I borrow characters and setting from Tolkien. I gain no profit from their use other than the enriched imaginative life I believe he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

14.  Conversations

Ithilden walked into the small building in which his office lay and greeted the aide seated behind one of the three desks in the outer office.  The aide rose to his feet.  “Good morning, my lord,” he said.

“Good morning, Calith,” Ithilden nodded in response. He was late getting here despite the fact that he had been awakened early when Alfirin climbed out of bed at what must have been daybreak.  She had been eager to get to the tasks she still had to finish before that night’s feast, and Ithilden had chosen the better part of valor and risen to eat early and escape to his office from the furor that was bound to have the whole household in its grip.  But his father had stopped him on his way out of the palace and they had spent some time in conversation.

“I need to see both Eilian and Legolas,” Ithilden told Calith. “Eilian first.”  He silently apologized to Eilian for summoning him to his office early.  Legolas had been up when Ithilden left home, but the door to Eilian’s chamber had still been firmly closed.  “Send messages to the palace.”

The aide nodded and then said, “Tinár is here, my lord,” and indicated the Elf who stood just outside the door to the inner office where Ithilden’s desk stood.  Ithilden had been expecting him.  He knew that Tinár and Annael had reached home the evening before and had sent word to the Home Guard captain that Tinár was to wait upon him first thing in the morning.

Ithilden handed his cloak to the aide and went into his office, beckoning Tinár to follow.  The aide closed the door discreetly behind them.  Ithilden seated himself at the desk and watched with grim amusement as Tinár started for the chair in front of the desk but then realized that he had not been given leave to sit and turned rather awkwardly to stand facing Ithilden.

Ithilden let the silence lengthen while he sat immobile and looked unsmilingly at Tinár.  Tinár met his look longer than most of those whom Ithilden summoned did, but eventually he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and flicked his gaze to one side without turning his head away.

Satisfied, Ithilden began, “Galivion came to see me yesterday. He was most unhappy about the manner in which you conducted yourself while serving as one of the guards who escorted him and Lord Legolas to the settlement.”

Tinár drew himself stiffly erect.  “I do not know what he could be referring to.”  He still did not meet Ithilden’s eyes, but his mouth tightened resentfully.

Ithilden raised an eyebrow. “Do you not?” he asked.  “According to Galivion, you were rude to both Anyr and Crydus and thus endangered the success of the mission.”  Tinár opened his mouth as if to protest, but Ithilden pressed on.  “Moreover, he says that you actually argued over following orders you were given.” Ithilden could hear his own voice hardening.   The behavior that Galivion had described had struck Ithilden as both intolerable and shocking in an experienced, well-trained Wood-elf warrior.  He rose and walked around his desk to stand no more than a foot in front of Tinár, looming over him.  Surprised, Tinár inched backward but Ithilden took a step and closed the distance between them again.

“I suppose Legolas complained,” Tinár said, astounding Ithilden by his nerve.

“You will keep silent until I give you permission to speak,” Ithilden snarled, well and truly angry now.  “Legolas said nothing about you.” For a split second, Tinár looked disappointed and then his lip curled in disbelief.  Ithilden’s eyes narrowed.  “Legolas was concerned about representing the king to the settlement Elves. That was his task and, so far as I know, that is what he talked to the king about.  He did not talk to me about the mission at all.  Your task, on the other hand, was to provide security for the king’s adviser and his representative, and to aid them in any way you could. I am embarrassed that one of my warriors was so lacking in discipline that he let personal pique interfere with his duty.”

Color rose in Tinár’s face, and he fixed his eyes on the wall behind Ithilden’s head.

“This is not the first time I have had complaints about you, Tinár,” Ithilden went on.  “But I have always believed that your undoubted skill with weapons outweighed your lack of good sense, and I do not have so many warriors that I can afford to dismiss one unless I have concluded there is no hope that he will ever be able to be made useful.  I am beginning to think I was mistaken in my judgment about you.  I thought you had enough pride to control your pettiness if only to avoid the scorn of your fellow warriors.  I am driven to ask what is wrong with you.  It is plain that you crave the respect of others, yet you continually behave in a way that makes it impossible for them to give it.  If you have an answer to that question, you have my permission to make it!”

Tinár drew a deep breath.  “Others have always been jealous of me because of my skill,” he said through stiff lips.

Ithilden gave an incredulous snort.  “Orc dung,” he snapped, making Tinár’s eyes widen in disbelief.  “Do you think Galivion is jealous of you?  Use the brains you undoubtedly have to think about what you might be doing other than being wonderful that would provoke your companions.”  He eyed the stubborn face before him, wondering if he might have been too generous in giving Tinár credit for having brains.

“I will tell you what I am going to do for you,” Ithilden said, and Tinár braced himself apprehensively.  “I am going to take you off the hands of my captains and give you the benefit of my personal supervision.”  Tinár’s eyes widened in alarm, and Ithilden felt a rush of satisfaction.  “As of this morning, you are no longer in the Home Guard. Instead, you will serve as one of my messengers to and from the border patrols.  As you know, messengers usually travel alone, so your skill with weapons will be useful, and at least while you are carrying dispatches, you will not have the opportunity to annoy others.  While you are in the office here, you will make every attempt to curb your less pleasant impulses, and I will let you know you when you fail to do so.  Believe me, Tinár, there will be no questioning of orders while you serve in my office. You will do exactly as I say and will be as pleasant as you are able to be while you do it, or I will see to it that you are extremely sorry.  Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, my lord,” Tinár replied woodenly, his face stony and his eyes on the wall. Ithilden very much doubted if anything he had said had penetrated the Elf’s thick wall of self-absorption, but he would have plenty of opportunities to try again.  Except in his dealings with his father, Ithilden was not accustomed to losing a battle of wills, and he was grimly determined that he was not going to lose this one.

“Good,” Ithilden said.  “Because I warn you, either you live up to the training and discipline you have been given, or I will send you home permanently to plague your poor wife instead of your fellow warriors.”

Much to Ithilden’s satisfaction, Tinár flinched a little at that threat. He would not find it pleasant to have to explain to his family and neighbors why he was no longer a warrior.  Ithilden could only hope that his dread of shame would help teach him to curb his arrogance.  “Report to my aide within the hour,” Ithilden said. “He has a dispatch that needs to go to the northern border patrol.” Tinár saluted, spun on his heel, and left the room, his back stiff and his face as impassive as he could make it.

Ithilden seated himself at his desk and blew out a deep breath.  Raking Tinár over the coals had certainly been a bracing way to start his day, but now he had the arrogant fool on his hands.  Ah well, only time would tell if he could succeed where his captains had failed. He turned his attention to the supply requisitions lying on his desk.  The food shortage around his father’s stronghold seemed to be easing a bit with the addition of the meat from the Home Guard’s hunts, so he might be able to send some of the dried meat and vegetables to feed the border patrol warriors.  He would have to talk to Galivion about the matter.

His aide rapped lightly on his half-open door.  “Lord Eilian is here.”

Ithilden braced himself again.  This next discussion would need to be handled carefully.  “Send him in,” he said, and Eilian came in, looking a little exasperated.

“You have terrible timing, brother,” he said, as Ithilden waved him into the chair, “and this is the second morning in a row that you have proved it.”

Ithilden grinned.  “Alfirin would have been knocking on your door soon anyway. She wanted to talk to Celuwen about whether she had a suitable gown for tonight.”  Eilian rolled his eyes.

Ithilden brought his attention to the matter at hand and sobered.  “Belówen says that he will probably release you for restricted duty the next time you see him.”

Eilian nodded, looking suddenly cautious. “I thought he would. Have you been talking to him?”

Ithilden hesitated.  “Adar did,” he finally said and watched as Eilian stiffened.

“And what else has Adar been doing?” Eilian asked resentfully.

“What I am about to tell you is not something that Adar has imposed on me,” Ithilden said sharply.  “I confess he suggested much of it, but the decision was mine and I agreed with what he said or I would not be acting on it.”  He resented the way that Eilian’s question suggested that Thranduil had been riding roughshod over him.  It was true that he answered to the king and that was appropriate, but he had been deciding matters to do with the Realm’s forces for a good many years now, and his brother would do well to acknowledge it.

Eilian made a face. “I am sorry,” he said with some effort.  “What is my fate to be then?” He was trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

Ithilden ran his hand over his hair.  “Your restricted duty will be served in my office. Your experience will make you very useful in fitting together the news from various patrols and seeing a large picture of how our forces are doing.  There will be routine work too, of course.”

Eilian looked aghast. “Routine paperwork you mean!  Tell me that is not a means by which Adar intends to punish me!”

Ithilden shrugged and smiled a little.  “He did say it would not hurt you to do something requiring patience. But you cannot expect to be running around while you are still healing. You would have to put up with some level of inactivity no matter what your restricted duty was, and you can be genuinely useful to me here.” Ithilden was not certain that Eilian would actually be inactive while doing paperwork.  Eilian had served in Ithilden’s office while recovering from an injury once before, and Ithilden could still picture him pacing around the office and even around the outside of the building as he read dispatches and made notes about them.

Eilian opened his mouth and then shut it again, as he struggled to accept what Ithilden had just told him.  “How long will it be before I go back to my patrol?” he finally asked.

Ithilden looked at him keenly.  “Is that what you want to do?”  He was truly curious about how Eilian would answer him, given what he had just left in the palace.

Eilian hesitated, evidently taken aback by the question.  “It is what I am good at,” he said slowly.  “And it is something I can do for the realm so in that sense, it is my duty to go, and,” he sighed, “I have to confess, the constant excitement makes my blood sing.” His voice resonated with the most ambivalent tone about serving in the south that Ithilden had ever heard him use.  Somewhere under the desires he voiced, a note of uncertainty sounded.

Ithilden sighed.  He hoped that single note was going to make Eilian more receptive to what he had to say next, but he rather doubted it.  “Belówen will decide when you are ready for active duty, and when you are, you will spend at least a year captaining the Home Guard. After that, I will probably have to send you back south because, unfortunately, you are the best captain I have for that patrol.”

Eilian’s mouth dropped open.  “A year in the Home Guard? Why? What about Elorfin?   Does he know you plan to replace him as captain?”

“Elorfin is going to help train the novices in matters of command and strategy.  I have increasingly thought that those were matters to which we needed to give more attention, and he and I have discussed his doing it.”

“But a full year?” Eilian protested.  “Ithilden, that is a waste.  You know it is.  You have other captains who would do well with the Home Guard, but in all modesty, as you just said, you really have no one else who will do as well as I would with the Southern Patrol!”

Ithilden looked away for a moment and tried to find the words for what he wanted to say.  “You need time to heal, Eilian.  Even once you are fit for active duty, that wound is going to trouble you for a while.  And even more, you need time to court your wife, time to make a life with her, time to support her while she makes a life in the palace.”

Eilian stared at him, and then his face flushed.  “I do not see that my marriage is any of your affair as my commander,” he said stiffly. “So I conclude that this is Adar’s doing too.  I thought you said that you had approved these orders.”

In exasperation, Ithilden slapped his hand on his desk. “You know as well as I do that I try to accommodate the needs of my warriors’ families.  I cannot always do it, but I try.  Why should I not accommodate you?”

“We both know why,” Eilian responded almost as sharply.  “We are the king’s sons.  We cannot shirk the danger and sacrifice that the king asks of others.”

“No one could accuse you of shirking,” Ithilden said. “You have spent years in the south. And if you think that is what Adar will accuse you of, then you can think again. He wants you home less because he is angry than because he is concerned about your well-being.”

Eilian looked startled. “Really?”

“Really,” Ithilden confirmed. For a moment, they regarded one another with bemused faces.

Eilian made a helpless gesture. “I suppose he has kept me home before, although it has been a long while.  Has it ever occurred to you that Adar wants you and me and Legolas to do our duty and remain safe too?  And that it can be difficult to do both at once?”

Ithilden smiled. “It has actually.  But this has to do with more than keeping you safe, Eilian.  This has to do with Adar’s deep belief in the importance of bonding and family.”  He shrugged. “He struggled to give you this year, and I think he is not sure himself whether he intends it as a reward or a punishment, but in the end, he decided it was not too much time for something so important.”

Eilian sat back in his chair, looking for a moment at his hands, long and elegant, but marked with an archer’s callouses.  Then he looked up, and Ithilden could see that he had accepted what was going to happen.  “I confess that, since we arrived home, I have become increasingly worried about leaving Celuwen. I had not sufficiently realized how hard this would be for her. She is so competent and self-sufficient that I thought she would simply manage somehow. And,” he smiled at his brother, “there will certainly be compensations for staying home.”

Ithilden laughed. “There will,” he agreed.  “I believe that time in bed with one’s wife is particularly useful in healing a hip wound.” Eilian laughed, and Ithilden rejoiced that they were so comfortable together when he had just given Eilian orders that might at one time have made him furious. He rose, drawing Eilian to his feet too.

“Adar asked me to send you to him when we were finished,” he said.

Eilian grimaced.  “I have been waiting for him to send for me.”

“He is calmer today,” Ithilden observed.

“He would have to be,” Eilian said. Then he saluted and went out the door. Ithilden sat for a moment, suddenly remembering Eilian as an elfling, marching out the door of a room in which Ithilden sat, on his way to see Thranduil over some childish misdeed.  Their mother had been there, he recalled. She had stroked Eilian’s hair and assured him that his father would understand.  Ithilden sighed. If Thranduil had understood, it had undoubtedly been Lorellin’s doing.

He rose and went to the door of the outer office, where his aide made to rise. Ithilden gestured that he should remain seated.  “I apologize, Calith.  You are about to acquire Eilian and on occasion Tinár as office mates.”

Calith blinked and then grinned and shrugged. “Then things will not be boring,” he observed. Ithilden laughed and went back to his desk and began reading dispatches.

“Lord Legolas is here,” said Calith.

Ithilden beckoned to Legolas, who was visible behind Calith.  “Come in and sit down,” he invited.  Legolas settled in the chair that Eilian had recently vacated, and Ithilden pulled a sheet out of the welter of paper on his desk.  Legolas looked at him with some of the same apprehension that most warriors showed when summoned to Ithilden’s office, and Ithilden could not help grimacing a little. He looked down at the report on his desk.

“I have a dispatch from Sórion about your patrol’s latest battles,” Ithilden said. “I suppose you and Beliond brought it when you came home. Sórion tells me the same thing about you that all your captains have told me.” He tapped the paper with his right index finger, making his gold wedding ring flash in the early morning sun coming through the window. “You fight with discipline and courage. You get along well with your fellow warriors.  You are a quiet but trusted leader.”

A slow smile spread over Legolas’s face, and he blushed with pleasure. “Thank you,” he said. “Sórion is generous.”

Ithilden leaned back in his chair, enjoying himself. This meeting, at least, promised to be an easy one.  “I gather you also did very well in leading this mission to the settlement for Adar.  You have served in every patrol in the realm except the Home Guard now, Legolas, and you are developing well as a warrior and a leader.  I believe it is time you were promoted.  When you go back to the Southern Patrol tomorrow, you will go as its new lieutenant.”

His brother blinked at him and then drew in his breath and broke into a delighted grin. “Thank you, Ithilden!  I do not know what to say. I will not disappoint you, I promise!”

“I do not imagine you will.”  Ithilden grinned too.

A sudden thought seemed to occur to Legolas.  “What will happen when Eilian comes back to the patrol?” he asked. “Will I stay as its lieutenant then? Or will I go elsewhere and will Sórion go back to being its lieutenant?”  He looked anxious.  He had served under Eilian for just a short time before Eilian was injured, and he probably wanted to go on serving under him.

“Eilian is going to captain the Home Guard for at least the next year,” he said gently, watching Legolas’s face fall. “So Sórion will be your captain. After that, I do not know.”

“Does Eilian know?”  Legolas was well aware of how much serving in the south meant to Eilian.

“Yes, I told him a short while ago.”

Legolas sat thinking for a moment and then looked up and smiled tentatively.  “I like Sórion, and I would do my best for you even if I did not.”

Ithilden felt a sudden rush of affection for his youngest brother, for whom personal ties mattered most but who tried to live by the duty he believed was his.  He stood and came around the desk to clasp arms and then embrace Legolas, who had come to his feet when Ithilden did. “Congratulations, Legolas. You deserve this.  Now go and enjoy what is left of your leave.”  Legolas stepped back, saluted, and left the room, his step light with the knowledge of his superiors’ approval.

***

Thranduil paused for a moment in the doorway of the sitting room where Celuwen sat sewing lace on the edge of the collar of a pale green gown.  As if feeling his eyes upon her, she looked up and then made to rise when she saw him.

“Do not get up,” he said, taking the chair across from her. “I do not want to disturb your work.  Where is Alfirin?”

Celuwen gave a small grin, which he returned. They both knew what the connection was between the ‘work’ that Celuwen was doing and the presence or absence of Alfirin. “She is supervising the decoration of the green,” Celuwen said.

Thranduil leaned back in his chair.  “She is determined to see that you and Eilian are properly blessed on your new path,” he smiled, and Celuwen nodded without comment.  There was a moment’s pause, while she resumed her sewing.  “Alfirin knows from experience how difficult it is to adjust to living in the palace when one has not been born to it,” Thranduil observed.  “She has grown into her own role over time, and we have all benefited from her efforts to care for us, but she had to learn the management of the household on her own, with help from my steward, of course, but also with him looking over her shoulder as she took on areas he once controlled.”  He paused, and Celuwen lifted her eyes from her sewing to look at him.

“She is very competent,” Celuwen observed slowly.  “She does not seem to need much help.”

“She does not,” Thranduil agreed.  He regarded her.  “I was interested in your comments on Anyr’s strengths and weaknesses,” he said, and she blinked at what must have seemed an abrupt change of subject.  “They were very acute.”

“I have known Anyr a long time,” she said.  “And what I said was no more than what anyone who had lived in one of the settlements would have said.”

“Nonetheless, you offered an insight that none of my advisers had given me,” Thranduil said.  “It has occurred to me that it might be useful if you were to attend my council meetings when matters to do with the settlements were under discussion.”

She looked startled.  “If you wish it, of course I would be happy to.”

“If you are willing,” Thranduil went on, “my advisers Galivion and Thrior can apprise you of some of the concerns over the settlements from our point of view.  I am sure they would be happy to wait upon you when you have time.”

Celuwen nodded again.  “Of course.”

“And then, when you are well enough, perhaps you would even be willing to visit the settlements on a regular basis and serve as a liaison between them and us.”

Celuwen put her sewing down and regarded him levelly.  “Are you asking me to become one of your advisers, my lord?”

He smiled at her blandly.  “You must call me Adar. And yes, I believe I am, assuming that you and I find we understand one another, of course.  And you must wait to take up any very heavy task, I think.  You are still not well.”

She smiled wryly. “Apparently I look more ill than I had realized.”

He laughed. “You look beautiful, my dear, but you also look tired, and you should certainly rest before tonight’s feast.”

“Alfirin will see to it,” said Celuwen dryly.  He laughed and rose, gesturing once again for her to remain seated.

He bent and kissed her forehead.  “Eilian did indeed choose well in you, Celuwen, and I believe he is likely to find that he has more than met his match in his wife.   I, for one, look forward to seeing him discover that.”  She laughed, and he went on his way, both of them satisfied with the future they had been constructing between them.