3. Meeting Old Friends?

(October 23, 3018 TA)

In the morning, Legolas woke to the sound of birds and a spill of early morning sunlight.  He had, in the end, chosen to sleep with the curtains open, reveling in the strange sensation of looking at the stars while lying in a bed.  He normally rose quickly, but now he lay still, enjoying the sound and smell of early day and wishing rather wistfully that Thranduil’s realm were as tranquil as that of Elrond.  He remembered what Beliond had said yesterday about Elrond having means other than guards to protect Imladris and wondered what they might be.

His thoughts were broken by a discreet knock and the entry of a servant with a tray of fruit and fresh bread.  The servant placed the tray on a table on the balcony and then turned to Legolas. “When you are ready, my lord,” he said, “Lord Elrond invites you to speak with him. He will be in his library. Anyone can show you the way.”  Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

Drawn back to reality, Legolas rose, bathed, and dressed before he ate.  Today he reverted to the leggings, tunic, and jerkin that were his habitual wear at home.  If the inhabitants of Imladris could not accept him and his companions for what they were, then so be it.  Legolas did not believe that they would be so narrow-minded. After all, they were not dwarves, he thought in a momentary flash of resentment, and then he suppressed the thought as unworthy.

The first person he saw in the hall was one of the maids who did indeed give him clear directions to the library.  He knocked and Elrond’s deep voice bade him enter.  Elrond’s library was fabled throughout Middle-Earth and seeing it was one of the compensations that Legolas had hoped for in return for making this trip.  The room was large and shelves rose to the ceiling filled with both scrolls and bound volumes. Legolas’s eyes followed the array of books as they rose before him, and he was aware of a sharp desire to start pulling them off the shelves.  He could lose himself here for a long time, he thought. The sound of someone clearing his throat brought him back to the present, and he looked around.  A desk covered with papers sat just inside the balcony and next to it stood Elrond, with what looked like a repressed smile on his face.  Legolas flushed slightly at the naive picture he must have presented.

This was the first time that Legolas had seen Elrond since their meeting upon his arrival.  He was struck now by the simple nobility of the figure near the desk.  Why, he wondered, had he ever worried about something as superficial as clothes?  Elrond was unlikely to have been disturbed by anything so trivial.  He advanced, bowed, and then raised his eyes in response to Elrond’s greeting.

The Loremaster of Imladris looked at him kindly. “I hope that you and your companions have been made comfortable,” he said.

“Very comfortable, my lord.”

“Mithrandir tells me that you gave your message to him and have no need of me, but I wished to make sure that was so.”

Legolas hesitated.  “I did indeed give my message to Mithrandir, but he has asked me to repeat it at the council that you are planning.”

“Indeed?” Elrond raised an eyebrow.  “Of course, if Mithrandir wishes you to speak at the council, then you are welcome to do so.  I had intended to invite you anyway.  A representative of Thranduil’s people would be welcome.”

“When will this council be, my lord?” Legolas asked. “My adar asked me to return home as quickly as I could.  These are evil times in Mirkwood and all our warriors are needed.”

“I have another guest,” Elrond answered, “a hobbit named Frodo. The council will take place when he is well enough to attend.”

Legolas blinked. “A hobbit?” he said uncertainly, not wanting to pry but nonetheless puzzled by the importance that Elrond was according to a halfling.  “Is he very ill?  Have you any sense of how long his recovery will take, my lord?”

“Unfortunately, no” Elrond responded.  “His injury is proving harder to treat than I had hoped.  However, the council must wait for him, however long his recovery takes.”

Legolas was dismayed by the uncertainty of this answer but tried not to let his feelings show. “I will be there, my lord,” he said, silently thinking evil thoughts about Mithrandir.

“Good.  In the meantime, please let my steward know if you need anything,” said Elrond.  Recognizing a dismissal, Legolas bowed and withdrew.

He emerged from the house and paused, still thinking about the hobbit and wondering what the source of his injury might have been. He finally shook off these thoughts as unproductive and set himself a more useful task.  He had politely told Elrond that his warriors were comfortable, but he had not yet checked their quarters. He should do so now.  He started down a path that led through the trees to the barracks where the Mirkwood warriors were housed.  This was a low building made up of short sections that were connected by covered walkways lined with trees and climbing vines.  The Mirkwood warriors had been given a section to themselves and Legolas found Beliond and Annael sitting on a bench outside it.  Annael was oiling his boots, while Beliond relaxed beside him.

“Where is Amdir?” Legolas asked.

“Exercising his horse,” said Beliond.

“Are your quarters good?” asked Legolas, glancing in the door.

“They are excellent,” Beliond admitted, “but we need to be heading home, Legolas.”

Legolas repressed his irritation at Beliond’s nagging. “I have just been making that very point to Lord Elrond,” he said, “but the timing of our departure is out of my hands.”

Beliond looked at him thoughtfully.  “It must have been very exciting to sit next to Glorfindel last night,” he said mildly.

Legolas’s temper flared.  “I am no longer a youngling, Beliond,” he said sharply.  “It has been a long time since I allowed a longing for adventure to outweigh my sense of responsibility.”

Beliond raised a pacifying hand.  “I am not suggesting that you are doing that now,” he said.  “Just be sure that you are doing what you can to persuade Mithrandir and Elrond that your duty lies elsewhere.”

Legolas might have said something he would later regret, but at that moment, an Elf came running up the path.  “My lord,” he addressed Legolas, “you are needed in the stables.”

“What is the matter?” Legolas demanded.

“There has been trouble between one of your warriors and one of the dwarves,” the Elf responded.

Legolas took off toward the stables at a run, with Beliond and Annael at his heels.  He arrived to find a situation under precarious control in the stable yard. Two Imladris Elves hovered near Amdir on one side of the yard while another controlled Amdir’s horse. They were not actually holding him but looked ready to do so if the need arose.  On the other side of the stable yard, a dwarf sat on the ground with two other dwarves bending over him and the stablemaster standing nearby.  The two dwarves helped their companion to his feet and then one of them, whom Legolas recognized from the previous evening’s high table, started to advance on Amdir.  Legolas took a step forward to intercept him.

“Out of my way, Elf,” the dwarf snarled.  He pointed at Amdir. “He turned his horse loose to trample my son.”

The stablemaster and another Elf stepped in front of the dwarf too.  “I am sure that it was an accident, Master Gloin,” said the stablemaster.

“I am sure that it was not,” the dwarf responded.

Legolas had backed off from Gloin and now turned to Amdir.  “What happened?” he demanded.

Amdir spoke disdainfully. “I was leading my horse out of the stable when the dwarf walked right in front of me.  My horse was startled and reared. His hooves barely touched the dwarf.  He must have tripped and fallen.”

Legolas’s eyes narrowed.  He had trouble picturing Amdir being surprised by the heavy-footed dwarf.  It struck him as only too possible that Amdir had heard the dwarf coming and deliberately tried to frighten him.  He held Amdir’s gaze for a moment and then the younger Elf looked away.  Legolas felt a disappointed certainty that Amdir had indeed done as he suspected.

“Apologize,” Legolas ordered flatly.

Amdir’s mouth fell open in astonished dismay. Then, reading the look on Legolas’s face, he shifted his gaze to the dwarves.  “I apologize,” he said stiffly. “I should have had better control of my horse.”

“There, Master Gloin,” said the stablemaster soothingly.  “And you see that your son is on his feet, so there is no real harm done.”

Gloin continued to glare at Amdir for a moment.  Then he glanced around the stable yard as if suddenly aware that he was surrounded by Elves.  He growled low in his throat, spun on his heel, and went to help his companion steady his son as they led him from the yard.

As soon as they were gone, the stablemaster turned to Legolas. “Get him out of here and do not let him come back,” he snapped. “He is a menace.  We will exercise his horse.”  He signaled to the Elf holding Amdir’s horse.  Without a word, the Elf mounted the animal and rode it off down the trail.  The master and his other assistants then disappeared inside the stables.

Amdir looked outraged but Legolas stepped closer to him and spoke before Amdir could utter a word.  “You are confined to quarters for the remainder of our stay here,” he said in a voice that was low and tight with fury.  “You are very fortunate that the dwarf was not hurt.  You could have killed him.”  Amdir looked ready to protest but one glance at Legolas’s face stopped him.  He pressed his lips together tightly.  “You are dismissed,” said Legolas, and Amdir started back down the path toward the barracks. Beliond nodded approvingly at Legolas and then started after Amdir.

Legolas turned to Annael, recalling their conversation of the previous night.  “That fool is willing to quarrel with the dwarves rather than see them as our allies,” he cried. Then, he took a deep breath. “You would do best to leave me, Annael,” he said. “I am too angry to be good company.”  Annael laid a hand on Legolas’s shoulder and then he too left.

After a moment’s hesitation, Legolas decided to work off his fury by climbing one of the footpaths that led up the side of the valley in twisting switchbacks.  He attacked the climb with concentrated energy, scrambling around rocks and occasionally needing to use handholds.  His face was running with sweat by the time he had reached an altitude that allowed him to look back over the valley and see the House of Elrond and the surrounding buildings laid out before him.  He swung himself up into the branches of a nearby pine tree and settled down to catch his breath and study the beauty of this place.

The sun was now high in the sky and golden light bathed the buildings and reflected in jewel-like glimmers off the little ponds that lay between the waterfalls.  From afar, he heard the bell that undoubtedly signaled the mid-day meal.  He sat quietly, looking and listening.  Imladris was very different from Mirkwood, and he had to admit that the differences drew him as well as sometimes making him uncomfortable. Perhaps Beliond was more perceptive that Legolas had been willing to admit, and he was allowing himself to be seduced by his surrounding. Surely that was understandable, he thought. And it was temporary.  He would be ready to go home when the time came.  Gradually, he relaxed.  The exercise and the spell worked by Imladris combined to soothe him, and he found that he could contemplate returning to company of other people.

He dropped to the ground and began his descent, which was much faster than the climb had been.  He reached Elrond’s garden in fairly short order and was approaching the house when he heard Mithrandir’s familiar voice a short distance ahead.  Rounding a curve, he found the wizard sitting on a bench surrounded by three hobbits, the two who had been at evening meal on the previous night and another whom Legolas had not seen before.

“Ah, Legolas,” Mithrandir greeted him.  “These hobbits have just been asking me about you and now you are here to answer them. These are Merry, Pippin, and Sam.”

Legolas bowed, acknowledging the introductions. “I am most pleased to meet hobbits,” he said, “for I have seen only one before. But I am curious to know what brings you to Imladris.  You do not live here, do you?”

The three hobbits all laughed at the idea.  “No,” protested Merry, “we come from the Shire, which lies west of here near the Brandywine. We are helping our friend Frodo with an errand. One of the Nazgûl stabbed Frodo, and Strider brought us here so that Lord Elrond could help us.”

“Aye,” said Sam. “But Frodo does not seem to be getting much better.”

“Do not lose hope, Sam,” Mithrandir comforted him.  “Lord Elrond has another idea to try soon. All will be well.”

Legolas processed the information Merry had given him. Frodo must be the hobbit that Elrond had referred to.  He was startled to hear the small creatures in front of him speak so casually of an encounter with the Nazgûl. Their loyalty to their friend must be great to have met such a threat so stoutly.  He was also left with a question.  “Who is Strider?” he asked.

“Aragorn,” answered Mithrandir, “The Dúnadan.”

“Aragorn is a Dúnadan?” Legolas asked, surprised.

“Indeed he is,” said Mithrandir. “Now I must go and help Elrond.  No, Sam, you stay here for a while yet.  You have scarcely been away from Frodo’s bedside, and we want you to be still on your feet when Frodo awakens.”  He rose. “You hobbits stay out of trouble,” he added and walked away into the house.

The hobbits turned to Legolas and Pippin spoke.  “I am glad you are here, for I have heard people talking about the arrival of the Wood-elves. I had thought that Elves were Elves, but apparently that is not so. Is it true that Wood-elves sleep in trees?  Or do they live in caves? Do they really rush into battles too soon and then blame everyone else and hold a grudge for centuries?”

“Pippin!” admonished Sam, scandalized.  “Hold your tongue!”

Legolas had blinked at the rush of questions and could not help wondering who had been telling what to this hobbit.  However, he made an effort to answer.  “Wood-elves do sometimes sleep in trees,” he said.  “We find them comforting.  And my father’s stronghold is in a large cave that can be barricaded to defend our people against danger.  As for rushing into battle, I have heard that too.”

The hobbits looked at him, uncertain whether he had finished answering.  Pippin opened his mouth, and Merry hastily interrupted.  “Will you not tell us a story? Surely all Elves are good at stories.”

“Yes,” said Pippin, who was easily distracted. “Do young Elves ever get into trouble like hobbits do?  Tell us a story about that.”

Legolas paused, sorting through possible stories to find one that Pippin would like. To his surprise, Aragorn stepped forward from the shadows to his left.  He really moved uncommonly quietly for a man, Legolas thought.

“I will tell you a story that is told among the Dúnedain of young Elves getting into trouble,” said Aragorn.

“Good,” said Pippin and settled himself more comfortably.  Legolas raised an eyebrow but sat on the bench next to the hobbit to hear what Aragorn had to tell.

“In a time long ago, there were two young Elves who wanted to go adventuring,” began Aragorn.

“Not very hobbity,” Pippin commented.  “Hobbits scarcely ever go adventuring.”

“What do you think we’re doing, Pip?” asked Merry, laughing.

Pippin looked surprised. “Is this an adventure?” he asked. “I thought we were helping Frodo.”

“The two Elves set off into the woods to hunt for Orcs,” Aragorn continued.  “At first they were lucky, and when they came upon giant spiders, they managed to kill them. And as a result, they thought that they were mighty warriors indeed.”

The hobbits laughed and Pippin poked Merry. “Like you when you trapped that squirrel last spring and thought you were a hunter,” he said.  Merry shushed him.  Legolas was staring at Aragorn with a faint blush on his face.

“Unfortunately for the young elves,” Aragorn went on, “and as often happens when people seek for adventures, the adventure that found them was not quite the one they sought, for one night, a Dúnadan chased two Orcs into their camp.”

“That wasn’t very helpful,” Pippin commented.

“No, indeed,” agreed Aragorn.  “Between them, the Man and the two young Elves killed the Orcs. But it turned out that the Man was already wounded and after the battle was over, he collapsed.”

Legolas gave a stifled exclamation.

“Is something the matter, Legolas?” asked Merry, whose sharp eyes were on the Elf’s face.

“No,” said Legolas. “Only I have been thinking that Aragorn reminded me of someone and I have just recalled who it was.”

Aragorn smiled slightly and then went on with his story.  “The Man was lucky because even though they were shy of Men, the two young Elves cared for him.  And when the Man’s friends found him, the Elves helped the friends to find the proper herbs to cure the wounded Man.”

“Good for them,” said Pippin.  Sam was shifting restlessly in his seat next to Merry and was obviously wishing to be away back to Frodo.

“Yes,” said Aragorn, agreeing with Pippin.  “When the man told his story at home, my people said that too and to this day they are inclined to believe in the goodness of Wood-elves.”

“This was supposed to be a story about young Elves getting into trouble,” Pippin protested. “If that is their idea of trouble, then they are not much like hobbits.”

To Pippin’s surprise, it was Legolas who answered rather than Aragorn. “There was trouble,” he said soberly, “for before they could get home, one of the young Elves was killed by an Orc. And the family of the other Elf was very angry with him for having let his longing for adventure lead him into such grave danger.”

“Oh,” said Pip, and then there was a moment’s silence.

“If you hobbits don’t mind,” said Aragorn, “I have a favor to ask of Legolas that will take him away.”

“Go ahead,” said Merry, rather subdued. “Sam has been itching to get back to Frodo, and Pip and I will go and see how he is too.”

As the hobbits headed back toward the house, Pippin could be heard saying, “I do not understand. Did that story belong to Strider or Legolas?”

“I think it may belong to both of them,” said Merry.

Aragorn turned to Legolas who was eyeing him curiously.  “I hear that you have already been to the stables once today,” he said with a slight smile, “but I wonder if you would ride with me.  I feel a need to get out for a while and would rather ride with an old family friend.”

“Gladly,” said Legolas with a smile of his own, and then added, “You look very much like your ancestor, you know.”

Aragorn laughed.  “I did not know,” he said.  “But as you are one of the very few people who are in a position to be sure, I will take your word for it.”

For the two of them, the rest of the day passed pleasantly with no more serious purpose that enjoying the ride and one another’s company.