  This wallowing in pain was self-indulgent, she told herself sternly, and turned to go into the sick room.

***

His stomach more than empty, Legolas fell back on the pillow, careful to land on his side.  He had learned the hard way that his back was too sore to lie on.  Celuwen took the basin away and then returned with an empty one.

“Would you like a sip of water?” she asked.  “Just to clean your mouth a little?”

He looked at her dully, and she apparently took that as a yes, because she left the room and came back with a cup of water that she held to his lips while she supported him as best she could without pressing on his back.  “Just a sip until your stomach settles,” she admonished when he realized how good the water tasted and tried to take more.  She lowered him to the bed again, and left the room, while he lay with his eyes closed, wishing he were unconscious.

She came back, and he cracked his eyes open to watch her.  She moved with unusual grace that he found soothing to watch.  She put another basin on the chair, dipped a cloth in it, and wrung it out.  “Let me bathe your face,” she said and began to wipe gently at his face with what turned out to be a warm cloth.  The glide of the cloth over his face was the most pleasant thing he had felt since he had been hurt, and he felt pathetically grateful for it. She dried his face on a towel and then dipped her cloth in the warm water again.

“You made Eilian happy anyway,” she told him, beginning to bathe his shoulders and arms.  “He has always doted on you, you know.”  She dabbed carefully at the deep scratches on his chest and then blotted up the moisture with the towel. “Can you roll onto your stomach?” she asked.  “That bruise on your back is at a stage where warm water might feel good.”  With her help, he rolled forward and buried his face in the pillow while she bathed his back. It felt good to change his position. He had been lying in the same spot all day.

“You were very young the only other time we have met,” she went on in her low pitched voice.  “Your naneth had recently died, and Eilian was very worried about you.”  Legolas listened with interest.  His family seldom talked about the dark period immediately after his mother’s death, and he had not known that Eilian had been concerned about him.

Celuwen dried his back and then dipped her cloth again and moved the sheet to bathe his hips and legs.  He was embarrassed by the intimacy, but he had to admit that the warm water felt incredibly good.  “You hated me on sight,” Celuwen was now telling him, with humor in her voice.  “You wanted Eilian all to yourself and you had no use for me at all.  I could understand that.  Eilian is - ” she hesitated, as if seeking for the right word.  “He is the most loving person I know,” she finished simply. She reached for the towel, dried him off, and then replaced the sheet.

“Let me see if I can brush your hair without hurting the bruised spot,” she said and got a brush from the chest in the room.  She worked carefully, unbraiding his hair and then running the brush lightly through it.   She rebraided it in a single loose braid that would keep it out of his face. “There,” she said. “Do you feel better?”

He realized with surprise that he felt quite a bit better.  Even his nausea had subsided a little.  He was beginning to feel sleepy again.  “Thank you,” he said.  He looked at her curiously and then felt his eyes beginning to lose their focus.  His last waking thought was to wonder if Eilian knew that she loved him.

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

8.  Enemies

 “Go!” ordered Eilian, sending the warriors from the Southern Patrol into the trees, hastening to intercept the Orcs who were traveling much too near to the settlement.  Their scouts had reported that the Orcs seemed to be fleeing in front of the fire, but rather than aiming for the settlement, they appeared to be following the easiest course and veering slightly south, through a valley that would take them around the higher ground on which the settlement was located.

Eilian was taking no chances, however.  He wanted his warriors between the Orcs and the already besieged settlers.  Indeed, he had been worried enough about the size of the approaching band that he had sent a messenger for Siondel and the Home Guard troops he commanded.  The novices and foresters would be safe enough in their camp without them, for the settlement and the fire were both between the Orcs and the Home Guard’s campsite.

As he leapt from branch to branch, he could sense the trees’ increasing uneasiness.  The fire was drawing closer, and the forest was mourning its losses.  The air was growing perceptibly warmer, and ash continued to fill the air, combining with the tantalizing rain clouds to darken the night.  In terrifying counterbalance, the western sky glowed an unnatural red.  Ruthlessly, Eilian pushed fears for Legolas and Celuwen out of his mind.  He needed to concentrate on directing the oncoming battle.  That was his job, and anything that distracted him from that task had to be temporarily put aside.

He came to a stop in an oak tree and sounded the signal for his troops to halt and arrange themselves in a line that would block access to the settlement and allow the Southern Patrol to kill as many of the enemy as possible.  Eilian was well aware that Orcs who escaped him today were likely to attack Thranduil’s people on some other occasion.  If the beasts were fleeing from the fire, he hoped they were doing so in blind panic, for that would make it easier to waylay and destroy them.

The spot Eilian had chosen was ideal for an ambush, because the Elves had come down from the ridge on which the settlement stood and were now ranged up the valley side, while the Orcs would be below them, caught between them and a stream.  The stream was the one that also ran near the settlement, but it was deeper and wider here.  Any Orcs trying to escape the Elves’ arrows by crossing it would be slowed down and become even better targets.

Maltanaur landed on the branch next to him.  “Siondel is right behind us,” he murmured, and Eilian nodded.  The two of them crouched motionless, their bows in hand and arrows nocked.  In a few moments, more shadowy shapes slid from the treetops behind them into positions that reinforced the line of warriors already in place.

As Eilian waited, a cool breeze murmured through the leaves, and he glanced up to see that the clouds had begun to move more swiftly.  Rain is coming, he thought, and hoped that it would come quickly.  And then, on the breeze, he caught the scent of Orcs, pungent even through the smoke that stung his eyes and throat.  His fingers tightened slightly on his bow.  As many times as he had lain in wait for Orcs, this moment when he first became aware of their approach never lost its ability to make his breath quicken and his heart pound.

Just when he thought he could wait no longer, large, lumbering shapes began to emerge from the smoky darkness and swarm along the edge of the creek, first singly, then in groups, and finally in a hurrying mass. Eilian waited until they were spread before the entire line of Elves, and then he gave the shrill, whistled signal that drew all of his warriors from their waiting crouches to send arrows flying into the bodies below.

For a stunned instant, the Orcs plainly did not understand what was happening.  Their minds had evidently been on the danger of the fire, and they had been caught completely unaware by the danger of the Elves.  Eilian’s warriors had time to loose a second and then a third round of arrows into them before their archers could even get their own bows off their shoulders.

In the chaos of the next few minutes, Eilian was hard put to keep track of all parts of the battle while shooting as many of his own arrows as he could. Increasingly thick smoke was obscuring his vision, and the Orcs’ fear of the fire had them behaving unpredictably.  The Orc archers were, for the most part, shooting back at the Elves, but the Orc swordsmen were using the time their archers gave them to flee rather than dodging arrows and waiting to engage in battle when the Elves had spent their arrows and had to take to the ground.  Eilian had no intention of letting the beasts escape if he could help it.

“Siondel!” he called, catching the other captain’s attention. “Take your warriors and see if you can head some of them off.”  Siondel nodded and waved his Home Guard warriors after the fleeing Orcs.

Eilian shot his own last arrow, dragged his sleeve through the sweat on his face, and then, after taking a final look around to make sure that all was going as it should, he launched himself from his perch in the tree to land on the back of a startled Orc archer and drive a knife into his neck.  All around him, his warriors were doing likewise, coming to the ground with blades in hand.  With terrible grace, Elves were bearing down on scattered and panicked Orcs. An unholy glee swept through him.  The enemy would suffer at the hands of his warriors tonight, and he rejoiced in that suffering.

Eilian drew his sword and swung it at an Orc archer, coming in close to hew at the Orc’s hands and knock the bow out of them.  The Orc grabbed for his own sword, but as he did so, he seemed to involuntarily cringe away, and suddenly, Eilian realized that something unexpected was happening.  Much too much light was shining into the Orc’s face, blinding him and leaving him helpless.  Without hesitation, Eilian ran his sword through his opponent’s belly, but then he jerked it free and turned to see where the light was coming from.

What he saw made him draw in his breath.  He abruptly realized that he had been aware for some time of a gradually growing roar and that the air had been becoming hotter.  Now he saw that the fire was crawling across the top of the ridge above them.  The wind that had come with the promise of rain had also fanned the flames and driven them forward.  The fire had jumped the cleared area and was sweeping toward the settlement.

***

Celuwen held the cup of water to Legolas’s lips and let him take another sip.  He was doing much better, she thought.  He could prop himself up on his elbow to drink, and he had kept down all the water he had drunk for the last two hours. Eilian would be pleased. She smiled at the thought, and Legolas saw her and smiled back. Then he let himself carefully down onto the bed again.

Suddenly, the door to the room was yanked open, and she turned to see her father standing in the doorway. “The fire has jumped the break,” he said grimly. “We need your help throwing more water on the cottage.”

She froze.  Worried that this very event might happen, her parents had thrown buckets of water on the cottage walls and roof the previous evening after they had finished cutting trees at the stream.  Celuwen had helped when she could, but she had not felt able to leave Legolas for long.  Now she hesitated.

“Celuwen,” he urged, “we need you.”

From the corner of her eye, she could see Legolas’s pale face, turned toward her father.  He was listening with his brows drawn together in a faint frown.  She suspected that he was not entirely certain what was happening.

“Celuwen,” her father insisted, “we have no time to waste.”

He was right, she thought reluctantly. There was no time to waste, and her choice was made.  To her unending sorrow, she had made it long ago when she had been too young to know what it would cost her.  The sound of someone pounding on the front door came from the other room.   She met her father’s eyes and answered him. “I cannot come.  I need to get Legolas away to safety.”

“If you help us, he will be safe here!” her father cried.

“I am so sorry, Adar,” she said, her voice cracking, “but I cannot.”

For a brief moment, he stared at her in disbelief, and then he gave an incoherent cry and whirled away to rush out of the cottage.  Through the open front door, a warrior hesitantly entered.  Smoke came into the cottage with him and wreathed itself around the edges of the room.  “Mistress,” he said tentatively, “are you ready to go? I have orders to take you and the youngling to the Home Guard’s camp.”

She pulled her gaze away from the empty space into which her father had vanished. “Yes, I am ready,” she said steadily.  “Here he is.  You will have to carry him.”

Roused by the urgent tones of everyone around him, Legolas was looking more alert by the minute.  Now he looked at Celuwen.  “Clothes,” he said firmly. “I want my clothes.”

She blinked.  “We do not have time,” she said in exasperation. "We will wrap you in a blanket."

“I will not go this way,” he insisted.  The warrior put his hand over his mouth to conceal a smile.

Celuwen regarded the stubborn young face and, mixed with irritation, she felt a sudden sympathy for Legolas’s clutching at what dignity he could in his current helpless situation.  “Very well!” she cried, grabbing Legolas’s pack from the corner where Eilian had left it.   She rummaged through it and drew out some leggings.  “Give me your knife,” she demanded, and when the warrior handed his weapon over, she dug the tip into the right leg and cut it open from the knee down so that Legolas’s splinted foot would fit through it.  She tossed the leggings to the warrior.  “Help him into these,” she commanded.  “Be careful of his right leg. His foot is broken.”

Her back to them, she pulled out a tunic and inspected it.  It was fashioned from very fine linen and had obviously been made to fit him.  It would lie too closely on his back and chest to be wearable in his current state, she thought.

She hurried into the outer room and pulled one of her father’s still-damp tunics from the drying rack, gathered three towels that she dipped into the water bucket, and then hastened back into the bed chamber.  Legolas was sitting up on the bed and the warrior was just fastening the leggings.  She put her father’s tunic over Legolas’s head and gently eased his arms through.  He would have to do without shoes. At the moment, she had no idea where his were, and he could not have worn one on his right foot in any case.

She tied one of the towels across his nose and mouth.  “This will ease your breathing when we get out into the smoke,” she told him and gave a second towel to the warrior, who promptly tied it about his own face.  He scooped Legolas up in his arms and started out of the cottage.  She followed, fastening the third towel in place for herself.

Their faces masked by wet cloths, her mother and father were both busy dipping buckets into the barrel of water that stood by the corner of the cottage.  Their neighbors’ cottages were too far away for her to see what was happening at them, but she knew that they would be doing the same thing.  Smoke was thickening the warm air, and carried on the wind from the trees that were already on fire, small sparks were drifting around them.

Feeling traitorous, she ignored her parents and turned toward where the warrior was lifting Legolas up onto the back of a very nervous bay stallion. The fire and frantic activity around him had obviously alarmed the horse, and he was moving restlessly, making it hard for the warrior to settle Legolas without the horse treading on his foot.

“Do not worry, Pilin,” Legolas murmured, as she approached.  “It is only me.”

“I need to ride behind you, Legolas,” she told him.  “You are not steady enough to ride alone.”

The warrior looked doubtful.  “Perhaps you should take my horse, mistress, and I will ride with Legolas.”

“I will do it,” she responded firmly.

At that moment, while the warrior was still turned toward her, a spark landed in a clump of grass in front of the stallion and flared briefly.  Before the warrior could catch at the already edgy horse, Pilin whinnied and reared, sending Legolas sliding to the ground.  With a cry, Celuwen rushed toward him.  He sat clutching at his already broken foot.

“I fell off my horse!” he exclaimed in horror.

She almost laughed.  You may not become hysterical, she told herself sternly.  “Did you hit your head?” she demanded.

“No,” he said, clutching at his foot and beginning to rock slightly.  “I landed on my Orc-begotten foot.”  She pushed his hands away and found, to her dismay, that the splints had been shattered.  He had undoubtedly reinjured his foot. Another spark landed next to him and burned itself out.

“We must be on our way,” the warrior insisted and then picked Legolas up and put him on his own horse rather than on Pilin.  He motioned to Celuwen, who needed no further urging to leap into place behind Legolas and put her arm around his waist to steady him.  The warrior grappled for a moment with Pilin and then he, too, mounted.  He called to his own horse and kicked Pilin into motion, with Legolas and Celuwen following close behind.

She managed one quick look back at the cottage where she had lived for so long.  Thick smoke smudged the edges of the house, the trees, her parents.  Tears stung her eyes and not all them were caused by the smoke.  She turned forward again and buried her face in Legolas’s back.

***

Eilian stared in horror at the fire crawling along the ridge above them.  Something stung the back of his right hand, making him jerk, and he realized that sparks were drifting down on them.  A loud, terrified roar from behind him brought him back to the moment, and he spun to find that Orcs were fleeing both along the stream and across it.

“After them!” he ordered, running forward with his sword at the ready.  His warriors had evidently been caught by the same scene that had held him and panicked the Orcs, but now they were in motion again, pursuing the fleeing enemy.

An Orc tripped and fell to the ground directly in front of him, and with pitiless strength, Eilian beheaded him.  Then, unexpectedly, he had to stand still and struggle to catch his breath.  For a moment, he wondered what could be wrong with him, but then he realized that the hungry fire was drawing air up the hill, leaving both Orcs and Elves panting.  A warrior struggled with an Orc not ten feet in front of him, both of them gasping as they grappled.  Eilian stumbled forward and drove his already dripping sword into the beast.  The warrior nodded his thanks, and Eilian saw that his face was reddened from the heat. It suddenly occurred to him that his own skin, too, was warm wherever it was exposed to the increasingly scorching air. Another spark drifted down and burned a tiny hole in his sleeve.

It dawned on him that their enemy now was the fire.

He put his hand to his mouth and gave the warbling signal that called for his warriors to disengage.  To his left and his right, he could see Elves driving their swords home and then stepping back to allow the remaining Orcs to run along the edge of the stream and escape into the murky night.

“Into the water,” he shouted, waving his sword overhead so that his scattered warriors would all see.  But they did not need his urging.  Already they were wading into the stream, and Eilian staggered after them.  The cool water came up to his thighs and then his waist.  A spark bit into the back of his neck, and he slipped beneath the water, feeling its sting against the tight skin on his face.

He surfaced and turned to look at the ridge and the hill sloping down from it.  At the top, flames were reaching high into the night sky, with thick, acrid smoke pouring off them.  He knew that they were unlikely to descend the hill, for fire defied the force that held the rest of them to Arda and ran ever upward, but showers of sparks were swirling off the fire and drifting through the trees on the hillside.  And far off to his left, he could see more flames creeping along the valley toward them.

For a moment, his thoughts threatened to slide into terrified visions of Legolas and Celuwen, caught in the inferno and screaming for him to help them.  I cannot think of that now, he insisted to himself.  For now, I am a captain of the Woodland Realm and these warriors are depending on me.

He glanced behind him and considered ordering his troops to cross the stream where they might be safer, but he hesitated.  The settlement was in the path of the fire, and its inhabitants would need them once the flames had passed.  Moreover, he did not think the Orcs would return, but he could not be certain, he did not want to leave the settlers exposed to such a horrifying assault.

Even as he debated with himself, something light struck the top of his head.  He turned his face up quickly and felt another soft tap and then another.  It took him a moment to realize what was happening.  Rain! he thought jubilantly, scarcely able to believe it.  A ragged cheer went up around him as his companions, too, recognized that it was rain, and not sparks, that fell with increasing intensity all around them.

For a brief time, Eilian stood in the stream, letting the rain beat down on his face and chest, and then he waded toward the shore.  His warriors followed him from the water.  They had work to do, he thought, and they needed to do it now so as to be ready to go and see what remained of the settlement once the rain had done its work.  Once again, he choked back the fear and impatience that clouded his judgment when he thought about the two whom the fire would have come near.  I cannot think of that now, he reminded himself.

He considered.  Ordinarily they would burn the bodies of Orcs they had slain so as not to leave the forest polluted by their presence.  The idea of setting a fire now seemed like a very bad joke.  He shrugged.  He could only assume that the Valar had a strange sense of humor.

“Gather the bodies,” he ordered, and his warriors began the unpleasant task of dragging dead Orcs through the mud and wet ash that now lay all about them.

Eilian turned to Maltanaur.  “Check for wounded,” he said.  “You go that way; I’ll go this.”  Maltanaur nodded and they set off in opposite directions to check on the state of their own troops.  Eilian found one warrior with an arrow in his thigh and another with a sword wound in his left arm.  He set other Elves to tending both of the wounded.  Neither wound looked serious to him and his main concern was they be kept clean.  Ashes were still drifting down on them and the ground was becoming increasingly slick.

Increasingly impatient to be on his way to the settlement, he walked back toward his starting place to meet Maltanaur.  “What did you find?” Eilian asked, trying to use his wet sleeve to wipe the rain dripping from his forehead.

“Three from our patrol are wounded, although none of the wounds is serious,” Maltanaur said soberly. “But, Eilian, one of the Home Guard is dead.”

Eilian’s heart sank.  Of all his duties, the one he hated most was telling people at home that someone they treasured would not come into their arms again. “Who is it?” he asked.

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

9.  After the Fire

In numb silence, Eilian and Maltanaur walked through the blackened remains of what had once been living trees.  Morning was presumably breaking in the east, but the drizzling rain meant the sky was still gray.  The ashy remnants of leaves and underbrush lay in a thick, wet layer over the forest floor. Is there nothing but death here? Eilian wondered in despair, thinking of their companions who were still burning the bodies of their slain enemies and even more of the Home Guard warriors who would soon be following them at a slower pace, burdened by the body of their captain.

In his mind’s eye, he once again saw himself ordering Siondel to take his troops and pursue the fleeing Orcs.  And then he relived the moment in which he had ordered his own warriors to disengage and let the rest of the enemy hurry in the Home Guard captain’s direction.  I cannot think about that, he told himself desperately, and put the memory away in the dark corner of his mind where he had hidden more thoughts than he had ever dreamed he would have to forbid himself to recall.

And what would he find ahead?  The patch of woods he and Maltanaur were now crossing was less devastated than the first one.  The underbrush had burned and some of the trees were blackened, but their leafy canopies were intact.  He steeled himself as he rounded the last group of rocks and came into sight of the first cottage.  He paused, unable to believe his eyes.  The walls of the cottage were charred and part of the roof had fallen in, but despite all that, it stood.  It stood, and in front of it, an Elven couple could be seen, dragging debris from the fallen roof out through the door.

As Eilian and Maltanaur approached, the two of them paused in their labors.  Their faces were sooty and blistered, and their hands were bandaged, presumably against blisters there too.  “Are you injured?” he asked, ready to send for those among his warriors who were best at emergency healing, but the husband shook his head.

“We came through the fire well,” he said in a raspy, smoke damaged voice, “but there were others who were not so lucky.”

Eilian’s heart caught.  “Where?” he asked.

The Elf pointed further along the path with his chin.  “Up that way.”

‘Up that way’ was towards Celuwen’s cottage.  Eilian’s step quickened, and, with Maltanaur right behind him, he strode up the path toward the site of Celuwen’s home.  He was watching anxiously for it through the blackened tree trunks and, when he did not see it, he thought for a moment that he had misjudged the distance. Suddenly he realized that the still smoldering wreck in front of him was all that remained of the building in which he had last seen Celuwen and Legolas.

He stopped and then nudged tentatively with the toe of his boot at the still warm beam that lay across what had been the doorstep. His hands began to tremble slightly.  Maltanaur touched his shoulder.  “Legolas and Celuwen were almost certainly not here,” he said.

Eilian stared at the collapsed cottage for a second longer.  ‘Almost certainly’ was not good enough.  And what of Celuwen’s parents?  He could not imagine what Celuwen would feel if her parents turned out to have been inside the wreck he saw before him.  He whirled and started down the path toward the building where he and Siondel had met with Sólith and Félas.  If there was anyplace where news was to be had, it would be there.

He and Maltanaur emerged from between burnt tree trunks to find half a dozen Elves standing near the doorway of the public building.  Eilian recognized Sólith among them and was starting toward Celuwen’s father when he was struck by the incongruous smell of roasted meat in the air.  Suddenly, he noticed that on the ground near the small group lay two still forms wrapped in dirty blankets. All else faded from his awareness.  With a smothered moan, he dashed toward them and was tugging at the edge of one of the blankets when Sólith caught his arm.

“It is not them, Eilian,” he said urgently.  Eilian raised his head to look into the eyes of the older Elf, who for once looked sympathetic.  Eilian straightened and Sólith released his arm. “Legolas and Celuwen left with one of your warriors before the fire came,” Sólith said, now sounding tired.  “They were not here.” He nodded at the two bundled figures. “This was a young couple who had the bad luck to live in the cottage closest to where the fire first reached us.”

Eilian looked down at the unmoving bundles and abruptly knew where the smell of cooked meat was coming from. His gorge rose, but he choked it down again, and suddenly, he was furious.

“I saw your cottage,” he said tightly.

Sólith nodded.  “We were helping a neighbor,” he said sadly.  “There were simply not enough hands to keep everything wet.”  He rubbed at his temple and then flinched and jerked his hand away as he encountered a blister on his face.

“I suppose you think that Celuwen should have stayed and helped you,” Eilian said.  He was still trying to keeping control over his voice, but he knew he sounded critical.

Sólith stiffened.  “I do think that,” he said.  “You should not have forced her to make a choice like that, Eilian.  Do you care nothing for what she wants?”  His voice was rising, and the Elves who were nearby drifted further away to give them more privacy.

“I care for her safety,” Eilian snapped, no longer bothering to restrain himself, “which seems to me to be more than you do.”  Sólith’s face reddened but before he could retort, Eilian went on. “What if she had stayed?  She might have been inside that cottage when it burned down, and Legolas certainly would have been.”

“The warrior you sent could have taken your brother,” Sólith spat, now well and truly angry himself. “You had no need to make Celuwen responsible for him.”

“Celuwen should not have been here during a forest fire,” Eilian cried. “None of you should have been.”  His voice shook in fury. “The price you pay for staying here is too high, Sólith.”

“If the king would send us guards, we would be safe enough,” Sólith retorted.

Eilian pointed to the two dead Elves on the ground.  “Would guards have saved them?  A warrior died defending you! What more do you want?”  Again, he shut the thought of Siondel out of his mind.

Sólith stared at the bodies.  Suddenly, to Eilian’s amazement, he looked away and blinked, as if he were fighting back tears, and Eilian felt his anger dissipating.  “Get your people out of here,” he pleaded. “At least get your family out.  Take them to live in the woods elsewhere, if you like, maybe to the east of the king’s stronghold or to the north of the Forest River.  There are places you could live where your wife and daughter would not risk death daily.”

Sólith looked back at him. “I hate what the Shadow is doing to the trees,” he said with angry defiance, “what it is doing to us all.  How can you even suggest that we abandon the forest to it?”  Then he turned away and scanned the wrecked scene around him and, after a long moment, his shoulders slumped in defeat.  “Go away, Eilian,” he said, and his voice was bitter. “You evidently cannot help us. Go back to your camp and send Celuwen home, although you might warn her that she has no home to come to.”

“Celuwen will do as she chooses,” Eilian said, and felt a sudden, hopeless stab of longing that she would choose to stay with him.

Sólith raised an eyebrow at him.  “I suspect that you will find that is truer than you would like,” he said dryly and then turned and went into the building.

Eilian stood for a moment staring after him.  Thranduil would not be pleased if he knew that Eilian had taken it upon himself to suggest a course of action to these Elves.  His father undoubtedly had already decided what he wanted them to do and was probably trying to coax them into doing it.  Eilian decided that he did not care.  He could not bear the thought of Celuwen living here any longer.

***

Legolas stiffened, and Annael glanced up anxiously from his examination of Legolas’s foot.  “Did I hurt you?” he asked.

Legolas shook his head, although in truth the pain in his foot was growing by the minute. Annael regarded him suspiciously for a moment and then frowned down at the foot again.  “It is swelling,” he said.  He cradled the foot in his warm hands and, with audible curiosity, asked, “You say that you reinjured it?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered, unwilling to provide any further information. He had never fallen off a horse before, and if he could help it, no one would know he had done it this past night.

Annael waited for a moment to see what Legolas would tell him and then, with a small smile, gave up, as he had been forced to do twice before. He looked down at the foot, sighed, and put it gently back on the ground.  “You need a real healer,” he said.  Legolas was afraid his friend was right.  Most warriors could give emergency care to the wounded and even set simple broken bones, but he suspected he had done enough damage to his foot by now that someone with real skill would need to tend to it.  He hoped that he would not be laid up for too long, he thought dismally. He hated being inactive.  At least his father was away, which would reduce the chances of him being pent up any longer than was absolutely necessary.  Thranduil could be maddeningly overprotective sometimes.

Celuwen approached carrying a cloak she had borrowed from a forester.  “This one is more or less dry,” she told him and draped it over him.  He drew the cloak up to his chin and leaned carefully back against the tree under which they were sheltering from the rain.  With the passing of the fire, the spring dawn had become chilly and, in his wet clothes, he felt cold.  Celuwen settled herself next to him.  “How do you feel?” she asked him.

“Better,” he said, and in some ways it was true.  His head was clearer, and he could tell that his chest and back had already begun to heal.  If only his foot would stop throbbing, he thought, he would feel almost like himself again.

“Good,” Celuwen said. “I intend to return you to Eilian in good order.” She smiled briefly at him, and then she laid back on the ground and closed her eyes.  She looked tired.  The forester from whom she had borrowed the cloak approached with a second one in hand.  He bent to place it over Celuwen, and she opened her eyes long enough to smile her thanks.

Annael sat down on his other side. He picked up a twig and began to scratch at the ash covered ground with it. “I wish we would hear how things were going,” he said.

Legolas nodded.  “I do too.” He was worried about Eilian.  They had all seen the fire climbing the ridge from the Home Guard campsite, and the sight had been sobering. He moved his leg restlessly, trying to find a more comfortable position for his foot.

A stir of activity made him turn his head and, as if in answer to Legolas’s wish, Eilian and Maltanaur emerged from the trees into the campsite.  They were both sooty and grim-faced, but Legolas’s relief was immediate and, next to him, Celuwen sat up and let out a soft sigh.  Eilian stopped to speak briefly to the Home Guard warrior who had brought Legolas and Celuwen here, and then he came toward them.

He stooped and kissed Celuwen’s brow, with his hand on the back of her head. “Your parents are well,” he told her, and then cradled her head against his chest when she sagged against him in her relief at the news. He looked over her head at Legolas and gave a small smile.  “You are looking better, brat.  Of course, the last time I saw you, what small wits you have had been turned to porridge.”

“I had the wits to ride off with a pretty maiden,” Legolas declared, “so that puts me one up on you.”

Eilian laughed and then his gaze shifted.  “Annael,” he said, and his face was suddenly unreadable, “I would speak with you.”  He released Celuwen, rose, and waited while a surprised-looking Annael came to his feet.  “Come,” Eilian beckoned and led him off a small distance into the shadows of a pine tree.

Legolas gazed after them curiously.  Annael’s back was to him.  He saw Eilian put his hand on Annael’s shoulder and bend his face close to speak to him.  He heard Annael give a strangled cry.  And then Eilian put his arm around Annael’s shoulders and drew him further into the shadows.

***

“We can be ready to leave by mid afternoon,” the Home Guard warrior told Eilian, “as soon as everyone has had a chance to rest.”  Like many of Siondel’s warriors, this one was young, and his face was drawn and hollow-eyed.  Eilian nodded his acceptance of the plan, and the warrior saluted and walked off, leaving Eilian to stand for a moment staring off into the trees.  In his mind, he saw again the even younger face of Annael, stunned by his loss and yet somehow finding the strength and courage to accept possession of Siondel’s body.  Eilian too had lost a parent, and he knew the pain that lay in the future for this young Elf who had now irrevocably walked away from his childhood.

Footsteps approached from behind him, and he knew who it was without turning.  “I know you have things to see to, Eilian, but I would like a word with you,” said Maltanaur.  Eilian grimaced.  Maltanaur rather often wanted a word with him, usually when Eilian was least willing to give it.

He turned.  “What is it?” he asked resignedly.

“You are brooding,” said Maltanaur bluntly.  “You feel for the youngling, and you are blaming yourself for Siondel’s death.”

Eilian cringed.  “I directed the battle,” he said.  “I am responsible for all that happened.”

“Responsible perhaps, but not to blame,” Maltanaur said.  “When the fire was upon us, you could have done nothing other than what you did.  Siondel’s death was not your fault.”  He put his hand on Eilian’s shoulder.  “Let it go,” he said simply.

Eilian forced a small smile.  “Tell me that again in a week’s time,” he said.

Maltanaur smiled, patted his shoulder, and then dropped his hand. “I will,” he said and walked away.

Eilian moved wearily over to stand next to Celuwen, who was warming her hands at the campfire.  He glanced over toward where Annael sat, bleak faced, next to the body of his father, with Home Guard warriors standing in a close, protective ring around them. Eilian had wanted to give Annael a sleeping draught, but he had refused to take it, and now he sat erect, although silent tears ran down his face.  Legolas sat by his side, his shoulder against that of his friend, but he was plainly tiring, and Eilian thought that he was soon going to have to go and retrieve his brother and insist that he sleep so that he could make the trip home that the foresters, novices, and Home Guard warriors would start later this afternoon.

Celuwen took his hand in hers and squeezed it comfortingly, and Eilian turned to her in gratitude. This was the first time they had been able to speak more or less privately since he had arrived at the campsite.  He put his arm around her and drew her to him. “Thank you for taking care of Legolas,” he said.  He braced himself to tell her about what had happened to the settlement, something he had had no opportunity to do until now.

“Walk with me,” he invited her, and she tilted her head against his shoulder as he kept his arm around her and led her off a way into the trees.  He still could not get over the fact that the trees here looked as they always had, except for the layer of ash all around of course.  He reveled for a moment in their spring song, touched as it was with a note of mourning for what had happened all around them.

When they had gone a sufficient distance from the campsite to have some privacy, he stopped, turned her toward him and then with only a moment’s hesitation, he kissed her. Her mouth was soft and honey sweet beneath his, and she seemed to him to respond to his touch with a longing of her own.  His body thrummed with her nearness and his desire that she should be nearer yet.  And then, with seeming reluctance, she broke the contact, although she kept her hands on his shoulders.

“Tell me about what has happened, Eilian,” she said.

He sighed.  “Your parents are well,” he repeated what he had told her earlier, knowing with Annael’s suffering vividly before him, that this was what was most important, “but your cottage was destroyed in the fire and at least two of the settlers have been killed.”

Her hands tightened reflexively, twisting his tunic awry.  Then she drew a deep breath. “Cottages can be rebuilt,” she declared stoutly, and he felt a flash of pride for her bravery even as he despaired over what was clearly her determination to go home.

“They can be rebuilt,” he said, “but that does not mean you have to be the one to do it.  Go back to my adar’s stronghold with Legolas, Celuwen,” he pleaded.  “You could live there. We could bond.”

She pulled away a little.  “We have been through this before,” she said, sounding unhappy. “I do not want to be hanger-on in your adar’s palace, passing my time by doing needlework.  Do not press me, Eilian!  Do you think I do not feel pain over this?”

Suddenly, he was angry.  He wanted this maiden and he had no conscience at all about doing anything that might make her more likely to come to him.  If appeal would not work, then reproach might and he felt entitled to be reproachful in any case.  “I am not the one who has caused us both pain,” he said sharply.  “I would have us be together.”

“Together when you are on leave, you mean,” she retorted.  She stopped, drew breath, and then spoke more calmly.  “You manipulated me into leaving the settlement to see to Legolas’s safety, Eilian, and I allowed it because he needed seeing to and because - ."  She stopped, her voice catching. “Because I do love you,” she finished in a hopeless tone.  She looked at him with tears in her eyes.  “But I cannot do what you ask of me, so I beg you not to ask it.”

He looked down into her wide dark eyes and felt tears coming into his own.  “I love you,” he said simply.  “I do not see why we simply cannot do what would make us both happy.”  He buried his face in the top of her head.

“Because we would wake up in the morning, and we would both still have duties to fulfill that would draw us apart,” she answered, her voice muffled against his chest.  She looked at him again. “I must go,” she said simply.  “I have stayed here because I thought that you or Legolas might need me, but I can stay no longer.  I am needed at home, and you,” she stroked his face gently, “you, my fine Woodland Realm captain, are needed by your patrol.”

She stretched up to kiss him quickly.  Then she pulled the cloak off her shoulders. “This belongs to one of the foresters,” she told him. “Thank him for me.”  And she pulled away and ran lightly up the path toward the settlement.

***

Eilian lowered him carefully to the blanket, and Legolas knew that his brother had been right. He was tired enough to feel almost light headed, and he needed to rest if he was to be fit to travel later that day.  And yet still he felt guilty for abandoning Annael to carry out his vigil next to his father’s body alone.  He needs me and I have failed him, he thought miserably.  In his mind’s eye, he saw Annael and Siondel, standing facing one another at Annael’s coming of age.

“What do you surrender?” Siondel had asked.

“I surrender my right to protection and guidance,” Annael had answered.

Legolas blinked away the tears.  Surely his friend was not meant to so thoroughly lose his father’s sheltering presence.

Eilian appeared next to him again.  “Drink this,” he ordered, propping him up and putting what was undoubtedly a sleeping draught to his lips.  Legolas thought about resisting, but decided he was too tired and obediently drank what Eilian gave him.  Eilian lowered him to the blanket again and put another blanket over him.  Then he sat down next to Legolas, probably to wait until he fell asleep.

Legolas looked across the campsite at Annael.  Siondel’s warriors had drawn even nearer to Annael, and one of them was now crouched next to him, speaking softly. 

“Annael just had his coming of age,” Legolas said, knowing he sounded bewildered.  “How can Siondel be dead?”

Eilian’s hand stroked his hair and moved to block Legolas’s view of his friend.  “Sleep now,” he said.  They sat silent for a moment, and then Eilian spoke hesitantly.  “I am sorry I will not be there for your coming of age, but as I told you in my letter, I will not be due leave again for a month after that. I will be there when you pledge your faith as a warrior, though.”

Distracted from his grief for Annael, Legolas thought about this.  “Are you coming because I will join your patrol?” he asked.  Traditionally, the captains who would command the new warriors were there to receive them when they left the ranks of the novices.

Eilian’s looked startled, and his hand stopped moving over Legolas’s head.  Then he met Legolas’s gaze.  “You cannot join the Southern Patrol right away,” he said steadily, his hand beginning to move again. “That would be far too dangerous. You need some experience first.”

“But I thought - ,' Legolas stopped and frowned to himself.  He was growing drowsy and even the pain in his foot was beginning to blur. He would think about this when he felt more alert.

“Who did you decide to have stand in for naneth at your coming of age?” Eilian asked, changing the subject.

“No one,” Legolas responded.

Eilian frowned. “Surely Alfirin would do it.”

“She would,” Legolas agreed, “and I am fond of Alfirin, but she has Sinnarn now, and I really do not need anyone.”  He found it hard to explain why he did not want anyone to stand in his mother’s vacant place, but he had found that he did not.

Eilian looked troubled, but Legolas found that his attention was wandering.

“Where is Celuwen?” he asked sleepily.  “I like her.”  At this, Eilian smiled rather shakily.  There was something else Legolas had wanted to tell Eilian about Celuwen, but he could not for a moment remember what it was. Then he recalled it.  “Did you know that she loves you?” he asked, feeling his eyes sliding out of focus.

“Yes,” came Eilian’s voice from a great distance. “I did.”

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

10.  Coming Home

Legolas sucked in his breath and then bit his lip to prevent any further sound from escaping him.  Gwaleniel looked up from her examination of his foot.  “I need to set this bone,” she said.  “I will give you something that will make you unconscious while I do so.”  She began searching through her bag, presumably looking for the proper herbs and then looked toward Ithilden, who was leaning against the wall watching the proceedings. “Can you send for some hot water so I can brew an herbal tea?”

Ithilden nodded and stepped out into the hall to send a servant for the hot water.   Then he returned and took up his silent watch again.  He had taken one look at Legolas being carried into the palace and started shouting for the palace healer, who was also Alfirin’s mother.  He had let Legolas out of his sight only long enough to hear a brief report from the warrior and had stayed with his brother ever since, although Legolas knew that he must have things to see to, even apart from whatever problems had been raised by Siondel’s death.

“Just go ahead and set the bone,” Legolas told the healer.  “I do not need the herbs.”  The bone was small. Surely Gwaleniel could set it quickly.  He wanted her to get on with things so that his foot could start to heal; the pain was beginning to wear on him.

And he did not like the idea of being drugged into unconsciousness again either.  He had had enough of oblivion with his head injury to start with, and then the sleeping draught that Eilian had given him had been stronger than Legolas had realized it would be.  He had been awakened by the insistent throbbing in his foot to find himself on a horse, cradled in the arms of one of the Home Guard warriors.  They had apparently been under way for some time because the day was far advanced.  Presumably Eilian had guessed how painful riding was likely to be with his injury and had tried to save him some of the agony, but Legolas was dismayed that he had not had a chance to say goodbye to his brother, who had gone back south with his patrol.

At least sleeping part of the day had left him wakeful enough to be able to sit with Annael as his friend had again stood vigil over his father’s body when they had camped for the night on the trip home.

Gwaleniel shook her head.  “No, I cannot just go ahead and set it.  The ends of the bone have been displaced.  It is not going to be easy to set.” She paused in her search of her bag and looked at him rather severely.  “Did the healer in the settlement not tell you to stay off it?  You have damaged some of the blood vessels and tissue around the bone, so that healing is going to be slower than it otherwise would have been.”

Legolas glanced over at Ithilden. He knew that his brother was less likely to be overprotective than Thranduil was, but Legolas had only to think of the sleeping draught that Eilian had given him to be reminded that everyone in his family was inclined to make his decisions for him.  And he did not like the disapproving look on his brother’s face.  Ithilden had probably concluded that the settlement healer had told Legolas to stay off the foot, and he had walked on it anyway.

“I did not walk on it deliberately,” he protested. “I fell when we were fleeing the fire.”  Ithilden’s face softened somewhat, but he said nothing.

“After I have set the bone, I will splint it and wrap your foot,” Gwaleniel told Legolas as they waited for the water.  “Then you are going to have to stay off the foot for at least a week.  If you put no weight on the foot, you can move about the palace on crutches.  I will have some sent to you. But you should not try to move about outside or anywhere where the surface is uneven. If you fell on that foot again, you could really do harm.”

A sudden thought occurred to Legolas, and he stiffened in dismay.  “I am going to Siondel’s funeral.”

She shook her head. “You are not going outside, Legolas.”

“I am going,” he repeated stubbornly. “I owe it to Annael and Elowen and to Siondel himself.”

She frowned and looked over at Ithilden, in what was obviously a silent request for support.  Legolas, too, looked at his brother.  “Ithilden, I have to go. You know I do,” Legolas pleaded.  Surely his brother would understand the obligation and affection that Legolas felt toward Annael’s family.  And even if Ithilden did not agree, Legolas vowed to himself, he would go anyway.  This decision was one he could not allow others to make for him.

Ithilden opened his mouth to speak to Gwaleniel, but then stopped and looked at Legolas.  Legolas met his eyes steadily for a moment and saw serious scrutiny there.  “You would have to be carried,” Ithilden finally said tentatively, evidently fearing that Legolas would see this as an insult to his dignity.

“I do not care,” Legolas said impatiently.  “I want to be at the funeral to support Annael and his naneth.”

Ithilden eyed him for another moment and then gave a small smile and nodded.  “I will see to it,” he said.  He looked at his mother-in-law, who had made a disapproving noise. “He will not fall,” he assured her.  “I will carry him myself.”

Reluctantly, she nodded and then accepted the jug of hot water that a servant had brought into the room and poured some carefully over the herbs she had put in a cup. After a moment, she turned back to Legolas and handed it to him.  “I expect you to drink all of it,” she said.

He grimaced, knowing immediately that the warning meant that the mixture would be foul. But he did as he was told and then reluctantly allowed himself to float away into yet another well of forgetfulness.

***

Ithilden scanned the crowd that had assembled in the forest clearing to bid farewell to Siondel, concluding that every Elf who lived within five leagues had gathered here in the twilight.  The body of Siondel lay on a platform over a pile of fragrant branches, with herbs and flowers scattered about him.  Annael stood nearby, with his arm around his mother.  They both looked exhausted more than anything else. On Annael’s other side, Beliniel stood, and as Ithilden watched, she quietly took his hand in hers, and he flashed her a brief smile. The three of them stood enveloped in the gathering darkness, seemingly isolated, not so much because they were physically distant from those around them, as because they were united in grief that others felt less deeply, for all the sympathy they brought.

Arrayed along one side of the platform were rows of warriors, mostly from the Home Guard who had served with and under Siondel.  They were here to honor one of their own, who had fallen as any of them could fall.  At the end of the front row, the novices were ranged, white-faced and wide-eyed. This was the first warrior’s funeral that most of them had seen, and, of course, they all knew Annael.  The reality of their futures was suggested by this ritual, and they obviously found it sobering.

Among the oldest group of novices sat Legolas, in the chair where Ithilden had placed him just moments before.  He knew that Legolas had been humiliated by having to be carried like a child, and he was proud of his brother for swallowing his own feelings in order to be of whatever comfort he could to his friend.  He was sometimes astonished by how much Legolas had grown up in the last few years. Now Legolas sat erect and sober, watching Annael.

Ithilden looked up to see the first stars opening overhead. It was time to begin.  In the role that his father would normally have played, he began to speak.  “People of the Woodland Realm, we have come to honor Siondel, son of these woods, known by us all and loved by many among us.  What words can we say about him?”  He waited to hear all those who wished to speak but knew that the first few speakers would be warriors, for everyone here knew that Siondel had belonged first to his family, and then to those with whom he had served.

There was a moment’s respectful pause, and then one of the young Home Guard warriors stepped forward.  “I speak not only for myself,” he began, “but for many of my fellow warriors who have entrusted me to make their hearts known.   Siondel was the first captain under whom most of us have served.  We came into his hands well-trained but inexperienced, and with his patient guidance, we hoped to grow into warriors who could make the realm a safer place for those we loved.  As a captain, Siondel took his own strengths and multiplied them a hundredfold by giving them to us. I was with him when he died while fighting. There was no warrior who was braver.  There is no warrior I would rather be like.”  He stepped back into the group of warriors, wiping unashamedly at his eyes.

Ithilden waited, and then, from the ranks of warriors, Maldor stepped forward.  Even in his sorrow, Ithilden could not help but be amused when every novice and many of the young warriors straightened their backs at the sight of the demanding unarmed combat master.  “Like most of those among us who are older,” Maldor said, “I knew Siondel from the day he was born, but I came to know him well only when he became a novice warrior and I aided in his training.  Like most of those we train, he learned to fight with skill.  Our task as novice masters, however, is not just to teach our students but to learn about them, to discover where their special strengths and talents lie, so that we can advise the troop commander where they might be put to best use when they finally pledge their faith as warriors.  Siondel was one in whom that strength was clear from the start: he loved his home and his family with a passion that guided his life.”

Elowen’s chin began to tremble, and Annael drew her closer to him, blinking rapidly himself.

“And so when the time came,” Maldor went on, “we novice masters told Ithilden that Siondel belonged in the Home Guard, where he would be able serve both the realm and his own heart’s desire.  He was a warrior, but what drove him was love, and that is what I will remember about him.”

Maldor returned to his place, his face impassive, and Ithilden was once again faintly amused by the startled looks that many of the novices wore.  They were seeing a side of Maldor that was usually hidden from them.  Ithilden supposed it would take only one rough training session to make them forget the Maldor who stood before them today, but it never hurt for the young to have their certainties disturbed.

He waited again, and then neighbors began to speak of Siondel’s kindness and generosity, and friends told stories of his skill as a fisherman and his enjoyment of wagering.  Finally, Ithilden waited and thought that perhaps the last who wished to speak had done so. And then he heard Legolas’s voice and turned back to where the warriors were ranged.  He had been somewhat surprised that Legolas had not spoken when the other warriors had, and he was uncertain why his brother had chosen to wait until now.

Legolas remained seated, as he had promised Ithilden he would, but he spoke clearly.  “I admired Siondel as a warrior,” he began, “but I valued him most as the father of my friend.”  Annael turned to look at Legolas, and Ithilden could see that he had lost the battle to suppress his tears.  “I saw him loving and guiding Annael, and sometimes when I was fortunate, he would treat me as if I, too, were his son.  He praised me when I did well, sheltered me when I needed a refuge, and did not hesitate to tell me when he thought I had done wrong.  I hope that he was proud of me, and I know that he was proud of Annael.”  His eyes met Annael’s, and Ithilden could see that he too was weeping.

Silence fell and Ithilden knew it was time for him to speak the ritual words.  “To our great sorrow, the fëa of Siondel, son of the Woodland Realm, has fled to the Halls of Mandos to await the fate that Iluvatar has set for him.  He has no more need for the shell before us, and we send it to the air and the winds, but we keep Siondel in our hearts.”

He took the torch that an attendant handed him and lit it from an already lit one that had been thrust in the ground.  Then he walked toward Elowen and Annael.  He handed the torch to Elowen, and Annael put his hand over hers.  Together, they reached forward and lit the pyre, releasing Siondel’s body to the fire.

***

Legolas dropped the book he had been trying to read onto his lap and stared gloomily into the empty fireplace.  The spring day was warm, and he longed to be out. In truth, he longed to be doing anything.  Thoughts of Siondel’s funeral strayed into his mind again.  I cannot keep sitting here thinking of death, he told himself desperately.

He grabbed for his crutches and swung to his feet.  He had become very nimble with them in the last week and moved rapidly out of his room and down the hall toward the Great Doors.  He came into the antechamber and then halted at the top of the stairs leading down from the Doors and off into the spring day.  He looked longingly at the green trees and inhaled the scent of spring.

One of the guards grinned at him.  “Beautiful day,” he said cheerily.  Legolas could have strangled him.  Suddenly, he could bear his confinement no longer.

“It is a beautiful day,” he agreed, “and I am going riding.”  Without another pause, he lowered himself carefully down the steps and then turned to go through the palace gardens and toward the path leading to the stables.

***

Thranduil felt his uneasiness lessening bit by bit as he drew nearer and nearer to home.  In his worry for his woods and his son, he had pushed his warriors and the horses when they first left Imladris and in a little more than a week, they had covered a distance that had taken them nearly twice as long going in the other direction.  Now, as they came within a few miles of his stronghold, Elves and horses were both weary, but he was increasingly certain that Legolas was safe and that whatever had been wrong with the forest was now set right, or at least as right as the forest could be with Shadow spreading through it.

Suddenly, Thranduil heard hoof beats on the path ahead, and the guards riding in front of him came to alert and raised the bows that they had carried in their right hands from the minute the party had entered the western edge of the forest.  They rounded a bend in the path, and there, with his own bow in hand, was Legolas, mounted on his temperamental stallion.

“Mae govannen, Legolas,” one of the guards laughed, and they all lowered their weapons.

Relief flooding his system at the sight of his son, Thranduil urged his horse forward.  Although he had come to believe that Legolas was no longer threatened, he found that he needed the reassurance that came from seeing for himself that all was well.  He ran his eyes hungrily over the slim young form before him and abruptly came to focus on his son’s right foot, which was pressed to Pilin’s side with unaccustomed awkwardness.  It was tightly bound and clearly braced by a splint.  He raised his eyes to Legolas’s face and found there a look of deep dismay.  He sighed.

Thranduil would have liked to believe that his sons were always glad to see him, but he had been a father long enough to know that, from their point of view, he occasionally appeared at inopportune moment.   “Are you supposed to be riding with your foot like that?” he demanded.

Legolas grimaced.  “No.”

“Then why are you doing it?” Thranduil asked crisply.

“I have been penned up inside the palace for a week and was about to go mad from the tedium,” Legolas declared, mutiny beginning to show in his face. “My foot has stopped hurting and the healer is going to take the splint off tomorrow.  And besides,” he said with some emphasis, “I am exceedingly unlikely to fall off my horse.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow.  If Legolas was not supposed to be riding, it was because doing so might aggravate whatever injury lay beneath the bandaging on his foot.  Boredom was a minor irritation compared to that.  He started to sidle his horse up next to Pilin preparatory to dragging Legolas off him and onto his own horse.  Then he saw the look of alarm deepening on Legolas’s face.  Thranduil paused, considered the tender dignity of young warriors, and turned and signaled to his escort.  “You may go on,” he said.  “Tell Ithilden that we will follow.”

The captain of his guard hesitated. “My lord,” he began, but Thranduil waved off whatever he intended to say.

“You may go,” he repeated with some asperity. “We are within a league of the palace.  I believe I am still capable of dealing with whatever dangers might arise between here and home.”  With obvious reluctance, the captain saluted and then led the rest of the party off down the path.

Thranduil turned to Legolas again, his gaze determined, and Legolas looked resigned, apparently accepting his fate.  Thranduil moved his horse carefully up on Pilin’s left, next to Legolas’s uninjured foot.  Pilin pranced off.  “Steady him, Legolas,” Thranduil said irritably.  “You really need to teach this horse some better manners.”

“He has not been exercised enough in the last week,” Legolas said defensively, the unspoken “and neither have I” being clearly implied.  But he brought the horse under better control, and Thranduil reached over to grasp him around the waist and pull him to rest in his arms.

He glanced at the scowling young face.  “We will ride to the stables instead of the green,” he said, thinking that Legolas would prefer the less public arrival.

“Thank you, Adar,” said Legolas, not sounding particularly thankful.

With sudden joy, Thranduil laughed outright. The annoyance on Legolas’s face deepened, but Thranduil did not care.  After his long moments of fear, he was happy to have his child in his arms again, although he knew such a reaction was ludicrous, given that the “child” was almost as tall as he was.  He spoke softly to his horse and they trotted off toward the stables, with Pilin following behind.  “On the way, you can tell me what has been happening while I have been gone,” he told Legolas.

There was a moment’s silence, and his son’s face turned grave.  “I am glad you are home, Adar,” Legolas finally admitted and then began his story.

***

Ithilden blinked at the sight of Thranduil mounting the steps to the Great Doors with Legolas in his arms and a stable attendant coming behind carrying Legolas’s crutches.  They reached Ithilden and Thranduil set Legolas carefully down as the attendant handed him the crutches.  Legolas tucked the crutches under his arms.  “By your leave, Adar?” he asked rather stiffly.

“You may go,” Thranduil said and then turned to embrace Ithilden as Legolas made his way into the palace.  “I am very glad to see you, iôn-nín,” Thranduil told him, and Ithilden could not help but be gratified.

They entered the palace.  “Where did you find Legolas?” Ithilden asked in some exasperation. “He is not supposed to be out at all.”  Had he only recently been thinking that Legolas was growing up?  He would certainly have to revise that opinion if his brother was going to do something so childish as endanger his recovery by roaming around outside.

“He will not be out without permission again,” Thranduil dismissed his concern.  “But he has told me about the fire.”  He looked sober.  “I will visit Elowen and Annael later today.  Siondel is a loss to us all.”  He shook his head slightly.  “Legolas does not seem to have much sense of the settlers’ reaction to the danger they were in.  What can you tell me about them?”

They had reached Thranduil’s office and entered.  Ithilden was immeasurably relieved to have Thranduil take the seat behind the desk while he could now move to the chair in front of it.  Tomorrow, he would have only his troops to worry about, and Thranduil would take back the cares of the greater realm.

And what Ithilden wanted to know now was whether those cares would soon be eased.  “Adar, I will tell you anything I can about the settlement, but, please, let me ask you first, what action has the White Council decided to take?”

Anger flashed across his father’s face.  “The council has argued itself into doing nothing.  They neither know nor seem to care what we suffer.  We are, as always, on our own, and I have come to think that we will do better that way in any case.”

Ithilden felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him.  He had been so hopeful that the council, with all its wise and powerful members, would see the need to come to their aid.  Thranduil watched him with something like pity in his eyes.  “The council was still meeting as I left,” he said. “Mithrandir will come to tell us what occurred.”

Ithilden nodded numbly.  “Mithrandir is always welcome,” he said woodenly.

Thranduil grimaced. “Tell me about the settlement,” he directed.

Ithilden sighed.  “Are you sure you do not want to rest first?  I assume you want to know if we have any hope of getting the settlers to move, and I think you might want to recover from your trip before considering that question.”

Thranduil shook his head.  “No, I need to know what is happening with my realm.”  He leaned back in his chair, and Ithilden thought he actually looked glad to be there.  He seemed to grow stronger rather than more weary as the two of them talked.  Even in his currently dismayed state, Ithilden had to repress a smile.  In his admittedly biased opinion, the Woodland Realm was fortunate in its king.  His spirits rose slightly. Perhaps his father was right, and they would manage on their own.

He considered for a moment and then began to give an organized, concise report of what had happened in the settlement and how the settlers had reacted to it.  Thranduil listened without interrupting.  When Ithilden had finished, the king smiled.  “I cannot tell you what a pleasure it is to hear a competently given report,” he said with satisfaction.  “You are worth at least three of the people I have been listening to recently.”

Ithilden laughed.  He was beginning to get the sense that his father and the other members of the White Council might have had a rather tempestuous encounter.

The door to the room burst open, and Sinnarn came tearing in and leapt at Thranduil, who caught him at the last possible moment.  “Grandfather!” he cried.  “I heard you. I knew it was you.”  He flung his chubby arms around Thranduil’s neck.

“Sinnarn,” said Ithilden reprovingly, “you know you are not supposed to be in your grandfather’s office.” He rose and reached for his son, but Thranduil settled the child on his lap and grinned at Ithilden without repentance.

“Sinnarn and I will visit for a while,” he said.  “You go and see Alfirin.”

Ithilden could not help but laugh.  “She will not be happy that you are spoiling your grandson,” he warned.

“I believe I can withstand Alfirin’s wrath,” Thranduil said placidly.

Ithilden raised an eyebrow.  “It is overconfidence like that that does an Elf in,” he commented dryly.  Thranduil grinned.

“Naneth is scolding Uncle Legolas for going outside,” Sinnarn informed them.  “She says she will get grandmother to give him nasty medicine.”  He made a face, but his father and grandfather both laughed, and he leaned back against his grandfather’s broad chest, pleased to have been the bearer of what was evidently happy news.

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

11.  Looking Ahead

“Now that looks better,” said Thranduil approvingly.

Legolas grinned at him.  “The healer has just turned me loose.  You cannot imagine how good it feels to walk on my own two feet again.”

“You still need to be cautious for a while,” Thranduil warned him.  “That foot is undoubtedly not fully healed even if the bone has mended. And recovering from a blow to the head takes time.”

Legolas gritted his teeth.  Since Thranduil’s return the day before, he had hovered over Legolas far more than he should have had time to do. Thranduil had apparently been worried about him for more than a week before he arrived home, and he was having trouble believing that Legolas was really all right.  “I will be careful,” Legolas promised as patiently as he could.

“You are not planning to go out, are you?”  Thranduil asked, suddenly noticing the direction in which Legolas was going.  “Surely you should walk around for a while indoors before you attempt to move about on uneven ground.”

 “Adar, I am going to visit Annael and Elowen. I have not seen them since the funeral.  And Gwaleniel said I could go out and even return to training tomorrow.”

Thranduil hesitated and then nodded reluctantly.  “Very well.  I understand your need to visit Siondel’s family.  And I suppose if the healer has said you are ready to go back to training, then you probably are.  I will see to it that the novice masters are aware that they might have to limit what they ask you to do.”

Legolas tried to picture Maldor’s reaction to whatever message Thranduil would send.  “That will not be necessary,” he said hastily. “They already know I was injured.”

Thranduil put his long, elegant hand on the back of Legolas’s head and pulled it forward so he could kiss his son’s forehead.  “Come home in time to rest before evening meal, child.  You are not yet fully healed.”

For a moment, Legolas was tempted to protest, but then his common sense and his past experience with his father prevailed. “I will,” he said as docilely as he could, and then went on down the hallway and out of the palace.

He followed the path, reveling in the feeling of freedom that came from simply walking under the trees with no one asking him how he felt every few minutes.  His foot was stiffer and more sore than he would have admitted to his father, but the fact that it was no longer splinted and bound made him feel like rejoicing.  He sobered, however, as he stopped before a small cottage and knocked on the door.

It opened and Annael’s mother stood before him. Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.  He was visited suddenly by a vivid memory of Elowen kissing the top of his own elfling head to cure the hurt after he had bumped it.  He wished with all his heart that his kiss now could mend the pain that he knew this loving Elf must be feeling.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I would have come sooner, but you know I could not.”

She pulled away and patted his cheek.  “I know.  And I thank you for what you said about Siondel at his funeral.  Come in, Legolas.” She drew him into the hallway, shut the door behind him, and then led him into the small sitting room.  Annael sat near the window, polishing a pair of boots.  And next to him, to Legolas’s surprise and dismay, sat Synia, with a book open on her lap. She had evidently been reading to Annael and Elowen when Legolas knocked.  He had not seen her since the night they had quarreled over her assumption that they would bond.

He could feel himself blushing and was grateful when Annael got up to clasp arms with him.  Legolas accepted the warriors’ greeting and then embraced Annael as he had his mother.  He had already sorrowed with Annael on the journey home from the settlement, so he contented himself now with this silent touch.

“Sit down, and I will make some tea,” Elowen said. “Synia, you are not going yet!  Please stay.  You have been so kind to read to us. Let me at least give you some tea.”

Legolas could see Synia glance at him, hesitate, and then give in.  She resumed her seat, carefully not looking at him.  He sat down on the other side of the room, but it was small enough that he could see that she was nervously clutching and releasing a fold of her skirt. Elowen left the room and, after a moment’s silence, Synia rose again.  “I should help with the tea,” she said and hastened toward the kitchen.

Annael had been quietly watching the proceedings.  “I take it that you and Synia are no longer seeing one another,” he observed rather dryly.

Legolas grimaced. “No, we are not,” he said but offered no explanation.

Annael shrugged.  “I told Beliniel that would happen.  She was matchmaking,” he added with a small smile and then looked down at the boot in his hand as if he had never seen it before.  Abruptly, he put it down.  “I am returning to training tomorrow,” he said.  “I need to be busy again.”

Legolas nodded.  “I am returning then too.  We can work together and let one another off easily.”  He hesitated.  “Can I do anything, Annael?  Anything at all?  You know what you and your family mean to me.  If you need anything, you have only to ask.”

Annael shook his head. “There is nothing you can do other than what you are doing now.”  He smiled briefly at Legolas again.  “I have to admit that in the first few hours, you were a comfort to me even when Eilian had drugged you.”  Legolas returned the smile, although his heart twisted at the pain in his friend’s eyes.  “I am worried about my naneth though,” Annael admitted.  “Beliniel will come to see her when she can, but she is busy with her teacher’s training too.”

Elowen came back into the room, followed by Synia carrying a tray with tea and bread and butter on it.   Legolas stood up to clear space on a table.  Synia put the tray down, and Elowen began to fuss with cups and plates.

“Elowen,” Legolas said, “Alfirin asked me to inquire if she could call on you tomorrow.  She will have Sinnarn with her,” he warned, well aware that his nephew was a somewhat demanding guest.

Elowen turned to him with a smile lightening the dark hollows under her eyes. “That would be nice,” she said.  “And you need not take that tone about Sinnarn, Legolas.  He is far less trouble than some other elflings I could name used to be.”

Legolas laughed and then flushed with pleasure when he saw the grateful look that Annael sent his way.  He was sure that Alfirin would be happy to visit with Siondel’s widow.  He just needed to remember to tell her that she was expected.

There was a short knock on the front door and then someone entered without waiting for it to be answered.  “It is only me,” Beliniel’s voice called, and an instant later, she came into the room.

Annael jumped to his feet and went forward to greet her with a kiss on the cheek.  “Come and have tea,” he urged, seating her near him and getting her food and drink.  Their faces glowed slightly as they looked at one another, and watching them, Legolas felt a sudden stab of loneliness.  They would wait until Annael was ready to think of the future instead of the past, he thought, and then they would announce their betrothal.

He glanced over at Synia to see her, too, watching Annael and Beliniel with a slightly wistful look on her face.  He grimaced and then rose and set his teacup on the table.  “I must be going now,” he said.  “I promised I would be back in time to rest before evening meal.  My adar seems to want to fuss over me now because he missed doing so last week.”

They all laughed, and Legolas rejoiced in the sound.  “You need fussing over,” Elowen said, coming to kiss his cheek.  “You may tell your adar I said so.”

“I will see you tomorrow,” Annael said, not getting up from his place next to Beliniel.

“Wait, Legolas,” Synia said suddenly. “I must be going too. I will walk with you.”

He hid his dismay behind a polite façade and waited for her to retrieve her book and kiss Elowen farewell.  Elowen showed them out and closed the door behind them.  They walked in silence for a moment or two, and then suddenly Synia laughed softly. “There will be grandchildren,” she said. “Elowen will like that.”

Legolas was startled.  Annael as a father: he found himself smiling at the thought even as he marveled at it.   “Annael will be every bit as good a father as Siondel was,” he declared, certain he was right, and she nodded.  They walked on a bit more, and Legolas found himself wondering if he might use this opportunity to try to smooth over the awkwardness between them, but he could not think of what to say.

“Legolas,” Synia began abruptly, “I wanted to say that I am sorry for our misunderstanding and to tell you that you do not have to worry that I will embarrass you.  I made a mistake.  I can see that now.” She was looking straight ahead, her mouth set in a determined line.

Legolas breathed a small sigh of relief.  “I am sorry too.  I do not want there to be enmity between us, Synia.  I simply do not want to bond.”

She grimaced. “I understand,” she said a little flatly. “You do not have to belabor the point.”

“Sorry,” he murmured unhappily.

Suddenly, she turned her face to smile at him.  “You sometimes have no tact at all, Legolas. It is a good thing that you are an excellent kisser.”  He could feel color rising in his face.  She laughed and stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek and then turned to go down the path toward her own home, leaving him staring after her.

***

Legolas stepped forward, blocked the thrust of Elrál’s practice sword, and then shifted his weight backward and drew his sword free.  He could see Elrál’s sword coming up again, and he feinted at the other novice’s side and then drew back at the last minute, tapping his sword against Elrál’s forearm.

“Enough!” called Thelion.  “That one goes to Legolas.”

Elrál groaned slightly.  “I saw that coming.  I just did not react in time.  I should have stepped on your foot.”

Legolas grinned and then dragged his sleeve across his sweaty forehead. The afternoon had grown warm.  It was the end of his first full week back at training, and he was finding that this late in the day, his foot ached.  He would be glad when they were through.

“You may take a short rest before the last bout,” Thelion directed and then walked off to the edge of the field to confer with an Elf who had stood watching them for the last hour.  Legolas had seen him for the first time the day before at the archery fields, where Penntalion had been putting them through a speed archery drill.

“Do you know who that is?” he asked Annael, who had scooped a dipper of water from the bucket that stood near the rack of practice weapons.

Annael glanced over at Thelion and the strange Elf and shook his head. “I have never seen him before.”

“He has been watching you, Legolas,” Elrál told him quietly.

Legolas frowned at him.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean he is particularly interested in you and watches closely when you take your turn at whatever we are doing.”

Legolas turned to look uneasily at Thelion and the strange Elf.  He had learned early to be wary of people who were too interested in him.  His position as Thranduil’s son meant that such people were sometimes dangerous and often nuisances.  On the other hand, he trusted the blade master, and Thelion seemed friendly with the stranger.  Indeed, even as Legolas watched, the two of them began walking together toward the novices.

As they drew near, Legolas could see that the strange Elf was older, perhaps his father’s age.  And there was something about the way he moved that marked him immediately as a warrior, probably one with a great deal of experience.

“This is Beliond,” Thelion said casually.  “He is going to take a turn sparring with Legolas.”

Legolas blinked, and the other novices slid careful looks first at Beliond and then at Legolas.  Beliond walked to the rack of practice weapons and selected one of the blunted swords.  He turned and grinned at Legolas. “Shall we?” he said, gesturing toward the field.  Legolas looked at Thelion, seeking some kind of explanation, but the sword master only shrugged.  With trepidation beginning to tickle his consciousness, Legolas picked up his own practice sword and followed Beliond.  It was not that he lacked confidence in his own ability, but rather that he had no idea what in Arda this match was all about.

He took up his guard stance, mirroring Beliond, who was still grinning at him.  They circled warily for a moment, and then Legolas began to feel out the other warrior with a series of short slashes and thrusts.  Beliond parried easily and then stepped in to swing his own sword down and back across into a horizontal movement that was meant to disembowel an opponent in a real fight.  Legolas parried, feeling the force of Beliond’s blow all the way up his arm.  Yes, indeed, he thought in dismay. This one had had much experience. He settled down grimly, nettled by the smile that still sat on his opponent’s face.

The two of them battled for what seemed like at least half an hour, and to his chagrin, Legolas eventually found himself retreating under the older warrior’s relentless attack.  Then Beliond swiped at his legs, missed, and, without a second’s pause, brought his sword up to thrust at Legolas’s face.  Legolas’s sore foot suddenly betrayed him and he fell backwards.  He rolled hastily away and was on his feet again.

With irritation beginning to shade into anger, he swung his sword as hard he could at Beliond’s midsection.  Beliond leapt backward at the last minute, and Legolas followed up his advantage, cutting and thrusting.  He felt a moment of triumph as he swung the weapon in a vicious chop at Beliond’s shoulder, but Beliond brought his sword up in a smooth diagonal sweep, sidestepped to let Legolas’s sword slide past him, and then followed with a quick thrust that tapped Legolas lightly on the shoulder.

“Enough!” called Thelion.

Beliond stepped backward, breathing heavily. “You overextended,” he said.  “You let your emotions get the better of you and made yourself far too easy to draw into a mistake.”

Legolas stood panting, glaring at this stranger who was criticizing his swordwork.  Who was this Elf?

“We are done for the day,” Thelion intervened.  He motioned toward the other novices, who had watched the bout without a sound, as confused by Beliond’s unexpected appearance as Legolas was.  “Legolas is still needed here,” he said, “but the rest of you should put the equipment away.” They hesitated, apparently curious about what would happen now between Beliond and Legolas, who still stood regarding one another.

“Now,” Thelion said firmly and the novices began gathering the practice equipment and moving it to the hut where it was stored. Thelion lingered for a moment, eying the two warriors before him and looking unexpectedly amused.  Then he picked up his own gear and walked off the field, leaving them alone.

“You are quick in both hand and eye,” Beliond began. “Your footwork is a little uncertain, but I understand that you are recovering from an injury, so I would guess that is a temporary situation.”  Legolas narrowed his eyes.  He was beginning to have an inkling of what Beliond was doing here.  “To your trainer’s credit,” Beliond went on, “you have excellent technique, and to your own credit, you fight without fear. If you can learn to control your temper, and use your anger to defeat your enemy rather than yourself, you will become an adequate swordsman.  On the other hand, you are already an archer of exceptional skill.”  He smiled blandly. “I think that you and I will get along quite well.”

Legolas drew himself up to his full height, which was, he was pleased to note, at least two inches more than Beliond’s.  He looked coolly down his nose at the older warrior. “Allow me to guess,” he said.  “You have been assigned to act as my body guard when I join the king’s forces.”

Beliond raised an eyebrow at his imperious tone. “I was told that you and your brothers used the term ‘keeper’ in referring to the role I will fill,” he answered.

Legolas drew in a deep breath.  He had known, of course, that by their father’s orders, Eilian was always accompanied by Maltanaur in his postings.  He just had never thought about the fact that he would undoubtedly be assigned a keeper of his own.  He found, to his surprise, that he was trembling with anger.  “Excuse me,” he said, and then turned and began to stride toward Ithilden’s office, leaving Beliond watching his back.

After Legolas’s rather fuzzy-minded talk with Eilian, he had gradually resigned himself to the fact that he would not be going to the Southern Patrol at any time soon.  He had, however, held onto a hope that he would be allowed to serve in one of the Border Patrols, but he had hesitated to ask Ithilden anything further about where he planned to put him.  He did not want to look as if he were nagging, and he hoped that Ithilden would recognize his exceptional skills with weapons.  Ithilden was fair-minded.  Surely he would see that Legolas could be put to better use than the Home Guard.

With Beliond’s appearance, however, he had been forcibly reminded of the extent to which his family tended to try to protect him.  He had a sudden vision of his father wanting to tell the novice masters that Legolas should be treated gently. He would not have it, he decided.  He was no longer a child; he was a warrior and he would insist on being treated like one, if not by his father, then at least by his commander.  He had no hope of winning an argument with Thranduil over Beliond, but by now he had proved himself no child on the training fields and he intended to wring an acknowledgement of that fact from Ithilden.  His future might depend on his ability to do so.

He strode into the office where one of Ithilden’s aides sat. “Is my brother here?” he demanded, starting toward the open door to the inner office.

The aide looked ready to protest, but Legolas was through the doorway before he had time to say anything.  Ithilden looked up from the dispatch he was reading, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I want to speak with you,” Legolas said, his voice tight with fury.

Ithilden paused and then, with his face unreadable, he put the dispatch down and silently indicated the chair in front of his desk.  Legolas lowered himself stiffly into it.  He could hear the aide quietly closing the office door.

“I have come to ask you where you intend to post me once I have joined the warrior ranks,” Legolas announced without preamble.

Ithilden leaned back in his chair.  “I have not yet decided,” he said coolly.

Legolas snorted in disbelief.  “You will excuse me if I find that hard to believe.”  Ithilden’s face hardened at his tone, but Legolas forged on anyway.  “You will not say, but you are certainly contemplating putting little brother into the Home Guard.  So what is my fate to be, Ithilden?  Will I be guarding the door of my own home with a body guard at my side?”

Ithilden had straightened in his chair. “I have told you that I have not yet decided where you are to be posted and that is the truth,” he snapped, biting off each word.  “When I have decided, I will inform you, and you, as a warrior of the Woodland Realm, will serve your king faithfully wherever I send you, which is, by the way, exactly what Annael will do, only I do not see him in here making demands.  And in speaking of these matters, I am your commanding officer, Legolas, not your older brother, and I will be addressed with respect!”

Legolas knew that he was speaking intemperately, but he found that his anger was slow in leaving nonetheless.  “You know as well as I do that no matter what the issue, you are always my brother first and my commander second,” he said heatedly.  “I have spent years working hard to learn the skills I need to face the enemy.  And I am better with a bow than many of the warriors already on patrol and at least as good with a sword. I have earned the right to have my commander treat me like a warrior, not like a child in need of protection, and I resent being denied that right because my commander is also my brother.”

Ithilden’s hand came down on the desk with a loud crack.  “Be silent!” he ordered. “On your feet and at attention!”

With obedience born of long years of novice training, Legolas rose and stood stiffly, with his hands at his side, eyes straight in front of him, and, although it was difficult, his mouth clamped closed.  The officers he dealt with rarely called their warriors to attention, but when they did, they were usually ready to do damage and it was wisest to hold one’s tongue.  He had a fleeting thought that the moment at which he should have held his tongue was probably long past, but it was too late to change that now, and he was not certain that he cared.

Ithilden rose and came around the desk to stand directly in front of Legolas, only a foot or so away.  Legolas suddenly found that his brother seemed very large.  “So you feel that you have earned the right to be treated like a warrior?” Ithilden began, his voice low and unpleasantly amused.  “Just how is it you think you have done that, Legolas?  Weapons skills are necessary for a warrior, but they are far from enough. You have seen skirmishes, but you have never faced true battle, never had Orcs’ blood running up your arm, never seen warriors cut to pieces in front of you.  I have sent warriors to do those things and, when the time comes, I will send you too, but until you show me that you can behave with discipline and some sense of what real battle is like, do not tell me that you have no need to be protected.  I protect all new warriors to the extent that I can. I would be remiss in my duties if I did not.”  He paused and studied Legolas’s face with narrowed eyes.

“And while we are on the subject of whether I treat you like an adult, let me tell you that I occasionally have moments when I marvel at how mature you have become, followed closely by moments when I wonder how you could be so irresponsible that you would ride with your foot splinted or so spoiled that you would walk into your commander’s office and behave like a petulant child.”

Legolas could feel heat flooding his face. The accusation stung. He admired Ithilden and wanted his brother’s respect, and he did not like what he was hearing.

“As it happens,” Ithilden went on, “I am your brother and your commanding officer, and in both roles, I find your behavior unacceptable.”  He paused again, his eyes boring into Legolas’s face.  Legolas stood silently under Ithilden’s scrutiny, not meeting his eyes.

“I take it that you have met Beliond,” Ithilden said finally.

“Yes, my lord,” Legolas responded as tonelessly as he could.

Ithilden relaxed slightly, sitting back against the edge of his desk. “Beliond serves directly by the orders of the king,” he said, sounding marginally sympathetic.  “He can teach you a great deal if you are wise enough to learn, and, if he is anything like Maltanaur, he will keep most of what he sees to himself, but he cannot be dismissed save by the king’s command.  Get used to his presence because neither you nor I can do anything about it.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Ithilden sighed and ran his hand over his tightly braided hair.  “Legolas, sit down.”  Legolas hesitated and then subsided into the chair, suddenly miserable.  He had not helped his cause and had probably hurt it.

Ithilden eyed him. “Believe me,” he said, “I understand your fear that you will not be allowed to go into danger.  I feared the same thing myself.”  Legolas’s eyes flicked to him in incredulity, and Ithilden smiled slightly.  “Adar was every bit as protective of me as he is of you. You must remember I was his only child at the time.  All I can promise you is that I will listen to the novice masters when they recommend a post for you and I will do my best to treat you as I treat everyone else.”

“May I speak?” Legolas asked. His brother nodded.  “Then what I ask is that you remember what I can do with weapons and give me a chance to prove myself.  I need to be a warrior, Ithilden, not just Adar’s son.”

Ithilden grimaced. “I will be as fair as I can be. That is all I can promise.”  He regarded Legolas for a long moment.  “Legolas, I know that the last few weeks have not been easy for you.  Your injury was disorienting, and you mourn for Siondel.” Legolas looked down at his hands.  “Moreover, Adar has been hovering over you without cease since he came home,” Ithilden went on.  Legolas’s eyes came up swiftly and he caught the gleam of amusement in his brother’s eyes.  “He will get over it,” Ithilden advised.

Legolas smiled slightly.  “Will it be in this age?”

Ithilden laughed.  “I think so.” He regarded Legolas for a moment. “You may go,” he said finally, and Legolas stood and put his hand over heart in formal salute, but Ithilden reached out and clasped his arm.  Legolas felt absurdly grateful for the warrior’s token.

“I will see you this evening,” he said, and then left the office, pushing past the aide who discreetly ignored him. Once outside, he paused. He was reluctant to go home just yet, and without thinking, he sought the comfort of the woods.  He walked into the nearest part of the forest, leapt into a friendly beech tree, and then began to work his way through the tree tops until he was perhaps a mile from the palace and sheltered among the leaves of an oak that overlooked one of the forest paths.  He sat leaning back into the tree’s embrace.

He wished now that he had thought more carefully before barging into his brother’s office. At least he could be sure that Ithilden would not mention the incident at home.  His brother would undoubtedly see it as part of the work that he tried to leave at the training fields.  But he knew that both he and Ithilden would be aware of it nonetheless.  There were times when he hated the way that his family ties were entangled with those of ruling and command.

He had just reluctantly concluded that it was time to go home if he wanted to bathe before evening meal when he heard someone coming along the path.  The steps were too heavy to be those of an Elf, and he put his hand on the hilt of the knife that was concealed in his boot and waited with all his senses alert.  A grey-clad figure appeared below him, and suddenly, he grinned, released his hold on his knife, and dropped to the path directly in front of the approaching figure.

“Mae govannen, Mithrandir,” he said.

The wizard started slightly and then regarded him from under bushy eyebrows.  “Why, I do believe it is young Legolas.  You have grown considerably since the last time I saw you.”

“That was a number of years ago,” Legolas reminded him with a smile.  “May I carry your pack?” he asked politely.

“Yes, you may. I find I grow weary more easily these days.”  Legolas shouldered his pack, and the two of them began to walk toward the palace.  “Let me see, you must be a warrior by now.”

“Not quite,” Legolas told him.  “The ceremony is next month.”

“Ah,” Mithrandir nodded, “and what will you do then?”

“Whatever I am told,” Legolas said resignedly.

Mithrandir smiled rather thinly.  “That is true for most of us, young one.  But you need not sound so gloomy.  I am afraid that the Woodland Realm has need of all its warriors.  If it is adventure you seek, I fear you will soon find it.”

Legolas nodded.  He did not think he needed life changing adventure to make him happy. He simply did not want to stand guard duty at the palace for the rest of his life.

They walked across the bridge and up the steps to the Great Doors.  As they entered the antechamber, Thranduil came from the Great Hall.  “Mithrandir!” he cried. “Welcome!”

“My lord,” Mithrandir bowed his head.

“Come and have wine with me,” Thranduil said. “I will have the servants prepare your room.” He glanced at Legolas.  “You look tired, Legolas,” he observed.  “Why do you not rest for a while and join us later?”

With great difficulty, Legolas suppressed his exasperation and went along the corridor toward his chamber.

12.  Children

Thranduil leaned back in his chair, toying with a jeweled dagger he used as a letter opener.  “I cannot say that your tidings bring me much comfort, Mithrandir.”

“I am sorry.  I had hoped that the council was ready to take action, but I see that the time is not yet ripe.”

Thranduil tossed the dagger onto his desk.  “For my people, the time is more than ripe,” he said, knowing that he sounded bitter.  “Curunír is ready to leave us to our fates, and the others follow his lead.  I should have known better than to expect anything else.”

“I think that Círdan was ready to act,” Mithrandir said, “but he could do nothing alone and has the Havens to see to. Elves come to take ship in ever increasing numbers, I fear.”

Thranduil rose and began to pace his office.  “Círdan’s heart is turned to the sea, not to our day to day troubles here.  But Galadriel should know what we face.  Dol Guldur is closer to Lorien than it is to us, although for some twisted reason, the Shadow attacks us yet does not touch her.”  He felt again the resentment he always experienced at the thought of the peaceful city, smugly certain of its own centrality and indifferent to the suffering on the other side of the Great River.

“And Elrond should have known better,” he continued.  “Orcs tortured all the joy out of his wife, and his sons seem to spend their lives in avenging her.  Does he think that such evil will cure itself?”

Mithrandir sighed. “Elrond is not yet recovered from his loss, or I think he might have been a better ally too.  The shadow has crept into the mountains and he is not used to having it so close to home.  He feels its effect and it increases his suffering.”

Thranduil leaned one hand on the mantle and kicked at the empty grate. On this warm May morning, it held no fire.  He considered what Mithrandir was saying about Elrond. “Perhaps you are right,” he sighed.  “I know how hard it is to lose one you love.” He turned back to Mithrandir. “I understand that Elrond fails to act because he is in pain, but that does not lessen my people’s suffering.”

“Give him time,” Mithrandir urged.

“Time rushes past us,” Thranduil retorted, feeling something like despair.  “The shadow does not wait.  I will soon send my last son into the fight against it, Mithrandir, and still we retreat before it.”  Thranduil grimaced. He had thought he had reconciled himself to Legolas’s joining the warriors’ ranks, but to his surprise, he found it painful even to speak of it.

A small motion behind Mithrandir caught his eye, and he realized that the door had opened a crack.  He stiffened slightly and then relaxed, an exasperated smile on his face.  “Sinnarn,” he called, “what are you doing there?”

The door opened wider and his grandson peeked around it.  “I am not bothering you, grandfather,” he declared.

“Of course not,” Thranduil said dryly.  “Come in and be introduced to our guest.”  Sinnarn was still young enough to take his meals in the nursery, so he had not been present at the table on the previous evening.  The child edged into the room and came to stand before Mithrandir with his eyes wide.

“Mithrandir, this is Ithilden’s son, Sinnarn,” Thranduil said. “Sinnarn, this is Mithrandir.” To his pleasure, his grandson made a small, polite bow.  Thranduil looked up proudly at the wizard.

“I am most pleased to meet you, Sinnarn,” Mithrandir said gravely.  “I have the utmost respect for your adar.”

As if carried along by a current, Sinnarn crept toward him, put out a small hand, and carefully touched Mithrandir’s beard. Then he grinned.  “Look, Grandfather!” he cried, turning toward Thranduil while he still clutched a fistful of beard.  “His hair has grown all the way around to his face!”

Mithrandir winced, disentangled the elfling’s hand, and then looked up at Thranduil.  “He reminds me of his Uncle Eilian,” he observed with some asperity.

“Sinnarn, I will not tell you again that you are not allowed in your grandfather’s office,” came the firm voice of Alfirin, who had entered the room unseen. She picked the child up and rested him on her hip, where he hid his face in her neck.  “I hope he has not bothered you,” she said, looking from Mithrandir to Thranduil.

“Not at all,” Thranduil told her, ignoring a snort that came from Mithrandir’s direction.  “He bowed most charmingly when he was introduced.”

Alfirin’s face softened.  “That was well done, sweetling,” she murmured to the elfling, who looked up at her with gleaming eyes and then stretched to kiss her cheek.  She laughed. “Are you bribing me?” she asked and then carried him out of the room.

Thranduil watched them go and then turned back to Mithrandir to find the wizard eyeing him with an amused air.  “Time brings good things as well as evil, I see,” he commented, and Thranduil could not help but smile.

“Indeed, it does,” he admitted.

***

The four novice masters stood as Ithilden entered the meeting room.  “My apologies for my lateness,” he said and waved them to their chairs as he took his own.  He turned to Lómilad, who oversaw all the novice training.  “What have you to tell me?” he asked briskly.  As they did every year, the masters had assembled to give him an appraisal of the novices who would soon join the warriors’ ranks and to recommend the capacities in which they could best be used the next year.

“May I ask first if you have appointed anyone to replace Siondel as captain of the Home Guard?” Lómilad asked.

“Of course,” said Ithilden.  He knew that, among other things, the masters considered the match between warrior and captain when they made their recommendations, and the identity of the Home Guard captain was particularly important because new warriors almost inevitably were sent into that unit.  “I am transferring Anolith from the northern Border Patrol.  His wife will soon give birth to their first child.” They nodded.  They knew that Ithilden tried to accommodate warriors’ family needs when he could.

Lómilad nodded.  “Very well. Let us begin with Annael.”  He gestured to Thelion, and the blademaster began to give an appraisal that had undoubtedly been arrived at after joint discussion among the masters.

“Annael is competent with all weapons,” he said, “although he is better with a bow than he is with a sword.”  Ithilden nodded.  Most Wood-elves were better with a bow.  Indeed, he thought with some pride, they were the most feared archers in Middle-earth.  “He is unusually good at woodcraft,” Thelion went on.  “He could track a fly through the forest.”  He smiled at his own joke, and Ithilden smiled too, pleased by the obvious satisfaction that Thelion took in one of his pupil’s accomplishments.  “He is also exceptionally responsible, and he is even-tempered and calm under pressure.  We believe he would make a fine scout.”

Ithilden nodded.  What Thelion was saying matched his own impressions of Annael, whom he knew better than he usually knew the novices because of his friendship with Legolas.

“As you know, however,” Thelion was more serious now, “he is deep in grief for his adar, and we think that, for a time at least, he will not be able to concentrate fully on his work.  Anolith will have to be told.”

“You recommend the Home Guard then?” Ithilden asked, although he knew it was a formality.

“Yes,” Thelion answered, “preferably scouting the edges of the Home Guard territory, paired with an experienced warrior.  The Home Guard warriors will look after him well, for both his adar’s sake and his own.”

“I agree,” Ithilden said at once.  He thought that, unlike most new warriors, Annael might actually stay in the Home Guard rather than gaining experience there and then going elsewhere.  His mother needed him, and Ithilden had seen the maiden holding his hand at Siondel’s funeral.  He suspected that Annael would do as his father had done: marry early and make a career of the Home Guard.

“And what of Legolas?” he asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral.  He had listened to Eilian’s appraisal a number of years ago and knew how hard it was to react solely as a commander rather than as a brother.  Lómilad gestured that Penntalion, the archery master, should begin this report.

“Legolas is unusually skilled with all weapons,” Penntalion said, “but he is simply the finest archer I have ever taught.”  At this praise for his brother, Ithilden felt a glow of pleasure that he tried to keep from showing in his face.  “He is both quick and accurate,” Penntalion went on. “He can shoot down, up, on the move and from horseback.  And he does it as naturally as he breathes.”

Penntalion was waxing enthusiastic now, and Lómilad interrupted with an amused smile. “Yes, Penntalion, we take your point.”  The archery mastery subsided, looking a little abashed.  He was normally reserved.  Legolas’s skill must be remarkable indeed to call forth this level of enthusiasm from him, Ithilden thought happily.

Lómilad now turned to him and took up the appraisal.  “Legolas is also very serious about being a warrior.  He seems to feel personally responsible for doing all that he can to defeat the enemy, which, I suppose, is natural, given who he is.  He can be unpredictable though.  He is sometimes overeager to prove himself and makes mistakes that harm his self confidence further.”

Ithilden nodded but said nothing.  He had only to think of the recent scene in his office to recognize the truth in what Lómilad said.

Lómilad seemed to hesitate.  His eyes met Ithilden’s and there was something in them that caused Ithilden to feel a sudden trepidation.  “We believe that Legolas feels pressure from his position as the king’s son and as the troop commander’s brother.  We think that he will do better if he serves where his archery skills will be useful and where he will have a chance to make mistakes and learn his strengths with less scrutiny from his family.  We are therefore recommending that he be posted to the eastern Border Patrol.”

For a moment, Ithilden was tempted to react to what felt like criticism of himself and Thranduil, but then, his heart sinking, he forced himself to consider Lómilad’s words as fairly as he could and what he saw made him flinch.  He sank back in his chair.  There must be a safer way, he thought, in some desperation.  When Siondel had been captaining the Home Guard, he had contemplated putting both Annael and Legolas in the eastern Border Patrol, but after Siondel’s death, he had gratefully set that idea aside.  “Such a posting would be very unusual,” he said stiffly. “Surely it would be best to treat him as we treat everyone else.”

“But he is not everyone else,” Maldor put in, speaking for the first time.  “He is the king’s son.  He can expect to be a captain one day, and he is under constant scrutiny now.”  He held Ithilden’s gaze steadily.

“It is too dangerous,” Ithilden said abruptly, voicing what was uppermost in his mind.

Maldor shook his head.  “He is very good with weapons, and he will have Beliond with him.”

“Moreover, Todith would be his captain,” Lómilad put in.  “He has years of experience in the Southern Patrol and so has much to teach a new warrior.  And he served as Eilian’s captain so he knows what is involved in commanding the king’s son.”

Ithilden looked around the table at them.  “You all agree with this recommendation?”

All of them nodded.  “We believe it is what would be best for Legolas and what would, in the long run, make him most useful to the realm,” Lómilad said, his voice gentle.

Ithilden looked away for a moment and then sighed. “Very well,” he said.  He looked back at them.  “I do not suppose any of you wants to give your recommendation directly to the king?” he asked dryly.

They all grinned. “No,” said Lómilad. “We are more than happy to leave that in your capable hands.”

***

“Ada!” cried Sinnarn, jumping into Ithilden’s arms from the stone flowerbed wall he had been walking along.

“Hello, little one,” Ithilden greeted him, his heart warming at the open enthusiasm of his son’s greeting.

“He has been watching for you,” Alfirin told him with a smile from the garden bench that she shared with Mithrandir.

“You have decided to stay for Legolas’s coming-of-age then, Mithrandir?” Ithilden asked, setting Sinnarn back on his feet again, so that he could run off and play.  His brother’s coming-of-age ritual would begin that evening, but when Ithilden had left for the training fields that morning, Mithrandir had been undecided about his plans.

“Yes.  I have never seen a Wood-elf coming-of-age ceremony, and I am always interested in you sons of Thranduil.”

Ithilden raised an eyebrow, but Mithrandir looked imperturbably back at him and drew deeply on his pipe.  Ithilden wondered briefly how Alfirin could bear to sit next to him when he indulged in the noxious habit.  She had positioned herself upwind, he noted.

“Ada, look!” Sinnarn cried, and he turned to find that his son had somehow scrambled to the top of the stone wall surrounding the garden.  His breath caught.  The child was at least seven feet off the ground.

“Ithilden,” Alfirin’s gasped.

He started toward his son and then felt a strong hand grip his upper arm.  “He will be fine,” Thranduil murmured, having entered the garden just in time to see his grandson’s perch.   And indeed, as Thranduil predicted, Sinnarn stood up, ran along the top of the wall, and then descended to the ground again through the branches of a pear tree.

“Did you see me?” he cried gleefully.

“Yes,” called Thranduil, “we saw, but you should not climb that wall again without your nana or ada here to watch you.”

“Very well,” Sinnarn agreed and then ran toward his mother, who had risen and now took his hand.

“It is time to go inside,” she said, still sounding shaken.  She did not look at Thranduil, and Ithilden guessed she was angry.  Indeed he was not happy himself about his father’s interference in his management of Sinnarn.  He and Alfirin would talk about this in the privacy of their own rooms, he resolved, but he would speak to Thranduil about it now.  Mithrandir eyed Ithilden and Thranduil and then knocked the remains of the foul weed out his pipe and prepared to follow Alfirin.

“You will be at evening meal?” he inquired.

Thranduil nodded. “We will.  Even Legolas will. His fast does not begin until star opening.  We will eat early so that he is ready for it.”  Mithrandir nodded to them and left the garden.

Ithilden turned to Thranduil, but his father spoke first.

“You must show confidence in him if he is to have confidence in himself,” Thranduil advised.

Ithilden felt a mean satisfaction.  “Indeed?  And is that advice you also live by, Adar?”

Thranduil frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Let us sit for a moment,” Ithilden said, indicating the empty bench, and the two of them moved toward it.  “The novice masters gave me their recommendations today,” Ithilden said. “They have advised placing Annael in the Home Guard.”

Thranduil nodded. “A wise choice.”

“And they have advised placing Legolas in the eastern Border Patrol.” Ithilden sat back to watch his father’s reaction.

Thranduil blinked and then drew himself up. “I will not allow it,” he said flatly, and there was no mistaking the fear in his voice.

Ithilden was suddenly ashamed of his gratification over his father’s distress.  “He would have Beliond with him,” Ithilden pointed out, as Lómilad had done to him.  “And all of the masters believe that this is the best way for Legolas to develop as a warrior.”  His father’s mouth compressed into a thin line.  “Can you not show confidence in your son as you ask me to do in mine?” Ithilden asked gently.

“Do you believe this is a good decision?” Thranduil countered and Ithilden knew he was being asked to take responsibility for the recommendation if not the final decision.

“Yes, I do,” he said firmly.

Thranduil looked at the tree tops visible over the garden wall.  He stayed silent for a long moment and then looked back at Ithilden.  And the bleak look in his eyes told Ithilden that he had won.  For a moment, Ithilden felt the bitter irony that came with seeing as a victory the decision to send his young brother into danger.

“Legolas will not be told just yet,” Thranduil finally said.  “I do not want him distracted during his vigil.”

“Very well,” Ithilden agreed, feeling relieved.  It was irrational, but somehow as long as Legolas had not been told where he was to be posted, the decision seemed less certain.  It would be good to hold the future at bay for a little while yet.

***

Legolas led his father and brother deeper into the forest.  It felt distinctly odd to be weaponless. He had not gone into the woods without a weapon since he was twenty.  But tonight Thranduil and Ithilden would stand guard over him, while he opened himself to his connection to the forest and the stars.

It was his right to choose the place where he would keep his overnight vigil.  He had been thinking about this choice for weeks now and had finally decided upon the spot he wanted.  He halted at last when he reached it and surveyed it with satisfaction.  Giant beech trees stretched their leafy canopies overhead, and their smooth, silver gray bark glimmered in the moonlight.  A small stream was close enough that its water could be heard bubbling over rocks.  The streambed created a break in the trees so that the stars were clearly visible in thickly spangled array.  He turned to Thranduil and Ithilden.

“I would hold my vigil here.”

Thranduil nodded.  “It is a beautiful spot,” he said gravely.  “Are you ready then?”  Legolas nodded.

“Very well,” Thranduil said and gestured to the ground.  Legolas knelt and bowed his head.  He could not see his father approach, but he could hear him.  Thranduil placed his hands on Legolas’s head.  “You are fortunate, my child, for tonight you have time in which to feel how we Elves are linked to Arda.  Feel the soil and fallen leaves beneath your knees.   They are the source from which grows all that we need.”  He moved his hands to Legolas’s shoulders.  “Look up,” he commanded. Obediently, Legolas lifted his eyes to the sky. “We awoke under the stars,” Thranduil intoned. “They show us how small we are and yet how precious we are to Elbereth who placed them there for us to steer by and marvel at.”

Thranduil smiled at him rather wistfully, and then leaned down and kissed his brow.  “Rise now, my child,” Thranduil bid and Legolas came to his feet.  “We will be nearby to hold you safely in our keeping, but you will not see us, for this vigil is yours to stand alone.”  He stepped back, still regarding Legolas with eyes full of both pride and loss. Then he turned and disappeared among the trees as Ithilden touched Legolas’s shoulder lightly and then slipped off in the opposite direction.

Legolas stood alone for a moment, feeling vulnerable in his unarmed state.  Then he closed his eyes to inhale the night scent of the forest and hear the sleepy murmur of the trees.  Gradually, he calmed and began to feel the oneness with Arda that had sometimes come to him when he was able to spend a night in the woods.  He opened his eyes again and moved toward one of the beeches. He would pass this night high in the arms of the tree, with the stars over his head, and the song of Arda swelling in his heart.

He settled into the tree’s embrace, feeling it sway a little in the cool night breeze.  He had work to do now, for he knew that if he was to draw himself into oneness with Arda, he would have to let go of all the cares that had weighed on him so heavily in the last few weeks.

With deliberate attention, he turned his mind to each of them.  Strongest of all, was the sorrow he felt for the death of Siondel and the grief of Annael and Elowen.  He let his heart dwell on that for a time, while the stars wheeled overhead.  And then, he released it.  He could do nothing for Siondel but honor his memory.  He would love and support Annael and his mother, but they would decide for themselves whether their sorrow was bearable and he would accept their decision.

Then he thought of the other worries that he had fretted over of late, feeling how small all of them were compared to Siondel’s death.  His father wanted to keep him as a child for just a little longer, and when he thought about it and let the song of the tree soothe his petty irritation, he understood; for in his own secret moments, he wanted the shelter of his father’s arms, although it took him long to admit this even to himself.  He smiled slightly and wondered if he would ever be able to admit it to Thranduil.

He was not going to be posted to the Southern Patrol immediately and was, in all likelihood, going to serve in the Home Guard.  He had no control over that decision and had been foolish to think he did. He would serve the realm with all the faithful devotion of which he was capable.  It was what he owed to his people.

He released these cares and the other even smaller ones. He was going to have to serve with Beliond at his back; Eilian had managed well with Maltanaur, so Legolas could learn to do the same.  He had quarreled with Ithilden; he and his brother loved one another and no quarrel would undo that.  He had been injured; he would soon be almost fully recovered.  He had allowed his body to lead him to misunderstand Synia; he would be wiser next time.  At least, he hoped he would, he thought rather wryly.

He leaned back against the beech and contemplated the stars again.  He had always loved the woods at night.  How lucky he was to be spending this night here.

13. Adults

Legolas shifted the deer off his shoulders and laid it out carefully near where palace servants had prepared a roasting pit on the green.  He looked with satisfaction at the single wound that had brought the animal down.  It had not suffered.  “We take from the forest reverently,” his father had said, speaking the ritual words that had begun his hunt for the meat for this evening’s feast.  “A child is fed by those who love him.  An adult provides for those who are hungry.”

Now, Thranduil handed him a knife.  “Prepare this food for the fire,” he intoned. “It will be your gift to those who share this day with you.”

In a gesture meant to ask the animal’s forgiveness, Legolas laid his left hand gently on the deer. Then he began the process of preparing it to be spitted over the fire.  He felt rather than heard his father and brother withdrawing a distance away to leave him to his task.  He was alone here, for the servants too had been sent away until he had completed it.

As he worked, he was aware on one level that he was becoming tired and hungry, but he had found in the last year or two that he was increasingly able to set these feelings aside.  He had taken pride in this ability because it was one that only adult Elves had; the young felt lack of sleep or food far more acutely.  From what he had been taught about the coming-of-age ritual, he knew that last night’s vigil and his ongoing fast were meant to remind him of his ability and obligation to discipline himself, so he ignored his body’s demands and concentrated on what he was doing.

All at once, he paused and smiled, struck by a sudden vivid memory of himself as a child, desperate to bring down his first deer.  It had felt to him then as if he would never be one of the big Elves who could so casually set out to hunt and bring home meat for the evening meal.  And now here he was, doing just what his elfling self had longed to be able to do.  He shook his head, smiled again, and then turned to his task.

***

Thranduil could not help feeling a rush of pride as he watched his youngest son carefully dressing the deer he had brought down.  Legolas was a reverent, capable hunter, one who had listened attentively to everything his father had tried to teach him.  Thranduil’s people were safer from hunger because of Legolas’s skills, and yet his son managed to stay tied to the forest even as he took from it.

“Adar,” said a voice softly in his ear.

He spun and, to his shock, found Eilian standing right behind him.  After a frozen moment, he gave a grunt of delight, clasped at his son’s arm, and then drew him into an embrace.  And the instant he touched him, he knew that something was wrong.

“I do not wish to disturb you or Legolas,” Eilian apologized in a low voice, “but I wanted you to know I was home.  I traded leaves with another warrior, but I have to go right back, tomorrow actually.”

Thranduil eyed him anxiously.  Of his three sons, it was Eilian with whom he had always had the most troubled relationship.  Eilian was impulsive and independent and had often resisted the rules that Thranduil had tried to impose upon him.  The problem had grown worse when Eilian had entered the years between childhood and adulthood, and worse again when his mother had died.  Of late, they had been reconciling, but Thranduil knew that Eilian still approached him tentatively sometimes.  One consequence of the difficulty between them was that the tie that had bound him to each of his sons from the moment they were conceived was weakest with this middle son.  Eilian somehow shut him out, and Thranduil did not always know when he was troubled or hurt.  But one touch on his son’s arm was all it took to bridge the gap between them and tell Thranduil that shadow sat heavily on Eilian.

Seeing the look on Thranduil’s face, Eilian raised an inquiring eyebrow.  “Adar?”

Thranduil struggled to recover himself.  “Legolas will be very glad you are here.”

Eilian nodded.  “Do not tell him. It will be a surprise.”  He hesitated and then diffidently said, “I thought that perhaps I would do what Naneth would have done at the ceremony, greet guests and give him a gift?”  His tone was inquiring, for he was evidently unsure how his father would react to this idea.

Controlling himself with difficulty, Thranduil nodded.  “I would like that,” he said steadily.  “Legolas has not wanted anyone else to take your naneth’s place tonight, but I think he would be glad to have you.”

Eilian smiled, obviously pleased.  Ithilden had now seen Eilian and drifted toward them, careful not to distract Legolas. The two brothers embraced and murmured a few words to one another, and then, with a nod, and a look at Legolas, Eilian took his leave. Thranduil stood staring after him.

“I will be back in a moment,” he told Ithilden, who raised an eyebrow in reaction.  It was unusual for the adults to leave the young person during the coming-of-age ritual.  Thranduil went only far enough to speak to one of the servants who were quietly hanging lanterns in the trees. The servant nodded and left the green, and Thranduil returned to watching over his youngest son as he went through the steps that would take him to official adulthood.

***

Legolas followed his father and brother into one of the rooms in the palace’s central baths.  The ritual bath was his last step before the actual coming-of-age ceremony.  He drew a deep breath.  He had been calm during the previous night’s vigil and today’s hunt, but now he was beginning to feel excited again.  The moment he had been waiting for was almost at hand.

In the center of the room was a large pool of steaming water.  Benches ran around the outside and the things that would be needed for the bath had been left in orderly array upon one of them.  A fire burned in the fireplace, and on a bench on the opposite side of the pool were three piles of clothing.  Thranduil stopped near the first bench and turned to smile at him.  “I do not know about you, Legolas, but I, for one, am grateful that we are now obliged to relax in hot water for a while.”

Legolas grinned at him.  They were all still wearing the clothing they had worn all night, and while he had washed his hands after dressing the deer, his tunic and leggings were the worse for wear.  “Whoever devised the ritual was wise indeed.”

Thranduil laughed and then grew serious again.  “Very well. We will begin.”  Ithilden stepped to his side and the two of them faced him.  “The purpose of this bath is to cleanse your body and bring it and your fëa into harmony so that you might face your future with grace and hope.”  He picked up a dish in which dried herbs were piled. “Your body is tied to earth,” he said, “the earth from which we take these herbs.”  He scattered the herbs over the surface of the pool.

Ithilden picked up a small vial holding a powdered substance and emptied it into the fire, releasing a sweet odor.  “Your body is tied to fire and air,” he said, “the elements that warm you and send the breath through you.”

“You body is tied to water,” Thranduil said, “that quenches your thirst and cleanses you of the sweat of toil.”  The two of them came toward him and began to unfasten and remove his clothing.  Ithilden unclasped and removed his belt and then unlaced his tunic and lifted it over his head.  His father untied his shoes and pulled them off, steadying him carefully, and then unfastened his leggings and slid them down and off too.  Then he unbraided Legolas’s hair.

Legolas ordinarily stood in his father’s presence until given permission to sit.  When he was with the novices, he stood for Ithilden too.  Between the two of them, Thranduil and Ithilden ruled most aspects of his life.  It felt exceedingly odd to have these two powerful Elves tending to him as if he were an elfling, but he knew that was part of the point. These two had been among those who cared for him when he had been too small to care for himself.  The scene that was unfolding reminded him that they had dressed him and fed him and washed him.  And loved him, he thought, with sudden tears in his eyes.  Soon he would be counted among those whose duty it was to care for others.

Thranduil and Ithilden now stripped off their own clothes and then his father gestured toward the pool.  With the two of them right behind him, Legolas made his way down the steps and sank into the warm, fragrant water. 

With a grin, Ithilden pushed him all the way under and then let him up.  “You can relax and enjoy this part,” he said, and then he and Thranduil picked up the sponges that lay on the edge of the pool and began to bathe him.

***

Eilian sat staring off at nothing much.  He was dressed in brown velvet leggings and a brown silk tunic, with a gold-trimmed brown silk robe worn over them.  His circlet sat on the table at his elbow.  He had not lit the lamps, but he did not really need the light, for there was a glow from the low fire in the grate.  It would soon be time to go to the green and begin greeting guests, but for now, he need do nothing.

He looked down for a moment at the fine silver chain in his hands.  From it, hung a silver rune of protection, its carved surface polished and worn slightly flat where it had rubbed against his chest in the years since his mother had placed it around his neck.  He had broken the chain twice, but other than those occasions, this was the first time since then that he had had it off.  He had not had time to get a new one made for Legolas. He would give this one to his brother.

A knock sounded at the door to his chamber. “Enter,” he called, assuming it was a servant, come to tell him that guests were beginning to arrive.

The door opened and Belówen entered.  He was the healer who normally treated warriors.  Eilian frowned and straightened in his chair.  “Mae govannen, Belówen,” he said, uncertainly.

“Mae govannen, Eilian,” the healer responded and came further into the darkened room, shutting the door behind him.  He paused for a moment and then walked to the fireplace, lit a spill from the fire, and lit the lamp on the table next to Eilian. Then he sat in the chair across from him and leaned forward to put his hand on Eilian’s wrist.

Eilian jerked his arm free. “What are you doing? There is nothing wrong with me.”

Belówen gently put his hand back over Eilian’s.  “I am here to find out if that is truly the case.”

Eilian stared at him. “I cannot stay long.”

“Then I will not take long,” Belówen replied.

***

Legolas drew a deep breath and walked out of the Great Doors, with Thranduil on one side of him and Ithilden on the other.  They crossed the bridge and approached the green, where Legolas could see that a large crowd of Elves was assembled.  Because he was Thranduil’s son, his coming-of-age was a much more public event than Annael’s had been.

Suddenly his attention focused on a tall, lean figure approaching them from the edge of the crowd.  For a moment, he could scarcely believe his eyes and then joy flooded through him.  “Eilian!” he exclaimed and, without thinking, flung himself at his brother and embraced him.

“Mae govannen, brat,” Eilian murmured, patting his back and then releasing him.  He gave a small smile, and something about it made Legolas pause, although whatever it was was gone in flash.  “Go on,” said Eilian. “Your guests are waiting.”

His attention called back to the matter at hand, Legolas composed himself, turned and led the way to the small platform at the end of the green, with his father and brothers following closely behind.  They stepped onto the platform, and he turned to face Thranduil.  Silence settled over the crowd.

***

Thranduil looked at the strong young adult who now faced him and felt the same blend of pride and dismay he had felt when Ithilden and Eilian each came of age, mixed with the knowledge that this was his last child, his baby. He drew a deep breath and, as steadily as he could, he asked, “Are you ready to take your place as an adult and put aside the freedom of childhood?”

“I am,” answered Legolas.

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

“What do you surrender?” he asked Legolas.

“I surrender my right to protection and guidance, but not my right to love and counsel.” His son’s face was grave, for he understood the seriousness of what he was doing, but his eyes gleamed, and Thranduil knew he was also excited by the world that was opening up before him.

“Adar, I can do it myself,” said the child, struggling to string the bow that was almost as long as he was.  Thranduil withdrew his hand and waited until his son gave a grunt and a final pull and then looked up at him in triumph.  “I am ready to learn to hunt,” he declared, drawing himself up to his full height, which came just above his father’s elbow.  Thranduil nodded, keeping his face as serious as Legolas’s was.  The child was ready for this moment, Thranduil thought in amused dismay, but he was not sure he was.

“What do you accept?” Thranduil asked.

“I accept responsibility for my own choices and my own actions.”

Legolas’s face was pale.  “I know I was supposed to be back before dark, Adar, but Turgon and I went further into the forest than we realized.  I am sorry.”  Fury replaced Thranduil’s fear.  Legolas was almost old enough to start novice training; he should know better than to lose track of time in the woods.  The youngling could apologize all he liked; Thranduil had no intention of letting him get away without punishment for such carelessness. Legolas looked him square in the face.  “I am so sorry I worried you.  I make no excuse.  The fault is mine.”

“What do you promise?”

“I promise to listen to my own wisest voice and to be a source of strength for my family and my people.”

Thranduil regarded him for a long moment.  Legolas would never be as tall or as broad through the chest and shoulders as were Ithilden and Thranduil himself.  He shared with Eilian the lithe build that was more typical of Elves.  But he was plainly strong and, in his eyes, Thranduil thought he saw the beginnings of the wisdom that would grow with experience.  His son was ready.  Thranduil gestured to Eilian, who stepped forward to face his younger brother.

“Legolas,” he began, “I acknowledge you as an adult of this household. I give you this gift as a token of my love and my respect for the person you have become.”  He slid a chain over Legolas’s head.  Thranduil blinked at the charm that hung from it and then glanced quickly at Eilian’s bare neck as his middle son moved back into his place.  He felt a flash of worry that he temporarily set aside and then turned to accept the sheathed sword that a nearby servant had been holding.

Thranduil walked toward Legolas and smiled slightly at the way his son’s face had lit up when he saw what Thranduil held. “Legolas, I acknowledge you as an adult of this household. I give you this gift as a token of my love and my respect for the person you have become.”  He turned the sword so that the hilt faced his son and watched in satisfaction as Legolas drew the gleaming, rune-carved blade from its sheath and then looked gratefully at him.

“Thank you, Adar,” he said simply and then resheathed the sword and took the weapon into his possession.  And suddenly Thranduil felt a stab of sadness that weapons were the gift that marked a male child’s attainment of adulthood in the Woodland Realm.

Ithilden now stepped forward. “May the Valar’s blessing be with you,” he said to Legolas, smiling into his brother’s excited young face. “May the stars shine upon you. Be strong, be courageous, be wise.”  Legolas obviously could contain his own delight no longer and smiled happily back at Ithilden.

With a lump in his throat, Thranduil put his hand on Legolas’s shoulder and turned him toward the crowd. “I present to you my son, Legolas, who now takes his place as an adult among us. Come and feast and rejoice with us.”

A cheer went up from the crowd, and Thranduil’s minstrels began to play and sing.  There would be feasting and dancing to last the night.  He would rejoice in son’s achievements now and mourn for his own loss in privacy later. That was the real gift he could give his son now.

***

“Congratulations,” Annael said, and then, with a grin, added, “my lord.”  Legolas blinked at him and then laughed.

“I charge you to remember that the next time it is my turn to wash dishes and pots when we are on a training mission.”

Annael laughed and embraced him again.  “I will get you some food,” he said.  “You will be here accepting congratulations for a while yet, and I know you are hungry.”  Suddenly, Legolas realized that he was starving.  He wanted to break his fast and he wanted to do it now.

“Go,” he urged and Annael grinned and went off in pursuit of a plateful of venison and bread.

Legolas stayed where he was, with his father and brothers nearby, politely accepting the congratulations of the seemingly endless stream of guests who approached him.  He knew some guests only slightly but was more than happy to see Tonduil and his fellow novices.  Then, in a reflex reaction he could not suppress, he straightened slightly as he found himself face to face with Maldor.  The unarmed combat master unexpectedly looked at him with something like amusement in his eyes.  “Congratulations, my lord,” he said and then went on to speak to Thranduil.

Legolas stood with his mouth hanging open. Eilian leaned closer to murmur in his ear.  “I advise you not to get too used to that.  From experience, I can tell you that the next time you are on the training fields you will once again be ‘Legolas-am-I-boring-you?’”

Legolas laughed and then turned to face Mithrandir.  “A very impressive ceremony,” the wizard said, sounding thoughtful.  “I look forward to seeing you live by those answers.”

Legolas smiled slightly. “So do I,” he said truthfully, and then found Annael at his shoulder steering him to one of the tables where Beliniel already waited and putting food and drink before him.

Between mouthfuls, he glanced around.  The stream of well-wishers had dried up for the moment as people settled to the feast. Thranduil sat talking to Mithrandir, and Ithilden’s back was to Legolas as he stood at one edge of the green conferring with Belówen.  When Sinnarn ran up and threw his arms around his father’s thigh, Ithilden turned to pick him up and Legolas caught a glimpse of his sober face.  Someone must be hurt, he thought regretfully, watching as Alfirin came to claim her son and carry him off to sit next to his grandfather.  Ithilden parted from Belówen and went to sit by Eilian, who was uncharacteristically alone, with what looked to be an untouched plate of food in front of him.

As people sated their hunger, they gradually began to move onto the green to dance to the minstrels’ music.  Annael and Beliniel joined them, and Legolas watched them weaving gracefully through the lines of dancers with eyes only for one another. He glanced across their empty chairs at Elowen, who was also watching her son, and caught her wiping a tear from her cheek. He was about to move toward her across the empty chairs when Thelion sat down in the chair on the other side of her and asked her whether she thought this year’s strawberry crop would be large.  She visibly pulled herself away from memories and into the present to answer him.  He sat back nodding and listening.  Legolas smiled at him over her shoulder, and Thelion smiled back slightly but kept his attention on Elowen.

Then a very pretty maiden approached and held her hand out to him.  “Come, my lord,” she invited. “You must dance at your own coming-of-age.”  With a flush of anticipation, he rose, took her hand, and went to join in the dance.

***

“Are you not hungry?” Ithilden asked, eyeing Eilian’s full plate.

Eilian started. His mind had obviously been far away.  He glanced at the food and then took a mouthful of bread.  “I have not been fasting as you have,” he said by way of excuse, evidently conscious that Ithilden was watching him.  A forced smile appeared on his face. “The rumor is that Anolith will captain the Home Guard,” he said.

Ithilden nodded. He was not surprised that Eilian already knew about Anolith’s transfer from the northern Border Patrol.  Eilian had many friends and usually knew all the gossip.

“Who will you appoint as Border Patrol captain?” Eilian asked.

“I have not decided yet,” Ithilden temporized.

Eilian shrugged.  He was used to Ithilden’s close mouthed habits.  “Anolith will be a good captain for Legolas,” he observed.

Ithilden hesitated.  He had not yet told Annael and Legolas where they were to be posted and so would ordinarily not have told anyone else who was not directly involved, but this piece of news was one that Eilian probably should know about.

“Legolas does not know it yet, but he is not going into the Home Guard,” Ithilden said. “I am sending him to the eastern Border Patrol.”

Eilian dropped the piece of bread he was pretending to eat.  “Have you lost your mind?” he demanded.  “That is far too dangerous for a new warrior.”

Ithilden smiled wryly to himself.  At least we of the House of Oropher are all consistent, he thought.  “Legolas will be fine,” he assured Eilian who was obviously growing increasingly alarmed.  “Adar has assigned him Beliond as a keeper, and Todith will know how to look after him.”

“Ithilden,” Eilian began, but Ithilden interrupted.

“Come and see me in my office tomorrow morning.”

Eilian blinked, his protest over Legolas’s posting halted by this sudden order.  “I have to go back to my patrol tomorrow.”

Ithilden shook his head. “I have already sent word that you will not be going back just yet.” Eilian looked completely taken aback by this information.

Suddenly Sinnarn stood at Eilian’s elbow. “Dance with me, Uncle Eilian,” he begged.

Eilian turned a startled face toward the dark-haired sprite beside him and then, after a moment, he gave a short laugh.  “It has been a long time since an elfling asked me to dance,” he said.  “I think that your ada would like to dance with you, Sinnarn.  You should do it now, Ithilden.” He nodded at Sinnarn and then jerked his head toward where Legolas was dancing with a maiden who kept looking up at him through long, dark lashes.  “They go from this to that in about five minutes.”

Ithilden could not help smiling at his son’s sweet, hopeful face.  He set the problem of what to do with his brother aside for the moment, swept the elfling up in his arms, and whirled him away, laughing, into the pattern of dancers.

***

Smiling at the sight of Ithilden swinging Sinnarn about among the dancers, Thranduil turned to Alfirin.  “Do you not wish to join them, daughter?”

She, too, was smiling at Ithilden and their son, as indeed were most of the Elves who danced near them.  “In a moment,” she answered and then turned to regard him.  “But I have something I wish to speak to you about first, Adar.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow.  His daughter-in-law’s tone suggested that she did not find it easy to say whatever was on her mind.  “And what is that?” he inquired as gently as he could.

She drew a deep breath.  “Adar, I know that you love Sinnarn, and it is obvious to anyone that he adores you. He is fortunate to have someone to treasure him without question as you do.” She stopped and Thranduil nodded encouragingly, although he knew in his heart that she was about to say something he would not like.  She leaned toward him and put her hand on his.  “But Adar, he is our son, Ithilden’s and mine. We are responsible for him, and we must be the ones who decide what he is or is not allowed to do.”

Thranduil sat for a moment, with Alfirin looking anxiously into his face.  “That is true,” he finally acknowledged slowly, “and you and Ithilden are fine parents.  Have I interfered, then?”

She smiled at him rather timidly. “In the garden yesterday, I wanted Ithilden to lift Sinnarn off the wall, and he, too, was frightened by seeing our son in such a precarious position, but you stopped him from acting.  Adar, you must let us decide such things.”

Thranduil stiffened slightly. “Sinnarn was safe enough,” he insisted. “I would never risk him coming to harm.”

She patted his hand.  “You must let us decide,” she repeated.

He looked at her appraisingly.  She was a gentle soul, but he thought that she would probably fight like a Warg to protect those she loved, and there was no doubt in his mind that she loved his son and her own.  He looked back to where an amused looking Ithilden now had Sinnarn on his hip, with the elfling chatting into his ear.  He sighed.  “I do not always find it easy to avoid giving orders, Alfirin.”

She smiled, making a dimple appear in her right cheek.  “I already know that, Adar,” she said.

He smiled back at her. “I may give advice,” he warned her.

“I will tell you when you are doing it.”

He laughed.  “Leave your husband to his own devices, my lady.  Come and dance with me.”  He extended his hand to her and he led her away, spinning her past Ithilden and Sinnarn, who pointed a small finger at them and gabbled excitedly to his father.  Ithilden whispered back to him and then they whirled over to where Eilian sat alone, and Ithilden held onto Sinnarn’s waist as the elfling leaned far out and reached a hand to his uncle.  For a moment, Eilian hesitated and then he grasped Sinnarn’s hand and allowed himself to be drawn into the dance.

***

“Lord Eilian is here,” the aide said, Eilian brushed past him into Ithilden’s office.  He looked ready for an argument.  Ithilden gestured to the chair in front of his desk, and his brother sat, but he did not relax.

“What is this about, Ithilden?” Eilian asked.  “Why are you keeping me here?  Does this have anything to do with that little visit I had from Belówen yesterday?”

“Yes, it does,” Ithilden said, deciding to be forthright.  “Why did you not tell me you were suffering from the shadow, Eilian?”

Eilian blinked at him.  “You already know I do. Everyone who comes near it does.”

“But you are feeling it more than you usually do, are you not? Belówen says that you are close to despair.  He was adamant that you should not go south again for a time.”

Eilian opened his mouth as if to deny the truth of what the healer had said, but then, abruptly, he closed it again.  He looked away.  “I am having a hard time,” he admitted, still not looking at Ithilden, “but I will get through it.” He turned face to Ithilden. “I am not unfit for duty,” he said emphatically.

Ithilden paused.  He did not like to pry, but whatever was bothering Eilian was no longer his private business.  He leaned forward a little. “Can you tell me what the trouble is?” he asked gently.

Eilian grimaced.  For a moment, Ithilden thought he was not going to answer, and then he began to speak in a voice so low that Ithilden had to strain to hear him. “I do not believe I ever fully recovered from the scouting trip to Dol Guldur.”  He sighed. “And then Siondel was killed, and Legolas was hurt, and young Elves were burned to death in that fire, and Celuwen . . .” His voice trailed away.

Ithilden leaned back and sighed. In his own opinion, Eilian had simply spent too long in the Southern Patrol without a break.  It was customary to rotate warriors out of that patrol after a time, but Eilian had resisted being moved and was so good at captaining it that Ithilden had let him stay.  “I am going to reassign you, at least for a while,” he said.

Eilian drew in his breath sharply. “No.”

“Yes,” Ithilden insisted. “The northern Border Patrol will be without a captain when I send Anolith to the Home Guard.  I want you to fill his place there for at least three months. Then we will see how you are.”

“Ithilden, you do not need to move me!”

“I am not going to argue about this.  My decision is made.  And at Belówen’s insistence, you are to have two weeks of home leave before you take up your new post.”  He eyed his brother, who was obviously struggling to keep from speaking his mind.  “Accept this, Eilian.  Behave yourself and you may be back where you want to be in three months, assuming you still want to be there.”

Eilian glared at him.  “Yes, my lord,” he snapped and then got to his feet. “Is there anything else?”  Ithilden shook his head, and Eilian strode from the room.

Ithilden sat for a moment, staring out his office window.  Why did Eilian have to be such a constant pain in the backside? he wondered, with some asperity.  His aide’s voice brought him out of his reverie. “Lord Legolas is here,” he said, and Legolas entered the office, looking somewhat bemused at the way he had been announced.

Ithilden smiled at him.  “It takes some getting used to, as I recall. Sit down, Legolas.”  His younger brother took up the place that Eilian had recently vacated.  “I want to talk to you about where you will be posted next month after you pledge your faith as a warrior, but we will wait for Beliond.”

The degree to which Legolas stiffened was clearly visible.  He evidently did not like Beliond.  Ithilden had suspected as much when Legolas had stormed into his office just after meeting him.  He fervently hoped his brother would change his mind about his keeper once he got to know him because there was almost no chance that Thranduil would change his.  The aide showed Beliond into the room, placed a chair for him, and withdrew.

Ithilden eyed the two of them.  Legolas was actually turned slightly away from Beliond, and the older warrior looked both irritated and disdainful.  He probably believed that Legolas was a spoiled brat, Ithilden thought resignedly.  His little brother had not made a good first impression any more than Beliond had.  Suppressing a sigh, he decided to get straight to the point. He wanted these two out of his office. Let them work out their problems on their own time.

“Legolas, after the warrior ceremony next month, you will be assigned to the eastern Border Patrol.”

Legolas stared at him in stunned silence for a moment.  “Really?” he asked, sounding dazed.  Then he broke into a wide grin.  “The Border Patrol!” he said jubilantly before he remembered his dignity and reined in his enthusiasm.  Ithilden could not help smiling at his reaction, and even Beliond loosened up enough to look amused.

“Todith is that patrol’s captain.” Ithilden glanced at Beliond, who nodded to indicate that he knew Todith.  “He was captain of the Southern Patrol before Eilian, so he has a great deal of experience. Eilian liked serving under him, and I think you will too, Legolas. You still have a lot to learn, and Todith is a good person to learn it from.”

His brother nodded happily.  “You will not be sorry for this, Ithilden.  I promise you.”

Ithilden smiled at him again and rose, extending his hand to clasp Legolas’s arm. “I am sure you will do well.  You may go.”  He clasped Beliond’s arm too, and the older warrior swept his withering gaze over Legolas one more time and left the room.

Legolas grimaced at his back and started from the office but then hesitated in the doorway as if he had just thought of something.  “Ithilden, is Annael going to this patrol too?”

Ithilden felt a sudden sympathy. “I have not talked to Annael about his posting yet, so I cannot tell you what it is.”  Legolas scanned his face, trying to read it. He probably saw the sympathy at least because his own face fell a little.

“I will talk to him later then,” he said in a more subdued tone and left the room.

Ithilden collapsed back in his chair.  Perhaps all his warriors were plagues to their families and he simply did not know it, he thought glumly.  He picked up his pen and tapped it on his desk.  It was going to be hard to see Legolas leave home, he thought, and yet, he was going to have to do it.  And if the eastern Border Patrol was as far as Legolas ever went, Ithilden feared he would be lucky.  Events seemed to be carrying them along into a time of darkness whose outcome he could not predict.  Legolas was as ready as the novice masters could make him.  Ithilden would just have to trust that he would become the warrior he seemed meant to be.