I borrow characters and setting from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enriched imaginative life I assume he wanted me to gain.

Thank you, Nilmandra, for beta reading this for me.

AN:  My beta, Nilmandra, has also written two short stories about Thranduil and Lorellin, the queen I gave him.  I gave her the name, but Nilmandra has really given her a personality.  They’re at www.storiesofarda.com  and are called “Eilian’s Begetting Day” and “First Celebrations.”

*******

9.  The Aftermath of Battle

Eilian crouched to examine the tracks and felt his heart quicken.  They cannot be more than twelve hours old, he thought triumphantly, and the Orcs would have sought shelter during the day today.  He looked up into the faces of Lómór, Galelas, and Maltanaur, who were crowded around him.  “They are close,” he said, noting their reactions: Lómór grim, Galelas a little apprehensive, and Maltanaur, as always, eying him calculatedly, trying to read his mood.  He smiled slightly to himself.  Maltanaur would never relax and trust him completely. Eilian had frightened him too many times.

He rose and considered the fading daylight.  On each of the last two days, he had stopped their hunt when darkness fell, fearing they would lose the trail at night, but they were now so close to their quarry that he thought it was time for a change of tactics.  He grinned at them and gave Galelas a comradely slap on the back.  “Tonight we hunt,” he declared with satisfaction.

Turning to the rest of the patrol, he began giving orders.  “We will follow their tracks as long as we can and hope we discover their den before night falls and they are on the move again. But if we have to, we will chase them down in the dark. We can probably find them by smell alone,” he added grimly and then waved them into the trees around him while he and Maltanaur moved into the branches directly over the Orc tracks.  He was trusting none of the other patrol members to track tonight.  He had faith in their abilities but he knew that scouting was one of his own particular strengths.  He led his patrol along the trail much more quickly than they had been doing, for at least to Eilian, the marks of the enemy’s passing were now very clear.

As twilight faded into night, he had to descend to the ground more often to make sure of the story that the tracks had to tell him.  At length, he paused, studying the ground and then turned to wave Maltanaur down beside him. “What do you see?” he asked.

Maltanaur looked at the ground and then walked off some distance and came back again.  “They split up,” he said unhappily, and Eilian nodded.  That had been his conclusion too.

“They were getting ready for the day,” Eilian mused and then turned to his keeper. “Do you know this part of the forest?”  Eilian had never been posted to this area and was unsure of what it might offer in the way of sheltered places. “Where would they be likely to go?”

Maltanaur thought for a moment.  “There are several small caves a mile or so east of here. None of them is big enough to hold the whole troop. Perhaps their scouts found the caves and that is why they broke into smaller groups here.”

Eilian grimaced.  “It will be hard to surprise them if we have to take on one small group at a time.”  Maltanaur nodded, looking no more pleased than Eilian felt.

Suddenly Eilian’s head snapped up.  “Did you hear that?” he asked sharply, although in truth he already knew from his keeper’s tense face that he had heard the same thing Eilian had.

“An Orc battle horn,” Maltanaur answered.

The two stood looking at one another for a split second. “Go!” Eilian cried, and they both were into the trees and moving with their bows in hand and the rest of the northern Border Patrol right behind them.

Almost immediately, other unwelcome sounds reached them, growing in volume as they approached.  The grunts of Orcs mingled with the clang of weapons and the chilling growls of Wargs.  Eilian had occasionally encountered Wargs and Orcs together in the south and knew how terrifying the beasts were.  He hoped fervently that whomever the Orcs and Wargs had encountered was well armed. He thought fleetingly of Legolas. He had speculated to Galelas that they might meet some of the eastern Border Patrol warriors on this mission, but he had not really expected to, and his heart pounded at the very thought that Legolas could be one of those now in the battle that raged ahead of him.

And then suddenly, they burst from cover, and the battle was spread before them.  Eilian oriented himself quickly, loosing arrows as he did.  A handful of Elven warriors were on the ground with Orcs cautiously hanging back while Wargs moved in for the kill. Eilian drew and put an arrow into a Warg just as it leapt at a warrior who crouched with his sword extended.  The warrior froze for a moment, seemingly unable to believe that the animal was not upon him, and then he whirled, and as he did so, Eilian saw the flare of blond hair and knew that his fears had materialized in front of him.

He stifled a cry as his own warriors flowed into the trees around the embattled Elves and began sending arrows into Wargs and Orcs alike.  Shooting arrow after arrow as he went, Eilian moved through the trees toward where Legolas was now crossing swords with an Orc who had been trying to flee.  The Orc brought his scimitar around Legolas’s guard and then jumped back as Legolas stabbed at him.  His heart in his throat, Eilian nocked his last arrow, took swift aim, and shot the Orc in the ear.  Then he leapt to the ground with his sword drawn, ready to protect his little brother if he had to.

Legolas stood panting over the Orc, with his own sword raised.  He looked up at Eilian and for a second their eyes locked and Legolas blinked in surprise. Then his gaze seemed to travel beyond Eilian’s shoulder, and he jumped forward, yanked Eilian’s arrow out of the Orc’s head, and nocked it in the bow that had suddenly appeared in his hand. Eilian spun to see Legolas’s shot land in the neck of a Warg that had evidently crept up behind Beliond, for the older warrior was only now turning to face it.  Beliond lunged forward, slit the throat of the still struggling Warg, and then glanced over at Legolas and lifted his dripping sword in a small salute.

Legolas shot a grin at Eilian and then raced toward Beliond, for whose back he was probably responsible.  It was all Eilian could do not to grab his arm and keep him near but he managed it.  Then, his captain’s instinct coming to the fore again, he looked swiftly around, assessing the course of the battle.  To his great relief, the Wargs all seemed to be dead or dying, and Elves were converging on the few remaining Orcs.

Off to his right, he saw Tinár stab an Orc and then turn disdainfully away to seek another foe.  Eilian was moving to join the fight himself when a sudden motion caught his eyes, and to his horror, he realized that the Orc behind Tinár was struggling to his feet again and raising his sword.  He shouted a warning and lunged toward them, but before he could act, Galelas had appeared out of nowhere and driven his sword deep into the Orc’s back.  Alarmed by the shouts, Tinár spun in time to see Galelas jerk his sword free and then move quickly off to aid Lómór in digging a stubborn Orc out from behind some rocks.  The look on Tinár’s face was one Eilian would have paid good money to see.

Then Eilian too jumped into the fray again, working with Maltanaur to corner an Orc who appeared to be some sort of captain, but he could not help being gleeful at the little scene he had just witnessed and at the steadiness Galelas was showing in what Eilian thought was his first real battle.

Maltanaur finally sent the Orc captain to wherever it was dead Orcs went, and Eilian whirled with his sword raised but found no one left to fight.  Cautiously, he lowered his weapon as his keeper came up beside him.  “Check for wounded,” Eilian ordered, wiping the sweat from his forehead and then grimacing as he realized he had probably left a smear of black blood there.  “Lómór,” he called, seeing his lieutenant a short distance away, “help Maltanaur check for wounded and get everyone else to make sure the Orcs are dead. The Wargs too for that matter.” Lómór nodded and hurried away to do as he was bid while Eilian drew a deep breath and scanned the clearing for Legolas.

Suddenly, he saw Beliond bending over a slender figure seated on the ground.  With a shock of fear, he realized it was Legolas.

***

As Legolas shoved his own sword hard, parrying the blow from the Orc, he could see Beliond coming up behind the Orc with his own weapon in hand.  Grimly, he closed with the Orc and drove his blade between the beast’s ribs.  The pressure on Legolas’s sword lessened, and then the Orc slumped to the ground.  Gasping for breath, Legolas turned to get ready for the next foe.  “Take it easy, youngling,” Beliond said, catching at his right arm. “The battle is over. Sit down.”

Confused by the order, Legolas frowned at him.  “Sit down?”

Beliond nodded. “Sit. You are wounded, and I want to see to your arm.”

Legolas blinked at him and then looked down at his own left arm.  Black blood was smeared up his sleeve all the way to the elbow, but near the shoulder, the sleeve was cut, and something red was running down from the opening and streaking into the black.  With a start, he realized it was blood, his blood, and as he recognized this, his arm abruptly began to throb with pain and his knees seemed to crumple out from under him.  He sat down, saved from falling by Beliond’s hand under his other arm.  Beliond crouched next to him and began cutting the sleeve away with his knife.

Suddenly Eilian was dropping to his knees beside them.  “Where is he hurt?” he asked, sounding frantic.  Maltanaur came up behind him and put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Eilian?” Legolas asked, voicing the confusion he had felt since he first caught sight on his brother on the battle field.

“Looking after you, of course,” Eilian answered lightly, his anxious eyes still on Beliond.

Legolas snorted and then realized that he was feeling a little light headed. “I do not need looking after,” he insisted.

“He has a sword wound to his left arm, you see?” Beliond said, his voice too sounding a little shaky.  He peered at Legolas’s filthy arm.  “Give me your water skin,” he ordered, holding out his hand, and Eilian hastily detached his water skin and handed it to the older Elf, who began sluicing the wound out with the clean water.  Legolas hissed at the sting and then pressed his lips together to prevent any other sound from escaping.  Eilian put his arm around him, and Legolas was suddenly struck with gratitude for his familiar warmth. Perhaps being looked after a little was not such a bad thing.

Galorion came up.  “How is he?”

“The wound needs stitching,” Beliond answered.  “I can do it.”  Legolas frowned at that news, but took one look at the gaping lips of the wound and knew that Beliond was right.  His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Good,” responded the lieutenant.  “Hello, Eilian.  You certainly arrived at the right moment.”

“I try to please,” Eilian answered.

“I am directing my warriors to set up a camp just south of here.  You can join us if you like,” Galorion offered.

Eilian nodded, accepting the invitation, but he made no move to leave Legolas’s side.  “Are you certain he should not be sent home to the healers?” he asked Beliond.  Galorion laughed softly and went off to organize the destruction of the Orcs’ bodies.

Exasperated by being talked over rather than to, Legolas spoke sharply. “Stop fussing, Eilian.  Nana can do it.”

His brother turned dismayed eyes in his direction and touched him softly on the forehead. “Were you struck on the head?” he asked gently.

Legolas slapped at his hand.  “No!  Stop fussing!  You are as bad as Adar.”

“He is not delusional,” Beliond put in. “He is simply being smart-mouthed.” Eilian frowned, but Legolas’s attention was drawn by the fact that Beliond had opened his small healing kit and was threading a needle.  He looked hastily away as his stomach tightened again.  He felt Beliond’s fingers pinching the edge of the wound together and braced himself, but when his keeper took the first deep stitch, he heard himself spit out one of the Dwarvish words Beliond had been snarling after the Orc horn had sounded. Eilian’s eyebrows shot up, and Beliond paused.

Then, with an amused half smile on his face, Eilian detached his knife from his belt, removed the knife from the leather sheath, and shoved the sheath between Legolas’s teeth.  “Bite down on that,” he advised.  “And I suggest you wipe that word from your vocabulary before you go home to see Adar.”

Beliond bent to his task again. “Thranduil already knows that word,” he said dryly.

Both Eilian and Legolas turned to look at him, but Legolas suddenly clenched his teeth around the sheath as Beliond continued closing his wound.

“You did well, Lalorn,” Beliond said, talking all the while he was stitching.  “And I was very happy to see you there shooting that Warg.  Do you know when you were wounded?”  Legolas shook his head and tried to draw deep breaths around the sheath.  “It is like that sometimes,” Beliond went on.  “The excitement of battle closes out the awareness of all else.”  He broke the thread and then reached into his healing kit again for a small jar of paste that he spread on the tightly stitched wound to prevent infection.

Legolas pulled Eilian’s knife sheath from his mouth and handed it back to him, limp with relief that Beliond was finished.  “Who is Lalorn?” he asked teasingly.

Beliond stared at him, his face suddenly stiff.  “What do you mean?”

“You called me Lalorn,” Legolas told him, a little uncertain now. “Who is that?”

Beliond bent his head to wrap bandaging around the wound, and for a moment, Legolas thought he was not going to answer.  “He was an overconfident young warrior, just like you,” he finally said.

“I am not overconfident,” Legolas protested indignantly. Surely Beliond had realized by now that his first impression of Legolas had been mistaken. Beliond gathered his belongings, rose to his feet, and walked off without another word.

Legolas turned to Eilian and Maltanaur, who were helping him to his feet.  “He is impossible to please!”

Maltanaur sighed.  “Lalorn was his son, Legolas.  He died at Dagorlad when he was not much older than you.”  Eilian’s arm tightened around him.

Dismayed, Legolas looked toward where Beliond had disappeared into the trees. “Come,” Eilian said, “I want to get you settled at the campsite with the other wounded.”  Unable to resist, he allowed himself to be helped along, with Eilian’s steadying arm around his waist.  When they reached the campsite, he found that, except for Galorion and Beliond, everyone from his patrol was there among the wounded, although all of the injuries seemed to be minor.  He was suddenly chilling aware of how fortunate they had been that Eilian’s warriors had arrived when they did.

Eilian carefully removed Legolas’s pack and pushed him to the ground near an oak tree.  “You will sleep next to me for the rest of the night. I want to keep an eye on you to make sure that arm does not get infected.”  Legolas rolled his eyes but found he was grateful to be able to lean back against the tree.  Now that the heat of battle had faded, he was exhausted and his arm throbbed with pain.

Some of the uninjured Elves were now trickling into the campsite.  Legolas recognized Galelas, who was tentatively approaching Tinár, who sat nearby.  “How are you?” Galelas asked.

“My wound is minor,” Tinár sniffed.  “It would take more than a few Orcs to bring me to much harm.”

Galorion suddenly appeared. “It almost took only one injured Orc to bring you to harm tonight, Tinár.”  The lieutenant’s voice was sharp.  “Surely you know enough to make certain an enemy is dead before you turn your back on him. You were fortunate that your brother was there to save you from your own folly. Moreover, you were out of the trees and on the ground exceptionally early. I have spoken to you before about wasting arrows.  In going to the ground so soon, you endangered not only yourself but Fóril, who had to cover your back.  I want to see a better performance from you the next time we run into danger.”

Tinár opened his mouth as if to respond, but Galorion ignored him and went over to check on Tynd, who had bandaging around his thigh.  Legolas cringed for his fellow warrior and fervently hoped he never did anything to merit such a public tongue lashing.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and he dragged his pack closer and began pawing through it.  “Let me do that,” Eilian chided, but Legolas had found what he was looking for.  He pulled out a small, wrapped package and held it out to Eilian, who took it with a surprised look.

“I know you gave me your own rune,” Legolas told him. “You should not have done that, Eilian, but now that I have it, I want to keep it, if you do not mind. I got you a new one in Esgaroth.”  Eilian looked down at the package in his hand and then back up at Legolas with a look of amusement in his eyes that Legolas had not expected.

“Thank you,” Eilian said and then leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead.

“How are you, Legolas?” said someone, and he looked up to find that Galelas had approached them.

“Not bad,” Legolas responded cautiously.  He and Galelas had never gotten along very well.  Galelas’s competitiveness had always made trouble between them.

“You did well,” Eilian told Galelas and gestured an invitation for him to sit down. Legolas was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy.  His brother had not told him that he had done well and, indeed, had spent most of his time fussing over him and giving him orders.  He watched with hooded eyes as Galelas glowed under Eilian’s praise.

Eilian turned back to Legolas. “You should sleep,” he said.  “You look exhausted.”

Legolas scowled at him.  “Yes, sir, my lord captain sir.”

Galelas suppressed a surprised snort, and Eilian looked exasperated.  “Do not make me threaten to report you to Adar, brat.”

Legolas grimaced but lay back obediently and let Eilian pull a blanket over him.  “You fought well, Legolas,” Eilian murmured, tucking the blanket around him.  “I was proud of you tonight.”  Suddenly, Legolas relaxed and found that he was deeply grateful for his brother’s presence. His last waking thought was that Eilian may have praised Galelas, but Tinár, not Eilian, was still Galelas’s brother.

***

Maltanaur moved noisily toward the rocks where he thought his quarry was perched.  He did not want to be shot, after all, so he wanted Beliond to hear him coming.  He paused about ten yards from the figure he could see silhouetted against the night sky.  After a moment, Beliond turned his head.  “Are you simply going to stand there or are you planning on joining me?”

Maltanaur smiled to himself and went to sit next to the other warrior.  “It has been long since we have met,” he observed. Beliond nodded, and the silence stretched between them.  “How is Legolas doing?” Maltanaur finally asked.

Beliond shrugged.  “Well enough. He is good with weapons, and he listens well most of the time.”

“I have always liked Legolas,” Maltanaur observed, “but that could be because Eilian dotes on him and always has. I am glad to hear that he is doing well.”

Again they sat in silence watching the stars as they began to fade in the pale light of dawn.  “And how are you doing, old friend?” Maltanaur asked softly.

Beliond sat without speaking for so long that Maltanaur had concluded he was not going to answer when he sighed and said, “I never wanted to be responsible for a new warrior again. I begged the king not to force this task on me. And the youngling frightens the life out of me at least twice a week.  How have you done it with the older one for so many years?”

Maltanaur shrugged.  “The first fifty years are the hardest,” he confided and then laughed at Beliond’s look of dismay.  “In truth, I have grown very fond of Eilian,” he added, “and keeping him safe is now a task I would entrust to no one else, especially not Eilian himself.  You may come to feel the same way.”

Beliond grimaced.  “I fear I already have.”  Maltanaur smiled a private smile and thought about what a wily Elf his king was.  Then, in silence, the guardians of two of Thranduil’s sons watched the dawn creep into the eastern sky.

***