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Legolas's Begetting Day  by daw the minstrel

Disclaimer:  I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they belong to him.  I gain no profit from their use other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

2. Escape

Eilian looked with dismay at the three alert faces sending calculated gazes his way. He had planned to spend the next day with Legolas, whom Thranduil had freed from all lessons because it was his begetting day. Thranduil and Ithilden would not be able to spend time with him because their duties could not easily be set aside, and anyway, Eilian enjoyed playing with Legolas. But tonight he had been hoping to engage in play of a different kind.

“You do not have to watch us, Eilian,” said Legolas. “We will just stay in my room.” Turgon and Annael brightened and nodded in agreement.

Eilian stiffened as memory of the little scene in Legolas’s room flashed into his head. Legolas and his friends were plainly engaged in some project for which they wanted privacy, and that meant trouble. Eilian never objected to getting into a little entertaining trouble himself, but he did not like to see Legolas in trouble. Moreover, if these three got into mischief while Eilian was supposed to be watching them, then Thranduil would blame him, not them, and Eilian objected very much to that. He needed to think of something for the elflings to do that would keep them both out of his way and out of trouble.

In his mind’s eye, he suddenly saw his mother smiling down at him and his friends Gelmir and Celuwen. Several of his mother’s friends were behind her, seated at a table, drinking tea. “How about a treasure hunt?” she asked.

He grinned at the three elflings. “How would you like to have a treasure hunt?”

They blinked uncertainly. “A treasure hunt?” Legolas asked.

“Yes. I will hide some things and give you clues to find them. If you find them all, you win!”

“What do we win?” Turgon asked, plainly interested.

Eilian cast about for something these three would value. “I will take you all to the waterfall to swim tomorrow.” Legolas’s face lit up, as Eilian had expected it would. He loved the waterfall.

“We have sword training and lessons,” Annael said doubtfully.

“I am sure I can get Thelion to release you from the sword training session,” Eilian said, “and I will speak to your parents about the lessons. If you cannot get out of those, we will go early and be back by the time you need to be at them.”

Annael’s and Turgon’s eyes widened, and then their faces split into big grins. “No lessons!” Turgon cried.

“I will try,” Eilian cautioned, but the three of them were already wiggling in their chairs with excitement. He sighed and fervently hoped he could talk their parents and tutors into letting them off for a day. Surely Turgon’s tutor at least would be only too glad to allow it. “Go and wait in Legolas’s room while I get the treasure hunt ready,” he instructed. “I will come and get you when it is time.”

They jumped to their feet and ran toward the door. Then, at the last minute, Annael turned, ran back to the table, and grabbed his wadded up napkin. He threw an apologetic smile to the startled Eilian, and then followed Legolas and Turgon out into the hall, where Eilian could hear them squealing with glee as they ran toward Legolas’s room. For a moment or two, Eilian puzzled about what Annael might be planning to do with the napkin, but then he shrugged the incident off as one of the inexplicable things elflings did and went to send a servant to escort Amelith to the palace. He wondered if she would be annoyed at their change of plans. She had been set on going to sing with some of her friends who were planning to spend the evening near the river. Ah, well. He could do nothing about that. Then he turned to the business of the hunt. Now what shall I use for treasure? he asked himself.

***

Legolas pushed open the door to his room and ran in, heading straight for the shrouded mouse house. He dropped to his knees, lifted the towel, and was disappointed to find that none of the mice was in sight. “They must have heard us coming,” Annael said, crouching down beside him. “We should put food out for them.”

“Good idea,” Legolas agreed, and the three of them pulled out all the various bits of food they had brought and piled them into the middle of the walled-in area. They sat back on their heels to watch for the mice.

“Maybe they are sleeping,” Legolas said after a while. He leaned forward to peer into the crevices in the wall. “Here, Blue-y!” he called. Nothing happened, and after a moment, Turgon picked up one of the rocks on top of the wall and banged it onto the one below it. Legolas watched eagerly, expecting the mice to come scurrying into sight, but still nothing happened. A horrible thought suddenly struck him. “Could they have run away?” he demanded.

He looked at his friends and saw their faces crumple in dismay. Hastily, Turgon turned to the mouse house and began pulling stones off the wall. Legolas and Annael rushed to help. They dug down through the stones until they had pulled the house completely apart, and the conclusion was inescapable: The mice were not there. “Where could they be?” Legolas cried, jumping to his feet and looking frantically around his room.

Turgon ran toward the bed and squatted down to peer under it. “Here, Red-y!” Legolas crawled toward the nearby wardrobe, scanning its dusty underside, and Annael ran to paw through Nimloth’s sewing basket, but none of them found what they sought.

“There are so many places in your room where they could be!” Turgon moaned.

“We have to keep the door shut,” Legolas declared and darted toward where it stood ajar to close it firmly. “Keep looking.” They bent to their task again.

***

Eilian sang softly to himself as he wandered down the corridor, looking for a likely place to hide the “treasure” he carried. A trip to the waterfall tomorrow would be pleasant, he thought contentedly, and the elflings would amuse him, assuming he could keep them from drowning themselves.

He smiled suddenly as he realized that nineteen years ago this day, he had been sheltering behind a waterfall.  When he had left his patrol to make the two-day trip home for Legolas’s birth, Maltanaur, his bodyguard, had for once not had to remind him that they were supposed to avoid trouble on the way. He was worried about his mother, and he wanted to be home when the baby came. The first day of travel had been uneventful. He and Maltanaur had ridden with their bows in hand, but they had seen no danger until most of the way through the first night, well into Eilian’s half of the watch.

~*~*~

Nineteen years and about seventeen hours earlier

Eilian leaned back against the trunk of the oak in which he was perched, his eyes on the stars he could glimpse through leaves that clustered thickly overhead. The trees were noticeably healthier here than in his patrol’s territory, he thought a little wistfully. Since coming of age ten years ago, he had spent almost all of his time fighting in the south. He liked the excitement of constant battle, but he missed hearing the sleepy nighttime murmur of flourishing trees. The position of the stars told him that it would be several hours yet before dawn would break and they could safely continue their journey. He wondered how his mother was doing. She had been exceedingly tired when he had last been home on leave. He knew she was thrilled about this pregnancy, but he was not sure it was good for her.

Suddenly, the tree in which he sat seemed to stir, and a whisper of something different slid into its song. He stiffened, listened, and then sniffed the night air. There! What was that? From somewhere not too far away came the sound of tramping feet. Instantly, he was on the ground, rousing Maltanaur with his hand over his bodyguard’s mouth. With the ease of an experienced warrior, Maltanaur came alert, his eyes focused on Eilian’s and his hand reaching for his bow. Eilian pointed in the direction from which the noise came, and Maltanaur listened and then nodded. They had kept any belongings they were not using in their packs and had not lit a fire, so in less than thirty seconds, they were up into the trees with everything they owned. Except for their horses, of course, but there was nothing they could do about them, and the horses were smart enough to fend for themselves if they had to.

Side by side, they crouched in the oak and waited. The pounding of Eilian’s heart sounded loud in his own ears, and then it was drowned out as first one, then another, and then a steady stream of Orcs began flowing through the forest beneath them. Eilian’s fingers tightened on his bow, but Maltanaur put a restraining hand on his arm, and he loosened them again. Maltanaur was right. The two of them would be no match for the sixty or seventy Orcs in this band. He would have to tell Ithilden about them as soon as he got home and let his brother send troops to hunt them down.

Still, he could not help but wonder where they were going. They had the look of a patrol on the hunt. As the number of Orcs beneath them began to dwindle again, Eilian glanced at Maltanaur and then pointed in the direction in which the Orcs were traveling. Not surprisingly, Maltanaur frowned and shook his head. He was responsible for Eilian’s safety and was not inclined to take risks with it, a fact that sometimes frustrated Eilian no end. He liked Maltanaur and had to admit he had learned much from him, but he could not understand why his father was so protective of him that he had to have a bodyguard. He leaned close and spoke in Maltanaur’s ear. “We need to see what they are up to. We will not engage them, but we have to know what to tell Ithilden.”

Maltanaur hesitated, plainly torn between considerations of Eilian’s safety and the duty they both had as warriors. With obvious reluctance, he finally nodded, and before he could change his mind, Eilian started through the treetops, following along behind the Orc band. He and Maltanaur kept the Orcs in sight easily, moving between the branches far more quickly than the Orcs could move on the ground. After half an hour or so, Eilian realized that the band was veering north from their original heading, as if they had a specific destination. He tried to remember everything that he knew lay in this part of his father’s realm, and a chilling thought occurred to him. There was a small settlement about five miles north of where they were, and the Orcs were traveling straight toward it.

He stopped in the branch of a birch tree, knowing that Maltanaur was watching him closely enough that he would need no signal in order to stop too. His minder leapt from a nearby branch to the one on which Eilian stood. “The settlement,” Eilian murmured.

Maltanaur nodded grimly. “I know.” He bit his lip and stared in the direction the Orcs had taken.

Eilian hesitated. They needed to do something to protect the settlement, he resolved, and Maltanaur was not going to prevent it in the name of protecting him. “We need to stop them.”

To Eilian’s surprise, Maltanaur nodded again. He turned to look at Eilian with his face set, and Eilian suddenly recalled all the years that Maltanaur had been a warrior, long before Eilian was even born. Maltanaur knew exactly what Orcs would do to the settlement.

Eilian drew a deep breath. What could the two of them do against so many Orcs? He tried to think of what might be most useful. It would be easy enough for him and Maltanaur to get ahead of the Orcs and warn the settlement, but while the settlers might have a few former warriors among them, they would not have enough to stop a band this size, even with Eilian and Maltanaur’s help.

Maltanaur had evidently been pondering some of the same options Eilian had, because he turned to Eilian and said, “We need to divert them, to lead them away from the settlement.” Now it was Eilian’s turn to nod. Diverting the Orcs was the only plausible solution and he was grateful that Maltanaur had decided that, despite his youth and his status as Thranduil’s son, he was a warrior first, and Maltanaur’s charge second. It was a decision that his minder did not always easily make.

Now that Maltanaur had decided that, however, he drew on his considerable experience to suggest a course of action. “We need to be tempting targets. What is more, we need to be targets they think they can hit. They are not going to turn aside for two warriors who can easily outstrip them in a flight through the trees.” He thought for a moment. “We need to get ahead of them and pretend to be a group of settlers who are out in the woods at night. Then we need to lead them away.”

Eilian’s heart quickened at this suggestion. Putting it into action was likely to be dangerous but exciting. “What about our weapons? Shall we leave them?”

“No!” Maltanaur was shocked. “Just before we leave the trees, we will conceal them under our cloaks as best we can. From a distance, they will not be able to tell. And, Eilian,” he caught Eilian’s gaze and held it. “We will stay at a distance. Do you understand?”

Eilian smiled faintly at him. “Are you implying I might do something foolish?” Maltanaur snorted. Eilian laughed quietly and then turned and set off after the Orcs, moving as quickly as he could. The further the Orcs were from the settlement when they found them, the happier he would be. They soon caught up the band and, taking no chances, circled around them rather than going over their heads to reach a position not far in front of them. They paused, removed their bows, quivers, and cloaks, and then replaced the bows and quivers and draped their cloaks over them.

“If you have to shoot, just get rid of the cloak,” Maltanaur said, and Eilian nodded. The thought that he was about to jump to the ground in front of approaching Orcs with no weapons in his hands made his stomach flutter. In all truth, he could hardly believe that Maltanaur was allowing it. But then, as he had realized earlier, his keeper had been a warrior for a long time; he had seen the results of more Orc attacks than Eilian could imagine. Or wanted to imagine, he corrected soberly. The heavy tramping of Orc feet came drifting on the night breeze. “Now,” said Maltanaur, and the two of them swung down from the sheltering trees.

Maltanaur immediately began running in a zigzag pattern, leaving as wide a trail as he could. And to Eilian’s surprise, he also began to sing, praising the beauty of the woods at night in a pleasant, melodic baritone. Eilian suppressed a laugh and jumped to follow him, trying to leave a trail that would suggest he was at least ten Elves and singing to make sure the Orcs noticed them. For a moment, the noise of the Orcs’ approach became confused, as if those in the lead had stopped or were no longer sure which direction to take. Then the steady tramp started up again, faster this time, and coming in their direction.

For a few breathless moments, he and Maltanaur ran from side to side but stayed more or less where they were, waiting for the Orcs to draw close enough that they could lead them away. As the noise the band was making told them it was approaching, Eilian tensed and found himself clutching the bow that he held concealed under his cloak. How odd it felt not to be getting ready to shoot. Suddenly, a black-fletched arrow whistled past his head and the chase was on in earnest.

For the next stretch of time, he darted in and out among the trees, letting himself be seen and then concealing himself again, aware always of the sound and brief glimpses of Maltanaur doing the same thing. His keeper must be frantic at the idea that he was far enough away from Eilian that he could not shield him, Eilian thought with a certain grim enjoyment. He jumped into a tree, moved a short distance ahead, and then jumped to the ground, shouting as if in fear and hoping that the Orcs would think he was a different Elf than the one they had just glimpsed. He ducked behind a tree, and an arrow thunked into it. An Orc howled in frustration.

“Get them!” came a guttural shout. “They cannot be allowed to warn the others.”

A noise off to his right caught his attention, and he became aware that for some time now he had heard Orcs to either side of them and not just behind them. They needed to move a little more quickly; it would not do to let the Orcs actually catch them, he thought with a shudder. And then, abruptly, he also realized that the Orcs to their right were pressing closer while those to the left were giving way so that he and Maltanaur and their imaginary companions were gradually being driven in one direction. What was there? he wondered frantically, trying to recall what he knew about this part of the woods.

He pictured the settlement and the territory around it. He had once been here on a camping trip with his novice group. There was a stream in that direction he thought. It flowed out of a rocky ravine and ran away to the ForestRiver in the north. And even as he remembered the stream, he thought, the ravine! They are trying to drive us into the ravine where we will not be able to hide among the trees or escape into them.

And then, to his left, he caught a glimpse of someone falling. For a second, the world stopped and he froze. An arrow sailed past him so close that it tore his cloak. Then he drew in a long breath and ran toward the crumpled figure of Maltanaur. Arrows flew past him, accompanied by Orcish shouts, but he ignored them all. He had to get to Maltanaur before the pursuing Orcs did. He arrived just as his keeper was trying to pull himself upright again, but Eilian could see the blood flowing from the wound in his thigh and knew that Maltanaur was not going to be able to walk on his own. The only saving grace was that the arrow had not lodged in the wound but had apparently slid along the thigh, cutting it deeply. Eilian glanced back and saw the Orcs closing in, and without a second’s hesitation, he flung off his cloak, seized his bow, and sent half a dozen arrows into their pursuers, who suddenly halted and scrambled for cover.

“Get out of here, you fool!” Maltanaur admonished, but Eilian ignored him, shouldered his bow, caught Maltanaur up in his arms, and set off running. For a second, he wondered if he could get into the treetops and travel that way, even carrying Maltanaur, but he dismissed the idea. Reaching for handhold would be just too difficult, even if he flung his keeper over his shoulder, and the chance of falling or dropping Maltanaur would be just too great. He settled for seeking a path where the trees were thickest, as arrows began to whistle past them again.

But he also realized that they were still being driven toward the ravine, and they would not have the shelter of the trees for much longer. Moreover, Maltanaur’s wound was bleeding and Orcs could follow the scent of blood better than any creatures Eilian had ever seen. What could he do? he wondered frantically. He could hear the sound of rushing water and knew they must be approaching the stream, which was swollen from the spring rains and snow melt. And suddenly, an idea struck him, and he pushed himself to run even faster, drawing out a lead on the Orcs and, he hoped, making them lose sight of him, at least for a few moments. The noise the Orcs made told him they were still in pursuit, however, for now that they had scented blood, they were unlikely to surrender their prey. Panting for breath, he splashed into the icy water, with Maltanaur still conscious and still scolding him. “Eilian, put me down and get into the trees!”

Eilian ignored him and ran up the stream toward the ravine, for he had remembered something about this stream’s origin, and he hoped that the water would hide the scent of their passing and especially the scent of Maltanaur’s blood. Ahead of him, he could see the trees dwindling away where the ground became rocky. He strained his ears and then he heard the sound he had been seeking: the roar of a waterfall tumbling over the rocks. His arms straining with his burden and his legs and lungs straining from his run, he tore forward, hoping that the sound of the waterfall would hide the noise of him splashing along. The trees disappeared and, still in the stream, he ran into the ravine and toward the waterfall. He could hear Orcs behind him, but he thought that he and Maltanaur were hidden from sight among the rocks of the ravine. He had to get them into hiding before the Orcs approached.

He ran through the falling water, flinching at its icy touch, set Maltanaur down on the narrow ledge behind the falls, and then scrambled up onto the slippery shelf of rock. Maltanaur’s face was chalk white, and he clutched at his leg. Being moved must have been agonizing, Eilian thought, and felt for the emergency healing kit at his belt. But he dropped his hand from the kit and seized his bow again, because now he could hear Orcs pouring into the ravine, scattering among the rocks and seeking them. He held absolutely still, scarcely daring to breathe, and Maltanaur bit his lip, suppressing any sound of pain he might otherwise have made. He could not see the Orcs through the water and trusted that the Orcs could not see them.

“We lost 'em,” an Orc growled from about six feet away, making Eilian jump. He brought his bowstring to a full draw and stood over Maltanaur, straining to catch any glimpse of an Orc penetrating their hiding place. A second Orc cursed, and then the first one, who seemed to be an officer, said, “We might as well spend the day in the caves we found the last time we were here. The sun is about to come up, curse it.”

Eilian suppressed a gasp of dismay. If the Orcs spent the day in this ravine, he and Maltanaur would be trapped. Most of the Orcs would sleep, but they would post sentries at the mouths of their dens, and it would be all but impossible to get past them. But maybe they could, he thought.  And then they could make a run for it. The Orcs would not follow them in broad daylight.

From the other side of the cascading water, he could hear the Orcs snapping and snarling at one another as they sought shelter in the many small caves that dotted the edge of this ravine. He relaxed his draw, crouched down next to Maltanaur, and pulled out his healing kit. Maltanaur was leaning back with his eyes closed, but Eilian thought he was still conscious, and indeed, Maltanaur let out a soft hiss as Eilian began cleaning and binding the wound on his leg. They needed to be ready to move as soon as they could.

***

Eilian knocked on the door of Legolas’s room and then, remembering his little brother’s admonition, he waited to be given permission to enter. He grinned to himself again, wondering just what the elflings had been up to. The door opened about six inches, and Legolas peered through the gap, with his feet jammed between the door and the frame. Eilian blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Legolas declared firmly.

Eilian could not help laughing. Watching Legolas, he now understood why his parents had always reacted so suspiciously to that answer. “The treasure hunt is ready.”

Legolas hesitated. “We have something to do first.”

Eilian frowned. “I think perhaps you had better come and do the treasure hunt,” he said. Letting Legolas and his friends pursue their own ends in the privacy of Legolas’s room seemed unwise to him.

“My lord,” one of the servants spoke and Eilian turned.

“Yes?”

“Mistress Amelith is here. She is waiting for you in the sitting room.”

Eilian nodded, dismissing the servant, and then turned back to Legolas. “I have to go and greet my guest now, brat. You can have five minutes. Then I want to see all three of you in the sitting room.”

“Very well,” Legolas conceded reluctantly. He closed the door. Eilian stared at it for a moment, wondering what was happening on the other side. Then he turned to go toward the sitting room. A swift motion caught his eye, and he looked quickly toward the chest that stood in the hall. He blinked and shook his head. He must be seeing things. He could have sworn a mouse with a brown ribbon on its tail had just run behind the chest.

 





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