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Good Neighbors  by daw the minstrel

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

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6. Comings and Goings

Eilian patted his horse’s neck, and the animal stamped his foot and snorted. “You seem anxious to be off,” Eilian laughed. “In truth, Meldir, so am I.” Eilian had exercised the horse regularly once the healers had allowed him back on his feet, but Meldir had spent far more time in the stable that he usually did, and like Eilian, he was feeling confined. He had pricked his ears up with interest the minute Eilian had appeared with a pack flung over his arm.

“And what, may I ask, is this all about?” asked a skeptical voice behind him.

Eilian grinned and turned to face the older Elf who stood behind him, dressed for travel and looking annoyed. “Good afternoon to you too, Maltanaur.”

His bodyguard snorted, sounding remarkably like Meldir. “My wife was looking forward to having me home for an evening meal for a change, before I joined one of the Home Guard patrols tonight.”

“This will be better than a Home Guard patrol,” Eilian told him cheerily. “We are going after the Orcs that attacked the Esgaroth patrol four days ago.”

Maltanaur blinked. “Who is? You and I? I do not believe that Ithilden would allow any such thing.”

“We will be accompanying you,” said a new voice, and Eilian turned to see Elladan and Elrohir approaching from the other end of the stable, where Thranduil’s guests’ horses were cared for. “And we will ask the Esgaroth soldiers in the area to join us,” Elladan went on.

Maltanaur looked from one twin to the other with slightly narrowed eyes. “I have seen you on the training field,” he said, a little stiffly. He bowed and introduced himself. “Maltanaur. I am this one’s keeper.” He jerked his head toward Eilian, who smiled and looked up at the rafters.

“I am Elladan. This is Elrohir.” The twins inclined their heads. “We were told we could expect you, and we are sorry to take you away from home so late in the day, but we did not want to waste time and allow our prey yet more time to elude us.”

Eilian’s smile deepened. Although the twins had obviously chafed at the situation, Ithilden had indeed “told” them all that they would wait for Maltanaur before they left. Judging from the long session that Ithilden had had in Thranduil’s office, Eilian suspected that their father had objected to this mission, even with Maltanaur going along. Despite the faith in him that Ithilden had shown by appointing him as this patrol’s leader and the considerable weaponry skill that the twins had exhibited, Eilian knew that he would never have been allowed to undertake this Orc hunt without his bodyguard to watch his back.

Maltanaur eyed Elladan appraisingly. “Are you in command, my lord?”

“No,” Eilian interposed at last. “I am.”

Maltanaur turned to look at him with one eyebrow raised. Then he sighed. “As always, I look forward to serving with you, Captain.”

Eilian nearly laughed. He knew perfectly well that Maltanaur was speaking for the benefit of the twins, not him. “Shall we go?” He led his horse toward the open door of the stable, with the others following him. As they emerged into the cool sunlight of the autumn afternoon, he spotted the very person he had been looking for earlier. “Wait just a moment,” he told his companions and trotted over to where Legolas stood with his friends, their heads bent together in conversation.

“Legolas,” he said from a few feet away, and all three of them jumped and turned to look at him with alarm on their faces. He stopped in his tracks. “If you three are plotting something, you will have to learn to look cooler than that!” he laughed.

“We are not plotting something,” Legolas protested.

Eilian grinned. “Whatever you say, brat.” He knew better than to embrace Legolas in front of his friends, so he contented himself with ruffling his hair. “I wanted to say good-bye. I am going to be away for a few days.”

“Where are you going?”

“On a special mission for Ithilden,” Eilian said. Legolas frowned slightly. “Do not worry,” Eilian reassured him hastily. “I will be back before you know it.”

“Take care,” said Legolas, with the pucker still between his brows.

“I promise I will,” Eilian said and found that he meant it. He had curbed his behavior more than once at the thought of Legolas’s reaction should anything happen to him. He turned and ran back to where Maltanaur and the twins waited. “My little brother,” he told the twins, with a grin, as he swung up onto horse’s back. Then he urged the animal forward, and they set off to get as far as they could this day, planning that in the morning, they would search out the Esgaroth soldiers who had been left to hunt for the bodies of their dead.

***

Legolas’s eyes followed Eilian as he hurried back toward where some other warriors waited for him, mounted, and rode off in a clatter of hooves. A little anxiously, Legolas wondered where his brother was off to this time. Eilian had been evasive about his mission, and he was never like that unless he was doing something dangerous.

“Legolas, did you hear me?” Turgon’s tone suggested that this was not the first time he had tried to get Legolas’s attention.

Legolas tore his eyes away from where Eilian had just disappeared among the trees. “What did you say?”

“We will need to feed him,” Turgon said. “I can take some food without my naneth noticing, but not enough. Can you bring some to our sword lesson tomorrow morning?”

“Probably,” Legolas agreed, dragging his mind back to the business at hand with an effort. He was not sure how he would do it yet, but the palace fed so many people that there was always food to be had.

“I do not think I can bring food from home,” Annael said, sounding a little worried, “and foraging is hard unless I can get a little way off into the forest.” Legolas thought Annael was probably right. His mother kept an eye on what he ate and on what Legolas ate too, when he visited there.

“Turgon and I can do it,” Legolas assured him. He ran his thumbs under the straps of his pack. “I should probably go now. I hope all goes well tonight, Turgon.” Turgon nodded, and he and Annael started down the path that would take them to their families’ cottages, while Legolas turned and made his way to the palace.

When he went through the Great Doors, he found his father just crossing the antechamber, and to Legolas’s delight, a bearded figure who could only be Mithrandir was by his side. In the pleasures of the camping trip and the excitement of finding the boy, Legolas had forgotten that the wizard was visiting.

Thranduil broke into a smile upon seeing him. “Welcome home, iôn-nín.” He drew Legolas into an embrace. “Did you have a good trip?”

“Yes. We saw bear claw marks.” Legolas decided that it would be better to avoid going into greater detail about the camping trip. He felt guilty that he was keeping the news about Rodda from his father, and Thranduil had an alarming ability to tell when Legolas was hiding something. “Mae govannen,” Legolas bowed politely to the visitor.

Thranduil smiled. “Ah yes. This is not quite the first time you have met our guest, but you probably do not remember him from the last time. Mithrandir, you remember Legolas.”

Mithrandir inclined his head. “Mae govannen, Legolas.”

“Legolas,” said Thranduil, “you will be happy to know that Mithrandir is going to dine privately with you, me, and Ithilden tonight.”

Legolas immediately thought of the scene by the stable. “Where has Eilian gone?”

“He went with the sons of Elrond to meet some of the Men of Esgaroth,” Thranduil answered easily. “Go and bathe and then come join Mithrandir and me in the sitting room.”

Legolas knew that his father was not telling him everything, but then he seldom did. He went obediently off to ready himself for the evening meal, and when he entered the family sitting room an hour or so later, he found his father and Mithrandir sitting near the fire, with cups of wine in hand.

“Come and sit down, child,” Thranduil invited, pouring a little wine and a great deal of water into a cup that Legolas accepted before seating himself on a low stool near Mithrandir. The wizard smelled of exotic smoke, suddenly evoking in Legolas vague memories of lying in the grass in the garden watching shapes made of smoke float through the air. He had had his hand on his father’s foot, he thought suddenly. The elegant shoe had felt smooth beneath his fingers as he slid them back and forth.

Mithrandir smiled at him, and he found himself watching the way the wizard’s extravagant grey beard moved as his mouth did. “I understand you like stories about distant lands,” Mithrandir said, and Legolas nodded, a little shyly. His favorite lessons came on the days when his tutor gave him things to read about Arda’s faraway places.

“Did you come from Imladris?” he asked eagerly, thinking that the fact that Mithrandir had arrived in the company of the sons of Elrond made that likely.

“I did,” Mithrandir said, exchanging a small, uninterpretable glance with Thranduil, who, to Legolas’s surprise, had stilled at his question. Was something wrong with talking about Imladris?

“What is it like?” Legolas asked, his curiosity overcoming his confusion. “Did you see Glorfindel and Master Elrond?” He would have given almost anything to meet these legendary figures from his lesson books.

“Imladris is beautiful,” Mithrandir said, “and peaceful in a way that almost no place else is these days. It is full of the music of voices and falling water.” He smiled at Legolas. “As I recall, your adar missed the great forest here when he was in Imladris, and I suppose you might feel the same way, but those who need healing find it in the house of Elrond Half-elven if it is to be had anywhere east of the sea.” As he finished speaking, a shadow flitted over his face, but it was gone almost before Legolas had noticed it, and he could not really be sure it had been there.

The door opened, and Ithilden entered the room. “Good evening,” he greeted them all and then poured wine for himself. At a nod from Thranduil, he sat down. “I have heard from Esgaroth that they have made no progress in learning who attacked the raft.”

Thranduil nodded curtly. “That does not surprise me. A villain could hide quite well among his fellows in Esgaroth. There are times when I wonder whether there is such a thing as a ‘good’ Man left.”

“Men are a mixed lot,” Ithilden agreed carefully. “But they have been our allies in the past, and I believe we can be allies again.”

“I do not doubt that we can become allies,” Thranduil said sharply. “I only ask whether doing so will cost us too much.”

Legolas looked from Ithilden to Thranduil and back again. Something in their tone was faintly off. If Eilian had been here instead of Ithilden, Legolas would have assumed that he and Thranduil had quarreled and were trying to keep that fact from him. But Ithilden and Thranduil never quarreled. Legolas could not imagine what this was about.

Thranduil took a drink of his wine. “I do not see Men leaping to our aid,” he added.

“And yet,” said Mithrandir mildly, “Elrond has foreseen that one of the descendants of Isildur will play a great part in the last deeds of this age.”

Thranduil eyed him. “I had not heard that before.”

Mithrandir smiled. “It is worth thinking about, do you not agree?”

A rap sounded at the door and a servant appeared. Thranduil rose. “I see that our meal is ready. Come. Legolas says he saw the marks of bear claws while on this trip. Perhaps he will tell us more about them.”

Legolas had risen when his father did, and he tried to look eager at the idea of talking about his trip. He would just have to be careful, he though dismally. His father had asked whether helping Men was costly, and when Legolas thought about helping Rodda, he had to agree that that was a good question. But how could he refuse to help this warrior child whose parents were both dead? He shuddered slightly and did not pull away when Thranduil put his arm around his shoulders, even if he was too big to be hugged in public.

***

“I will leave you here,” said Ithilden, his attention apparently on the slender form of Tonduil’s sister as she waved to Tonduil and then walked toward the path that would take her home. Without waiting for an answer, he hurried off, leaving Legolas thoroughly irritated. Ithilden had happened to leave home at the same time Legolas had that morning and had dropped into stride with him to walk to the training fields together. Legolas has feared he would ask what was in the small sack of apples he carried and had had to prepare an almost non-lie about sharing with his friends after class. Fortunately, Ithilden had seemed preoccupied and had not noticed the sack.

Legolas trotted over to where Turgon stood, idly swinging his practice sword and watching Galelas and Annael select their swords from the rack. “How did it go?” Legolas asked, keeping his voice down as much as his eagerness would allow.

“He is in Amelas’s cottage. I took him some bread this morning.” Turgon’s eyes flashed with excitement. He was enjoying himself mightily.

“I brought apples.” Legolas stowed the sack carefully in the embrace of the roots of the oak near which they always gathered.

“We will go and see him right after class,” Turgon said quickly, as Annael came up to them, trailed by Galelas.

“Did you hear that Orcs attacked some of the Mannish soldiers a few days ago?” Galelas asked, his eyes wide with the thrill of his story. “My brother told me that the Orcs surprised them. He is in the Eastern Border Patrol, and he came home on leave last night.”

Legolas’s stomach twisted at the mention of Orcs. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Some of the Men were killed,” said Galelas, “but none of our warriors was hurt. My brother says the Men must have been careless.”

Legolas found that he rather hoped Galelas’s brother was right. Surely Ithilden’s warriors were never careless and thus would never let Orcs surprise them. The arrival of the sword master interrupted his worries.

“Get a sword, Legolas,” called the sword master, as he approached. “It is time to start.” Legolas hastened to try to find a practice sword with a balance he liked and fell into line between Turgon and Annael for the footwork drill they always did at the start of class. He lifted his sword into the standard guard position and stood with his knees slightly bent, his weight on the balls of his feet, and his right foot a step in front of his left. The sword master walked down the line, checking their stances. He nudged Legolas’s left foot with his own, angling it a tiny bit further outward. Then he moved aside and ordered, “Advance. Again.”

In a line with the other students, Legolas moved his right foot forward, recovered the distance with his left, and then repeated the movement.

“Sidestep left,” ordered the master. “Sidestep right.” Legolas shuffled rapidly over the ground.

“Retreat.” The master spat the orders out quickly now. “Pass back. Pass forward.”

Legolas automatically stepped back with his left foot and covered the space with his right, sword held ready to block any blow from an imaginary opponent. He stepped back and forward again, changing his stance.

“Jump advance.”

He stepped forward slightly on his left foot, sprang lightly, and switched his feet quickly, landing with his knees softly bent.

“Defensive stance,” the master ordered, and Legolas stepped back with his left foot and slid into a defensive pose. He looked at the master, motionless, waiting for any correction.

The master nodded. “Good. Be careful not to let your feet cross when you sidestep, Tonduil. Let me see you do it.” Tonduil screwed his face up in concentration as he shuffled left and right. The master nodded again and then began issuing directions for the set of sword forms on which they were currently working.

Ordinarily, Legolas enjoyed sword training, especially the sparring in which they engaged for the last part of class, but today he found it hard to concentrate as his thoughts kept darting to the boy, hidden away nearby. The master set him to spar with Isendir, who was small but very quick. He found himself retreating repeatedly and was scolded for inattention just before the class ended.

With relief, he slid his practice sword into the rack, ran to get the sack of apples, and looked around for Turgon and Annael. They exchanged a single, wordless look and then began walking hastily toward Turgon’s cottage, breaking into a trot before they were a hundred feet away from the field.

Turgon led them around to the back of his own cottage and through a small stand of trees to the next one. He knocked twice on the back door and then thrust it open to enter the dark hallway that ran down the center of the cottage. “It is us Rodda,” he called, darting through the first doorway on the left into what proved to be a sleeping chamber. The shutters were closed, but even in the dim light that filtered through the chinks between them, Legolas could see that the narrow bed and a small chest were still there, although the bed had been stripped of its blankets. He assumed they had been given to neighbors when the cottage’s owner departed for over the seas.

And there was Rodda, standing tensely next to the bed with his bow in his hand and a standard training arrow fitted to the string. When he saw them, he lowered the bow and the tightness in his face eased slightly. For a long moment, they all stood staring silently at one another. “I brought you some apples,” Legolas said, holding out the sack.

Rodda hesitated for only a second before propping his bow against the wall next to his quiver and all but snatching the sack. “Thank you,” he mumbled around a mouthful of apple.

Legolas watched in fascination as the boy wolfed down the fruit. Annael’s eyes were wide too, but Turgon had evidently achieved some degree of comfort around the boy on his trip to retrieve him the previous night and settled cross-legged to the floor. Suddenly aware that he was staring, Legolas sat down next to Turgon, and after a second, Annael followed suit. With the last apple in his hand, Rodda sat on the bed, his eyes running over the three of them.

“Are you really a soldier?” Turgon asked abruptly, making Legolas bite his lip at the way Rodda flinched at the question. Like Turgon, Legolas wanted to know more than Rodda had told them the previous day, but the boy’s discomfort in talking about whatever had sent him into hiding in the woods was obvious to Legolas, even if it was not to Turgon.

“I’m a squire,” Rodda answered, a little stiffly. “I was a squire,” he amended.

“Have you been in battles?” Turgon persisted eagerly.

Rodda licked his lips. “Squires don’t usually go into battle. We take care of the horses and the weapons, and we clean up and do things like that.”

“So you have never been in a battle?” Turgon’s disappointment was obvious.

For a second, Rodda stared at him, and then, unexpectedly, he wrapped his arms around himself, bent over, and vomited onto the floor. Horrified, Legolas, Turgon, and Annael all scrambled to their feet and out of the way. “I’m sorry,” Rodda gasped and then retched again and then one more time. At length, he flopped back against the wall behind the bed, panting and wiping at his face. There were tears on his cheeks, Legolas realized and looked away, embarrassed.

“We need to clean it up,” he said. He had once infuriated his father enough that he had had to spend a month working in the infirmary, where he had mopped up more than his share of vomit.

“I will get some water,” Turgon said hastily and bolted from the room. Annael skirted around the puddle to sit on the bed next to the boy and pat his hand comfortingly. Legolas crossed the hall to the kitchen, found the mop, and came back to wait for Turgon’s return. After an awkward few moments of silence, he heard the back door open and close, and Turgon entered, lugging a bucket of water. Legolas set about the unpleasant task of cleaning the floor, while Turgon edged toward the bed, holding out a small water skin. “Would you like a drink?” he asked.

Rodda opened his eyes, drew a deep breath, and sat up and took a small sip of the water.

“Turgon!” called a small voice from outside. “Turgon, are you in there?” Someone rattled the door latch but did not seem to be able to grasp it.

“It is Amdir,” Turgon moaned. “We have to get him away.” Legolas exchanged a look with Annael. They both knew only too well that Turgon was right. If they did not immediately get his little brother away from the cottage, Amdir would soon draw far too much unwanted attention.

Annael hopped off the bed. “We will be back after our lessons,” he assured Rodda. “Maybe you will feel better then.” The boy nodded and lay down on the bed, curled up on his side with his face to the wall. To Legolas, he did not look as if he expected to feel better any time soon.

*******

AN: The fact that Elrond foresaw that one of Isildur’s line would do great deeds at the end of the Third Age is given in The Silmarillion, in “Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age.”

 





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