Chapter Thirty Two

With each hoof beat, the group was getting closer and closer to Rivendell, though each of them knew there would still be several days of hard travel ahead. The all-out run they had engaged in during most of the journey south toward the valley forest had eaten up the ground faster than the gait at which they were now forced to move. Slower it might be, but it would also be easier on elf, man and horse. All in all, if no obstacles presented themselves, they would reach Rivendell in about four more days.

Ir wasn’t until the evening of the second day that Elrond finally suggested they stop long enough to have a hot meal and get some rest. The horses, even the riderless Elenblaith, were reaching the limit of their endurance. Everyone thankfully agreed. There was not much in the way of shelter anywhere near, but the weather was clear and warm, so shelter was not a necessity.

Aragorn dismounted and pulled his blanket from his pack, handing it to Elrohir to spread out near where Elrond had indicated the campfire would be. The man then untied Legolas’s foot from his father’s boot and reached up to take his friend from Thranduil, carrying him over to the blanket and laying him gently upon it. He was glad that Legolas had not reacted to the pain that had surely enveloped his body, as they had ridden north. Thankfully, the drug was working.

Before the twins had dismantled the camp in the forest, they had received instructions from Elrond to mix up enough of the drug to last for a day and a half. After that had been done, they had combined the water in their own water skins and put the drug mixture into the empty one.

Several times since they had left the valley, they had stopped only long enough for Elrond and Thranduil to give a dose of the drug to Legolas. It had not been easy, since the young elf could not be awakened. The original dose had to be given while Legolas was awake, so it could be ingested quickly. However, since the drug was already circulating in the elf’s system, succeeding doses could be given at a much slower rate, determined by Elrond’s and Thranduil’s ability to coax Legolas’s swallowing reflexes. It worked.

Each stop also served to rest the horses a little.

Elladan volunteered to take care of both Thranduil’s horse and Elenblaith. The elf snickered to himself, as he looked at Elrohir. He mumbled something about “fingers and horse’s teeth“, but no one caught the entire statement. He was sure, though, that his brother understood the precise meaning behind the muttered remark. Elladan couldn’t stifle a wide grin at Elrohir‘s frown.

The woodland king expressed his thanks to the dark-haired elf for his offer and then made his way to his son’s side.

Thranduil looked down at Legolas, as he sat down beside him. There was a peaceful look on the young elf’s face, which eased his mind and heart. Elrond had been right about the drug, and the elf king was grateful.

That concern alleviated, he noted that his son’s hair was, quite frankly, a mess. Everything that had happened to him had caused much of it to come loose. The large braid at the back of his head was almost completely undone. Thranduil reached down and began to work out the tangles with strong, yet gentle, fingers.

The small warrior braids on each side of Legolas’s head had partially unraveled, though they were still more tight than not. Thranduil took both of them apart and started to mix those strands in with the rest of Legolas‘s hair.

His hands hesitated, as his thoughts suddenly turned back to a very young Legolas, who had often played with his father’s warrior braids, saying that one day he would have them, too. It had been a goal that Legolas had never lost sight of.

A memory of long ago came back to Thranduil. It was the day that Legolas had graduated from years of training to become a full-fledged warrior in the service of his woodland home. There had been thirteen other elves, who were graduating with their youngest prince.

During the graduation ceremony, the young elves had stood in a straight line in front of their king, listening to speeches from their various training masters. They had then taken up their bows and quivers, which were lying at their feet, and fastened them to their backs. As they faced their king, they had given the Warrior Oath, vowing to defend their homes, families, and all those who lived in the forest with their lives.

Thranduil, as he had been doing for centuries, had given a short speech welcoming the young warriors into their new life as defenders of Mirkwood. He had surveyed all of the young elves as he spoke, but it had been hard to keep his eyes off of Legolas.

The ceremony, as always, had been a serious one, but in all the times he had officiated, Thranduil had rarely seen an elf’s face reflect total seriousness, though he was sure none of them took what was taking place lightly. In truth, he found it a good sign that the new warriors were happy and eager to begin protecting their forest home. An unhappy or reluctant warrior was a dangerous one---to himself and to those who fought at his side.

The last part of the ceremony was always the one that the young ones were waiting for. The Oath had officially made them warriors of Mirkwood, but there was one more thing they had to do to make their new status complete in their own eyes. They had been instructed to weave the small warrior braids into their hair. Once that was done, everyone in attendance clapped, and the warriors, who held their clenched fists high in the air, whooped with joy. Thranduil’s heart had almost burst with pride.

Legolas had finally accomplished his life-long dream, following in the footsteps of his father, his grandfather and his two older brothers.

Legolas had worked very hard, excelling in all phases of training, above all distinguishing himself in archery. One thing Thranduil had taught all of his children was that goals would be reached and dreams fulfilled only after determination was applied to hard work. Talent was secondary, in his opinion. However, Thranduil couldn’t deny that all three of his sons were born to be gifted warriors and able leaders.

Each new warrior had been given a few moments to congratulate each other and then had gone to be with their gathered families and friends. It was at this time that Thranduil gave Legolas his twin long knives. Legolas’s brothers, and his two sisters, none of whom were married at the time, had been almost as excited as he was. There had been hugs and kisses all around. Following that a huge feast under the trees near the palace stronghold was held for everyone.

The memory was a good one for the elven king, and a smile touched his lips. However, the smile soon faded, and a small shadow crossed his face. It had been after the feast, while watching Legolas reach up and proudly touch his new braids, that it had hit Thranduil that his last child would soon be going out to confront the evil that had caused Greenwood the Great to now be referred to as Mirkwood.

Legolas had suffered at the hands of Mordraug, not to save his own life, but to try and fulfill the obligation he had made in the Warrior Oath to protect the people he held dear. Thranduil sighed. He could not leave the symbol of his son’s warrior status, his braids, undone, as if they no longer mattered. It may have seemed like a small thing and one that, under the current circumstances, was of little importance, but to Thranduil it was no minor detail.

Aragorn watched as the wood elf’s deft fingers divided the section of Legolas’s golden hair in front of his ears and plaited the strands into the familiar small braids. He had seen Legolas do it countless times and knew how much those braids meant to his friend.

When Thranduil finished, he looked up and saw the ranger smile and nod at him in understanding. With only a second‘s hesitation, the king said, “I want to thank you for all that you have done for Legolas, not just now but through the years that you have known each other. You have been a true friend to him. I cannot tell you the number of times he tried to convince me of that fact, but my ill feelings toward humans kept my mind closed to what he was saying. Not trusting your race, I believed that there was no sincerity on your part, and that one day his friendship with you would bring him heartache. It has proven to be the opposite.”

Aragorn couldn’t hide his surprise, as he blinked and stared. He knew it wasn’t easy for the stubborn and opinionated Thranduil to make that admission. Finally, the man found his voice. “I appreciate you saying that. Legolas has always given of himself, and that made it very easy to want to be his friend. There is no deceit in him, and his loyalty to those he loves is fierce. I thank the Valar every day that he considers me his friend. You have raised a wonderful son, Lord Thranduil. I would never knowingly hurt him.”

“That has now become very obvious to me. You believed he would be saved, even when I, his father, had given up hope.” There was a large measure of shame in Thranduil’s voice, accompanied by a slight lowering of his head.

“You mustn’t blame yourself for that. You had witnessed the result of Mordraug’s evil, including the death of your wife. I saw none of that. Even hearing the descriptions of what Mordraug and that snake had done didn’t allow me to understand the full horror of it. I didn‘t know enough not to be naive.”

“You were right, as it turns out,” Thranduil conceded with a small smile. “You did not give up on Legolas, and he came back to us.”

Though to Aragorn, it truly mattered not who was responsible for his friend‘s miraculous return, he still couldn’t stop a touch of sadness from making its way across his features. He tried in vain to push the guilt away. “I was not the one to save him.”

“You do not know that,” Thranduil said. “None of us know what really brought him back, though I believe that it was Eru that performed the actual miracle, I also believe that the love of us all surely played a part. Still, I cannot help but ask why? I, of course, believe that my son deserves to live a full life here in this land until it is his time to sail West. Yet, there are many others who deserve it also, and they do not return.”

“Perhaps, Legolas can tell us when we get to Rivendell, and he wakes up.”

“Perhaps,” Thranduil mused almost to himself. “If he knows.”

Silence enveloped the ranger and the elf king, both now turning their full attention from each other to the young elf lying between them.

Elrond, who was only a few feet away and was currently brewing more of the drug, heard the conversation between Estel and Thranduil. It gladdened his heart, because he knew how unhappy Estel had always been whenever he visited Mirkwood and was treated rather coolly by the elf king. He knew it also pained Legolas to have his father barely civil to his best friend. Thranduil had mellowed toward the human over the years, but there had never been any real acceptance of Estel---until now. It was sad that such an understanding between them had come after so much pain and heartache.

The only food that had been consumed from the time the group had left the forest until now had been lembas, and that had been eaten either while on the move or during one of the stops to give Legolas a dose of the drug. While Elladan tended the horses and built the fire, Elrohir, after glaring at his twin for the muttered remark about his fingers and Elenblaith‘s teeth, had gone off on foot to try and find something fresh that they could prepare for a good, hot meal.

It was taking a long time, so Elladan thought that perhaps his brother had not been able to find anything suitable. He dismissed the idea that Elrohir was off sulking. The elder twin knew Elrohir would be reluctant to return empty handed. So, it was with first a smile and then a frown of confusion that he watched as the younger dark-haired twin walked into their camp with two small ducks in hand.

“Ducks?” Elladan asked completely bewildered. “How in Arda did you find ducks in this place?” He looked around at the dried grass of the semi-arid land around them. Leave it to his brother to come up with creatures that lived nowhere near such a landscape. “A flock of them must have been flying north for the summer.” He said it more as a joke than any real suggestion of what the ducks were doing there.

“I think so,” Elrohir answered, thinking his brother was trying to solve the puzzle. “Believe it or not, there is a small lake on the other side of that ridge.” Without turning, he pointed over his shoulder behind him. “They must have stopped for a breather and a bite to eat, just as we are now doing.”

The two identical beings set about separating feather from bird to begin the preparation before putting the two creatures in the pot. Before long the ducks were stewing, and the smell was starting to make everyone’s mouth water.

When Elrond had finished brewing the drug, he set it aside. There was one dose left in the water skin, and he was going to give that to Legolas just before they left. He would then put the fresh mixture into the empty water skin for use in the next couple of days.

~*~*~

After a most welcome and tasty dinner prepared by Elladan, Glorfindel set about carefully cutting up the remaining duck meat, wrapping it up and storing it in one of the food packs. The amount of meat left would probably last them two more meals. By late morning of the next day, they would be entering a much greener landscape, so he would keep his eye out for any kind of wild vegetables that could be spotted while moving on horseback. He couldn’t have survived for thousands of years without knowing how to obtain whatever edibles the land provided. He just could not figure out how the skill of good cooking had alluded him for so many years.

Elrond stood up and made the announcement that everyone dreaded. “It is time for us to be leaving.” No one was surprised when Aragorn groaned, but the twins’ groans brought a shake of the head to their father. “You would think the two of you had not rested for weeks. Elves do not tire so easily.”

Elrohir muttered, under his breath, “But, we are only three quarters elven.” When he was very young, he had made that remark to his father in a similar situation, thinking himself very clever for his humor. Elrond had not been amused and had launched into one of his patented lectures. Such lectures could be excruciatingly boring, especially to young elflings, when they are receiving correction of some kind. Elrohir was never sure if Elladan, who had not said a word at the time, had ever forgiven him for having to endure the same sermon.

It wasn’t until they were adults that the twins realized how truly wise their father was and how they had let much wisdom slip by them, because they shut their minds to Elrond’s words.

Thinking it would be admonishment rather than wisdom that would be imparted in this case, the brothers avoided their father’s eye, as they rose without another sound and began the preparation to leave.

The night was clear and the stars were sparkling brilliantly, so it was actually having to forgo lying on their backs and staring up at the stars that had elicited the groans to begin with, not the idea of traveling again. Elrohir was smart enough not to try to explain that.

Aragorn had also been staring at the heavens. He had glanced at Legolas occasionally, seeing his closed eyes, and wishing the elf were awake to watch the stars with him. He knew how much they meant to all elves, but he had never known any elf that felt so connected to them as Legolas was. The most contented he had ever seen his friend was when he lay on a forest floor and looked up through the trees to see the stars twinkling above him. Aragorn amended that scene. Perhaps, Legolas actually being in a tree was better than being under one. Either way, the elf was in his true element then.

Before rising, Aragorn reached over and put his hand on Legolas‘s arm. *You will find joy in the stars again, mellon nin. I promise you.*

TBC