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

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

9.  In the Palace

Sinnarn’s pulse quickened pleasantly as Emmelin slipped her hand into his and they set off for their walk.  Now that September had come, the evenings had grown cooler, and they both wore cloaks, but neither of them had taken to wearing gloves yet, and Sinnarn hoped that Emmelin’s reason for leaving her hands bare was the same as his.  Until the last few months, he would never have believed that simply the feel of the soft skin of a maiden’s palm could render him dizzy.  In unspoken accord, they strolled off the path and in among the trees whose leaves were gradually coming to blaze with color.

“How were the Dwarves today?” she asked.

He made a face.  Guarding the Dwarves had not been nearly as interesting as he had hoped it would be.  For the most part, they had been close-mouthed, and on the rare occasions when they had talked to him, they had been rude.  Far from growing more docile in confinement, they had instead become even more defiant. “I heard one of them talking to himself again this morning,” he told Emmelin, “and far more pleasantly than he has ever spoken to me.”

“Perhaps he just likes an intelligent audience,” she teased.

He gave a short laugh and then cried, “You will pay for that!”  Keeping hold of her, he leaned over and used his free hand to scoop up a fistful of leaves that he threw over her head.  Laughing, she raised her free arm to ward them off as best she could and then pulled loose and seized a double handful of leaves to hurl at him.  For a brief time, the air around them was awhirl with flying leaves.

Finally, he grabbed her and stuffed a handful down the back of her neck.  She was laughing and pushing at him, and suddenly they both seemed to realize that one of his arms was around her.  In breathless silence, they stared at one another while Sinnarn’s heart pounded so wildly he thought she probably could hear it. Then he put his other arm around her too and bent to her and kissed her.  For another heartbeat, she was motionless, and then her arms went around his neck and she pulled him to her and kissed him back with a ferocity that made him moan.

He had no idea how much time passed before they stopped kissing, but when he pulled her close and rubbed his cheek in her hair, he could see that stars had opened overhead.  “It is late.” Emmelin’s voice was muffled against his chest. “We should go.”  Neither one of them moved.  “My parents will be worried,” she said.

Reluctantly, he acknowledged this truth.  It had grown late enough that her parents were probably concerned.  The Home Guard was still finding an occasional spider, although nothing had turned up resembling the huge colony Legolas had found a few weeks ago.  His grandfather was still sealing the Great Doors completely at night and opening them during the day only at regular intervals to admit petitioners and messengers. One had to plan one’s comings and goings with care.

Sinnarn was not sure he understood why his grandfather was being so careful.  Legolas said that Thranduil was restless about something. He thought he still worried about whatever the Dwarves’ unknown mission was and also was disturbed by the unexplained change in the forest’s song. To Sinnarn, the trees’ song was beginning to sound lighter, but he was well aware that that could be because he was usually with Emmelin when he was among them.

He and Emmelin broke apart, and he took her hand. Neither of them spoke during their hurried walk toward her cottage. In truth, no words were needed.

As they hastened up the short path to her home, the door flew open revealing a frantic-looking Annael with Beliniel visible hovering behind him.  “Where have you been?” he demanded, his voice startlingly harsh.

“I am so sorry, Adar,” Emmelin said.  “I did not mean to worry you.  I lost track of the time.” Annael’s gaze slid over her, taking in the leaves in her hair and on her cloak. He turned to Sinnarn with narrowed eyes.  For a moment, Sinnarn stared back at him, wondering if this was what a startled rabbit felt like when it froze in terror at the sight of a hunter.

“I must go now,” he finally croaked. “I will see you tomorrow, Emmelin.”  Without waiting for an answer, he turned and fled toward the palace.  After a moment or two he slowed.  Such a flight was undignified, he admonished himself and began struggling to regain his composure. Surely Emmelin would tell her parents that nothing untoward had happened, and that besides that, she and Sinnarn were adults, entitled to make their own choices.  Of course they were, he assured himself, his confidence rising as the palace came into sight. Then he halted in dismay. He should have realized. The Great Doors were already sealed for the night.

He groaned.  What should he do?  The idea of rousing his grandfather to open the Doors struck him as a bad one.  His grandfather was indulgent, with Sinnarn at any rate, but he had been on edge recently and was not to be trifled with. If his mother realized he had not come home, she was going to be beside herself, he thought gloomily, despite the fact that she would have been able to tell through their bond if anything had happened to him. Ah well, there was nothing he could do about it now.  He turned and started back down the path to go and spend the night at Amdir’s, where no questions would be asked.

He was waiting outside the Doors in the morning and entered the palace as soon as they were unsealed, hastening toward his room in his parents’ apartment so that he could wash and dress for his day’s tasks.  He had hoped to slip in without Alfirin seeing him, telling himself that perhaps she had not even missed him, but that hope was dashed as soon as he started down the hallway from the sitting room to his own chamber.  The door to his parents’ chamber had stood ajar, and now his mother jerked it open and stepped into the hallway, stopping him in his tracks if he did not want to push past her.

“I am sorry, Naneth,” he said, raising his hands and trying to forestall her.

“Where have you been?” she echoed Annael, and Sinnarn observed not for the first time that all parents seemed to speak the same lines.

“I arrived home too late and the Doors were sealed. I spent the night at Amdir’s.”

“Sinnarn, I have been worried sick! I pictured you sleeping in the woods! How could you be so thoughtless?”

“Naneth, I am a warrior,” he declared in exasperation.  “I have slept in the woods on more nights than I can count.”

“But I did not expect you home on those nights!” she cried, and suddenly he saw that she was near to tears.  His father needed to come home soon, he thought.  His absence was beginning to wear on his mother.

“I am sorry,” he said again, grasping her shoulders and kissing her forehead.  “But really, you should not worry. I can take care of myself.”

She gave a strangled laugh and put her hands to his face.  “So you have always said.”  She took a deep breath.  “I would be very grateful if you would let me know when you will be out all night, so that I know not to worry.”

He was deeply touched for he knew what it must have cost her to concede him the right to stay out if he chose.  “I will try,” he promised, and then went on to his own chamber, relieved by his mother’s efforts.  Of course, he reminded himself, his relief lessening somewhat, once his father got home, he would have to do more than try to keep his parents informed.  Ithilden would not put up with any behavior that upset Sinnarn’s mother.

He considered yet again moving out of his parents’ apartment and into one of the empty chambers in the palace, but he hated to think of the furor that would cause, and really, he did not much want to do it.  His place in his family was his place in the world.  He was Sinnarn Ithildenion of the House of Oropher.  He had heard that Men often left their families when they were adults, but he did not understand how they could do it.  How did they and everyone around them know who they were? Who stood by them when trouble came?  To whom did they turn for advice?  It made no sense to him.  He reached his chamber and readied himself for his day.

When he descended the last set of stairs leading to the cells where the Dwarves were being held, he heard a voice ahead of him, and thought for a moment that one of the Dwarves was talking to himself, as they had all been doing lately.  He supposed he could not blame them. Locked up alone in a cell, he might have talked to himself too.  The voice turned out to be Legolas’s however.  And to Sinnarn’s pleasure, Nithron was with him.  He had not seen his body guard since he had started this assignment, for not even Thranduil thought he needed Nithron while guarding prisoners in the palace.  To Sinnarn’s surprise, he had missed his keeper, who had been by his side almost constantly since Sinnarn had come of age and pledged his faith as a warrior.

Nithron saw him approaching and lifted his hand in greeting but did not speak. He was standing just behind Legolas, who was at the open door of a cell, talking to one of the Dwarves who wore a purple hood.  Or rather, he was trying to talk to him. To Sinnarn’s utter lack of surprise, the Dwarf was staring at the wall as if he were deaf.  Legolas was plainly losing patience.  You ought to be around them all day, Sinnarn though sourly.

“Do you not care that we have seen no sign of the child at all?” Legolas demanded.  “Hobbit is your son, is he not?”  Sinnarn knew that Legolas thought the Dwarves in the purple hoods were Hobbit’s parents, although he could not tell which of the two was the mother and which the father.  Sinnarn found that amusing, although he knew better than to tell Legolas so.

At the moment, the Dwarf looked amused too, although he kept his eyes on the wall rather than turning to Legolas.  Sinnarn had found that lately the Dwarves often seemed to be hugging themselves with a sort of secret glee that he did not understand.

When the Dwarf continued to ignore Legolas, he made a disgusted sound, backed from the cell, and closed and locked the door.  He handed the keys to Sinnarn.  “I took the liberty of relieving the night guard,” he said.

“I am on time,” Sinnarn protested, resenting what sounded like criticism.

“I know you are.” But Legolas still sounded impatient. Sinnarn told himself that the Dwarves were the cause, not him. Legolas turned to Nithron.  “What do you make of them?  You have seen far more of Dwarves than I have. Is there anything we can say that will persuade them to speak about the child or their mission?”  This must be why Legolas had brought Nithron, Sinnarn realized. His keeper had been one of Thranduil’s spies for many years before he was assigned to Sinnarn.

Nithron shook his head.  “No one is more stubborn than a Dwarf with a secret,” he said. Legolas grimaced but seemed to accept his judgment.  Nithron turned to Sinnarn.  “I hope you are behaving yourself,” he said.

Legolas grinned.  “Nithron is becoming very grouchy without you to order around, Sinnarn.  That was one of the reasons I brought him this morning.  The rest of us are finding him quite unbearable.”

Sinnarn laughed. “What is the Home Guard up to?” he asked.

Nithron shrugged.  “We are still finding the occasional spider.”  Sinnarn suddenly longed to be hunting spiders.  Guarding the Dwarves was becoming tedious.

“Come,” said Legolas. “We must be on our way.”  And he and Nithron disappeared up the steps.

Their departure was followed immediately, however, by the arrival of several kitchen servants bearing trays with morning meals for the Dwarves and Sinnarn.  “Fresh bread and strawberry jam,” one of them told him. “The Naugrim should be grateful.” If the Dwarves did turn out to be grateful, Sinnarn was certain they would never show it.

He went from cell to cell unlocking and locking the doors again as one of the servants distributed the meal, while the others went to get supplies from the stores that were also on this level of the stronghold.  As he had predicted, the Dwarves did not thank the servant, whose face showed just how unpleasant she thought Sinnarn’s charges were. “We will be back for the dishes,” she promised as she started for the stairway again.

“Wait!” called Sinnarn.  “Where is mine?”

“On the table,” said the servant, pausing with one foot on the bottom step.

“No, it is not,” Sinnarn declared, indicating the empty dishes.

She frowned.  “All of the dishes had food on them,” she declared. “I can see the breadcrumbs on that one.” She looked at him suspiciously.  “If you want more, you only need to ask.”

“I have had none!” he cried.  Really, everyone he spoke to these days seemed intent on scolding him.  Except Emmelin, of course, he though wistfully.

She plainly did not believe him.  “I will bring more when we come back for the dishes,” she said stiffly. “You will have to wait until then.”  She followed the other servants up the stairs.

Hungry and bored, Sinnarn flung himself into one of the chairs near the table.  What had he been thinking to ask for this assignment?  He wondered how open Legolas would be to assigning him elsewhere. It was worth a try, he thought gloomily. The worst his uncle could do was add his admonitions to everyone else’s.

***

With a struggle, Celuwen brought her wandering attention back to the meeting.

“With so many more people living close to the stronghold, we would be wise to lay in a larger supply of grain for the winter,” said one of the king’s advisers.

“We would have to trade timber rights to pay for it,” said another. They all looked at Thranduil, who was plainly unhappy with the direction the discussion had taken.

“I am loath to allow any cutting of living trees,” he said, “although I would not be averse to clearing out deadfall.”

“But the Men will want the timber for building, not just firewood,” the adviser answered.

Thranduil grimaced. “This matter does not need to be decided today.  The forest is disturbed enough as it is. I will not add to its distress until I understand what is happening.”

Celuwen did not believe they would be able to put off the decision about buying grain for much longer, but she also understood Thranduil’s reluctance, or thought she did.  In addition to being worried about whatever was happening in the forest, he was concerned about the still unknown reason that the Dwarves were there. She wished Ithilden would come home, because Thranduil would draw great comfort from consulting with him.  Surely the White Council meeting must be over by now.  For a moment, she contemplated the idea that something might have happened to Ithilden, but she rejected it almost immediately.  Alfirin would have known; for that matter, so would Thranduil.

Without thinking, she felt for her bond with Eilian and relaxed slightly to find it intact.  He felt serene at the moment. That probably meant that he was asleep, she thought with a wry smile, which made sense given that he and his warriors usually hunted at night.  Eilian was seldom serene when he was awake, even when he was home, which had been far too infrequently in the tumultuous years of their marriage.  The time they managed to spend together was made blissful and intense by their long separations, but it was also made tense, as they fumbled to adjust to one another’s habits and assumptions.

A wave of heart-stopping loneliness swept over her, and she actually had to look down to blink tears from her eyes. She traced a pattern in the wood of the table with her finger.  She had gradually come to feel affection for her husband’s family, but when Eilian was away, she still felt isolated even in their presence.  She was closest to Legolas and had hoped that his being assigned to the Home Guard would ease matters for her, but Ithilden’s absence had led to extra responsibilities for him, and he was very worried about the missing Dwarf child, so she had not seen much of him so far.

There were times when she wondered if she had made the right decision in marrying Eilian, but they were brief for she knew that in reality, she had had no choice.  Happy or unhappy, her life had always been tangled with Eilian’s.  He was due for a leave in a little over a month.  She would comfort herself by looking forward to that.

The noise of chairs being pushed back from the table brought her out of her reverie, and she realized a little guiltily that the meeting was coming to an end and that she had no idea what had happened in the last fifteen minutes of it. Thranduil was walking toward her with his arm outstretched.  “Walk with me, daughter,” he invited.

She put her arm through his and allowed him to lead her from the small council chamber through the Great Hall and into the antechamber. The Great Doors opened before them, and they went out onto the top of the steps leading down to the bridge over the Forest River. There Thranduil paused, staring at the trees on the other side of the green.  “I have never been one to place much faith in glad rumors,” he said a little hesitantly.  “So I find myself doubting my own perceptions now.  Do the trees seem happier to you, Celuwen?”

Celuwen had a Wood-elf’s connection to the forest, but she knew that her sense of it was less acute than her father-in-law’s.  “I cannot tell,” she answered honestly.  “I do not recognize the song they sing now.  I only hear the change.”

He nodded resignedly and then glanced at her. “And what of you, child?  Are you happy?”

She grimaced.  She should have known that her mood would not have escaped Thranduil’s observation.  “I miss Eilian,” she said frankly. “And I miss my parents too.”

He nodded. “I know.”  He paused. “I would send you to visit your parents,” he offered slowly, “but I am worried that there might be some unknown danger in the woods. I still have not learned what brought the Dwarves there.”

She patted his arm.  “I had thought to go to them, but I do not like to leave when things are so unsettled.”  He smiled at her still, but he narrowed his eyes slightly, and she knew he had not missed her meaning:  If she wished to visit her parents, she would.  Celuwen admired and even loved Thranduil, but she had no intention of letting him govern every move she made any more than she would let Eilian do it.  If he commanded her as king, she would do as he said, but other than that, her decisions were her own, as they had been for years before she married Eilian.

“Have I told you lately what a good match you are for Eilian?” Thranduil asked lightly.

She grinned.  “I try to be a dutiful wife to him, my lord,” she said demurely, and he threw back his head and laughed.

“I fear I must go and read petitions now,” he said, with what sounded like a sigh.  They turned and entered the antechamber.  A sudden flicker of shadowy movement caught Celuwen’s eye, and she turned her head sharply toward where a small table stood, just as the Great Doors slammed shut behind them.  The vase on the table tipped over, rolled off the table, and crashed to the floor.  An attendant gave a small cry and ran to collect the pieces, while Celuwen stood frowning at the table.  The rush of air from the Doors must have knocked the vase over, she thought uncertainly.  It must have been lighter than it looked.

***

Legolas had just dismissed the last of the day patrols when Amdir came rushing back into the building.  “Legolas! Ithilden and his party just rode into the green, and you will not believe what people are saying! They say the enemy has left Dol Guldur!”

Legolas stared at him for a moment in open-mouthed disbelief. Then he tore out the door and ran pell mell toward the green, with Amdir at his heels.  Even before he reached it, he could hear the stamping and whinnying of horses and the murmuring voices of a gathering of Elves. He burst from the trees to see that Amdir had spoken truly.  Ithilden’s party had dismounted on the green and was being welcomed by swarm of family, friends, and seemingly everyone from miles around.  The Great Doors stood open, and Ithilden and Alfirin were wrapped in one another’s arms not twenty feet away from Legolas.  Thranduil stood next to them, with his head bent to listen to his chief adviser, Thrior, who had accompanied Ithilden to the White Council meeting.

Heedless of the fact that he was interrupting, Legolas rushed up to them. “Is it true?” he panted.  “Has Sauron left Dol Guldur?”  Thranduil looked up at him, and he belatedly put his hand over his heart and bowed.  “I beg your pardon, my lord, but is it true?”

“It is,” put in Ithilden, standing now with his arm around the shoulders of Alfirin, who was wiping tears from her face.  “The White Council drove him out. They do not know where he went, but he is gone from the dark tower.”

Legolas felt a sudden strong need to sit down.  Sauron’s occupation of Dol Guldur and the resulting spread of Shadow in the Woodland Realm were facts around which his whole life had been structured.  He had never known a world in which he did not believe it to be his duty to take up the defense of his father’s people.  The sudden change was almost as bewildering as it was longed-for.

“What does it mean?” he asked. “What will happen now?”

“That we do not know,” said Thranduil, looking as stunned as Legolas had ever seen him.  “We will have to wait and see.  But almost certainly our struggle will be made easier if we have only Sauron’s creatures to deal with and not him.  Come,” he gestured toward the steps leading into the palace.  “I think some celebratory cups of wine are in order.”

They started toward the Doors, but their progress was interrupted when Todith stopped in front of Ithilden and clasped arms with him.  “I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you home, my lord,” he said fervently.  Legolas nearly laughed out loud.  Ithilden’s family was overjoyed to see him, but Legolas thought that the Home Guard captain might be happier yet.  Tomorrow he would let Ithilden take command of the troops again and would himself resume running the Home Guard with Legolas as his lieutenant.  Legolas felt a momentary pang of regret.  To his surprise, he had actually enjoyed planning the Home Guard’s patrols and analyzing their reports.  Still, he did not think he would mind turning responsibility for the Dwarves and the spider hunts over to Todith.  Thranduil was still wrought up about both matters, and Legolas had found it a strain to deal with his father as an officer would deal with his king.

They climbed the steps and entered the antechamber, and as they did so, the Great Doors swung shut behind them. Ithilden glanced back in surprise.  “Why are you sealing the Doors?”

“That is a story for tomorrow,” answered Thranduil. “Tonight, we are simply glad to have you home again bringing news so happy it is almost overwhelming.”  He led them toward the doorway to the hall in which the family apartments were located. Legolas was last in the group, and he was just passing through the doorway when the feel of something unexpectedly brushing against his arm made him jump.  He spun, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, but he could see nothing. The warriors standing guard at the doorway both looked at him in surprise.  He smiled a little sheepishly at them and then hastened after his father.  His nerves must have been even more on edge than he had realized.