AN:  I am drawing on Tolkien's "Laws and Customs among the Eldar" for some of the ideas in this fic.  In that essay, Tolkien tells us that Elves were pregnant for a year and that most children were born in the spring.  He also says that "in the begetting, and still more in the bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children" (212).

2. Visions of Danger

(July)

Thranduil entered the family's sitting room to find a repeat of the scene he had earlier witnessed upon entering the dining room.  This time, Eilian sat with his sword in his left hand, his arm wrapped around the top of his head so that the blade dangled by his right ear. He was tightening his shrunken muscles to bring the sword to horizontal without moving the rest of his arm.  He stopped and rose on seeing Thranduil.

"Surely you have done enough for the first day," Thranduil chided him more sharply than he had intended.  He was both dismayed and a little annoyed at Eilian's determined eagerness to be away again and into danger.

At his tone, Eilian looked suddenly wary.  "I think perhaps you are right," he said and put the sword aside.  "I was intending to go out anyway," he added, "and with your leave, I will be on my way."

For reasons he could not explain, Thranduil's annoyance deepened.  "No," he responded. "I wish to speak with you."  He settled in one of the chairs near the fire and motioned Eilian back into the other.  His son sat reluctantly, a resigned expression on his face.  "Eilian," he asked, "why are you so impatient to be gone?"

Eilian sighed. "Adar," he began, "I am useless here, and I am needed in the south."

"The southern patrol seems to have gone right on functioning without you," Thranduil cut in, rather brutally.  "I grant that you are a superb captain for it, but Galan seems to have things well in hand, so do not tell me that you must hurry back in order to prevent disaster."

Eilian flushed.  He, too, was beginning to grow angry.  "Adar, what would you have me say?  If I were reluctant to go back, you would not approve of that either."

"No, I would not," Thranduil snapped. "You and your brothers have a duty to the realm.  But you go beyond dutiful defense of the realm against danger, Eilian.  You rush to meet it headlong and embrace it like a friend.  Is home so unpleasant to you that you prefer to battle with Orcs?"

"Of course not," Eilian responded, struggling to keep his tone respectful.

"Then why do you behave like an elfling waiting for his begetting day?" Thranduil asked. "Danger will be there waiting for you.  Can you not stay in the same room with me for an evening?  Can you not at least pretend to enjoy your time at home?"

"Adar, will you listen to yourself?" Eilian cried.  "How can I stay here when you are determined to be angry with me?  We will only quarrel."

"Are you saying that I am the reason you wish to rush back to the southern patrol?" Thranduil asked sharply.

"Of course not," Eilian said.  He bit his lip and said no more.  This was not the first time that he and Thranduil had had this same argument.  He had probably been younger than Legolas when it had happened the first time.  When his mother had been alive, her presence had always eased the tension between him and his father, but her death had left them floundering on their own.

In the communion that exists between Elven parent and child, thoughts of Lorellin had sprung to her husband's mind as they had to her son's. Thranduil found himself remembering that Lorellin had always claimed that the tension between them came from Eilian's resemblance to his grandfather Oropher.  "You scold him because you are afraid he will leave you," she had said.  "But, meleth-nín, can you not see that you drive him away?"

With his wife's voice in his ear, Thranduil, like Eilian, pulled himself up short. He regarded the flushed face of his son and suddenly felt the mixture of love and fear that had flooded through him when this one was small.  "Do not be so eager to leave me, iôn-nín," he said softly, "not to return to battle and, even more, not to throw your life away in a careless moment."

Eilian stared at him, his own anger draining away in response to his father's new tone.  "I admit that I like the excitement of battle," he finally said, "but I swear to you, I am not careless, and I will not be."  He leaned forward and put his hand on his father's arm.  "Adar, I love you and my brothers. You know that I do.  But I cannot bear sitting still and waiting for the enemy to find us.  I need to go out and hunt for him."

Thranduil held his son's gaze for a moment, flint-hard grey eyes meeting eager dark ones. Thoughts of Oropher troubled him again, and then he nodded reluctantly.  There was no point in chiding Eilian for what he could not help feeling.  "Will you not stay in tonight, at any rate?" he asked.  "You will be gone soon enough."

Eilian had plainly been preparing to rise, but now he paused. "Of course, if you wish it," he said carefully.

"I do," said Thranduil.  At that moment, Ithilden entered the room, and they both turned to him, relieved to have the tension of the moment broken by the arrival of another.

"Am I interrupting something?" Ithilden asked, hesitating.

His father shook his head and Ithilden drew up a third chair.  He had been called out by one of his captains soon after evening meal and was only now returning. To Thranduil, his oldest son looked exhausted, and while the king rejoiced in Alfirin's pregnancy, he regretted the strain it placed on Ithilden when he had such heavy responsibilities elsewhere.

Ithilden drew breath and looked at them. "Did Alfirin tell you that the baby is a boy?" he asked.

Eilian crowed.  "That is a punishment for your own bad behavior, brother," he cried.

A slow smile spread over his father's face.  "No, she did not tell us," he said.  He laughed softly.  "A daughter would have been a nice change," he said, "but you will find that sons are rewarding too. As well as sometimes maddening," he added, thinking of the encounter that he and Eilian had just had.

Ithilden smiled in return.  "Do you know," he said, "when I realized today that we would have a son, I suddenly wondered if you felt the way I feel now when naneth was carrying me."

"Did you feel overwhelmingly happy, fiercely protective, terrified, and slightly stunned at the same time?"  Thranduil answered dryly. "If so, then that was indeed how I felt."

Ithilden laughed and then turned serious. "How have you survived it three times?" he marveled.  "How have you stood watching us all become warriors?  How do you manage to stay so calm when we come to harm?"

Eilian shifted uncomfortably.  The talk was now skirting too close to the matter that he and Thranduil had been arguing about.  He glanced at his father and found him looking serious too.

"I have no choice," Thranduil told Ithilden, "and unless things change for the better, neither will you."

Ithilden regarded him soberly.  "I think you impress me more all the time, Adar," he said simply and rose.  "With your leave, I will go and see how Alfirin is," he said.  He bent and kissed his father's forehead. "Good night, both of you," he said and left the room.

Eilian regarded his father.  "I will be careful, Adar," he said. "I have no wish to leave you all permanently."

His father smiled wryly. "Good," he said.  Then he turned the topic.  "I would not admit it to Legolas," he said, "but I am actually waiting for him to come home before I retire for the night.  I do not like to go to bed until I know that he is safely inside the palace."

Eilian grinned. "The brat is trying his wings, I see," he said.  "That little Miriwen is a sweet creature.  He could have chosen much worse for a first love."

His father snorted.  "He is too young to be talking of love," he said severely, but Eilian only smiled.

They did not have long to wait, for Legolas was not very late this evening, and indeed he seldom was when he went to visit Miriwen.  Her parents were sensible people who did not allow the young couple to wander far.  Often when he came home, he simply said good night and went to his own chamber, but tonight he came into the sitting room and seemed ready to talk.

"Miriwen's naneth told me a story tonight, Adar," he said and went on to recount the tale about Lorellin that Miriwen's mother had told him.  As he spoke, Thranduil's face softened, and he found himself once again deep in memories of his wife. Tonight seemed to be the night for it.

"That sound like your naneth," he said when Legolas had finished.  "She loved the woods as much as you do, I believe.  That summer she was carrying you, she spent as much time among the trees as she could.  She said that you had told her you wanted to be there with her."  He smiled slightly at Legolas, who was listening avidly.  "She loved you and loves you still, you know," he added. "Both of you."

Eilian looked away, and Legolas felt tears sting his eyes again, as they had when he was listening to Miriwen's mother. "Tell us more about her, Adar," he said.  "Even if you have told us the stories before, tell us them again."  And he and Eilian both leaned forward to listen as their father talked much farther into the night that was wise for any of them.

***

Ithliden stirred in his sleep, for the path of his dreams had taken a turn that he had not expected.  Figures were struggling in a clearing.  A sword flashed brightly.  He needed to do something, but he was not quite sure what.  Someone was hurt. Someone fell. He strained to see the face of the fallen warrior, but he could not.  "This is my fault," he thought, and then he awakened with a start, his heart beating rapidly.  He lay quietly for a moment trying to make sense of the dream but found that he could not. He rolled toward Alfirin and wrapped his arms lightly around her.  In the protective circle of his arms, she sighed and slid more deeply into sleep, but he lay awake until the warmth of his wife's body soothed him and the dream faded.

***

Eilian drifted on the wings of a very pleasant dream about the maiden he had visited two nights ago.  He felt her soft breath tickling his ear as she whispered to him.  "They will hurt him," she unexpectedly said. "You must hurry."  They ran through the woods together, but her form was changed now into that of a warrior.  There were other warriors running nearby.  It was his responsibility to command them, and he was not sure which way they should go.  He tried to see what lay ahead, but he could not find the right path.  "We will be too late," he thought in despair.  "I have made a mistake."  Then, suddenly, he was once again on the novice training mission that he had taken with Legolas two months ago.  Legolas was sliding over the edge of a precipice, and Eilian was reaching for him.  "I must hurry," he thought again, and then he flew off the edge of the cliff and sailed away, with eagles for his only company.

***

Legolas nocked the two arrows carefully and drew his bow.  The bowstring twanged musically in his right ear, and the arrows flew straight and true toward the target at the other end of the field.  "Good," said Thranduil, who seemed to be acting as archery master. "You will be able to defend the people."   Legolas felt the joy of someone who is doing the thing that he has been born to do.  Suddenly, he looked again, for the target had begun to move.  And then it was not a target at all but an enemy warrior, and Legolas saw with surprise that the enemy was a Man.

Indeed, now an army of strange Men was sweeping toward him.  Legolas had seen Men occasionally but never any who were dressed and armed like these. Legolas looked around for Thranduil, but his father was no longer there.  He leapt down onto the ground and began advancing, following the captain with the flashing sword who led him forward.  "Perhaps it is not just the bow that I was born for," he thought.  "Perhaps it is to use my bow now."  And then a bird cried and his heart began to sing a new song of longing for something that he could not name. On some level, he knew that he was dreaming, and he reached out to wrench the dream back to the path he had been following before the army appeared. "Not yet," he thought. "Not yet."

***

Thranduil was dreaming about Lorellin.  She led him through the forest, laughing teasingly and refusing to answer when he asked where they were going.  Her feet were bare, and her dark hair was loose around her face.  And then she was no longer laughing.  Arrows had begun to fly through the trees and the sound of swords could be heard at no great distance ahead.  "Save him!" she cried.  "He is our son."  Thranduil leapt into the trees and raced forward, searching for the son who was caught in the battle.  A sword flashed.  Someone fell.  He stretched out his arms toward that falling warrior, trying to see who it was, but in the chaos of battle, everyone was swept away from him and he was left with the sound of Lorellin's weeping in his ears.

He sat straight up in his bed, gasping at the vividness of the dream.  After a moment, he rose, put on a night robe, and began walking along the corridor of the family's living quarters.  He knew that the guards at the end of the hall had seen him, but they were much too well-trained to acknowledge that fact.  He paused quietly outside the door of each son.  He did not enter the rooms, for he did not wish to violate their privacy and, moreover, he assumed that by now they all slept with their daggers to hand, and he did not wish to be injured if he startled one of them.  But outside each door, he listened and tested the bond that had tied him to each of them since before they were born.  Having assured himself that they were each all right, he returned to his own room but not to his bed.  Instead, he sat long, staring into the fire.