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Good Neighbors  by daw the minstrel

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

*******

10. True Colors

Aghast at the story his youngest son had just told him, Thranduil stood for a moment in stunned silence, with his hands grasping Legolas’s shoulders, where he had grabbed him when Legolas had first announced that he and his friends had been hiding a Mannish child. Thranduil had let out a single exclamation of dismay, and then choked back the rest of what he wanted to say when Legolas faltered in his tale. “Go on,” Thranduil had urged in the calmest tone he could muster, and Legolas had bitten his lip and then continued telling about the boy and what had happened to him.

Now Legolas squirmed a little, and Thranduil became aware that he was gripping his son’s shoulders too tightly. He loosened his hands immediately and drew a deep breath. “Legolas, how could you do such a foolish thing? You do not know this child at all. Anything could have happened! He could have panicked and hurt you! He could be ill! And encouraging him to cross the forest by himself is just madness!”

“Adar, he is so frightened.” Legolas’s voice trembled slightly, and Thranduil realized the child was close to tears. He swallowed the rest of the scolding he had been about to deliver and drew his son into an embrace, cradling the back of Legolas’s head in his hand and letting the beat of his own heart slow down a little. There would be time enough to try to make Legolas aware of how poor his judgment had been. And in the meantime, he apparently needed to deal with a terrified Mannish child who had seen his only parent killed and now was about to wander off into the forest by himself. What in Arda was Thranduil going to do about this boy who was apparently a citizen of Esgaroth and member of its army?

“Please help him,” Legolas begged, his voice muffled in Thranduil’s robe. “You can do it, Adar, and he has no one.” His tone of voice left no doubt of how deeply he felt the horror of the Mannish child’s loss.

Thranduil stroked the blond head comfortingly, even as he grimaced at Legolas’s faith in his power to help. He sighed and released Legolas slightly. They could not very well leave the boy where he was. Thranduil would have to see what he could do. “He is in the cottage next door to Turgon’s?” Legolas nodded, and Thranduil looked to where Ithilden stood in the doorway, watching them in consternation almost equal to Thranduil’s and plainly ready to move. “Go get him,” he ordered.

“No!” Legolas cried, jerking away from Thranduil’s hands. “No, Adar! Rodda does not know Ithilden. He will be scared, and he might do something foolish.” He threw an apologetic glance at his brother. “Let me go and get him.” He took a step toward the door, looking pleadingly at Thranduil.

Thranduil could see Ithilden halt and raise a questioning eyebrow at him. He looked down into Legolas’s troubled face. Had his older sons ever been as willing to fight their friends’ battles as this one was? he wondered in half-amused despair. “Not by yourself,” he said firmly. “We will go together.”

Legolas’s face lit up, and Thranduil pulled off the formal robe he had donned over the tunic and leggings he had worn to go riding earlier in the afternoon. He went to the door and handed the robe to a servant. “Get my cloak,” he instructed and then turned to Ithilden. “Make sure that the guard who came with Cudry does not leave yet. Cudry can go home by himself if he needs to, given how unlikely he is to meet an attacker.” Ithilden grinned at his dry tone, picked up his own cloak from the bench outside the door, and went off to do Thranduil’s bidding.

“Are you going to make Rodda go back to Esgaroth with the guard, Adar?” Legolas asked worriedly. “Mithrandir said the other soldiers might beat him for running away.”

Thranduil could feel exasperation rising. He did not yet really know what he was going to do with Rodda. Surely the boy’s fate should be decided by other Men. And yet Thranduil found he felt the same way Legolas did about the idea of a terrified child being beaten for his fear-driven acts. However reluctant he might be to interfere in Men’s affairs, he knew he could not let that happen. “I will not allow the child to be hurt, Legolas.” His son let out a long, tremulous breath, as Thranduil turned to let the returning servant drape the cloak over his shoulders.

“Come,” he said and strode out the Great Doors and down the steps, with Legolas trotting anxiously along beside him. They passed the raft Elf’s cottage, but no one was in sight. Cudry had either finished confessing to the Elf or was still within, moaning at the idea of giving away whatever the Elf had demanded by way of compensation. Thranduil took grim delight in picturing the scene.

“This way, Adar.” Legolas led him around Turgon’s cottage and then through a small grove of trees to the back door of the abandoned one next to it. Without hesitation, Legolas pushed the door open and entered the cottage. “Rodda,” he called. “Rodda, I am back again, and do not be afraid, but this time I brought my adar.”

He darted through a door on the left, and Thranduil followed into a musty room to find a thin, dark-haired boy just scrambling up from where he had evidently been lying on the bed, alarm blossoming in his face. He turned wide eyes on Thranduil and shoved himself back into the corner in which the bed was wedged, wrapping his cloak tightly around his drawn up knees as if it would protect him. Thranduil was aware that his size and simple presence intimidated most Men, a fact he normally found quite useful, but he grimaced at the effect he was having on Rodda, who suddenly seemed to Thranduil to be not a member of the sometimes troublesome race of Men, but only a child in need of an adult’s protection.

“No, no,” Legolas soothed. “My adar will help you. And I asked Mithrandir and he said that the Men would never hang you, and my adar will not make you go back to Esgaroth anyway, unless you want to.”

Thranduil had to suppress an annoyed exclamation. He was certain he had not told Legolas any such thing. He would make sure that no one hurt the boy, but if the Men of Esgaroth demanded the boy’s return, the Elves had no right to keep him. He would certainly resent it if Men kept an Elf child whose parents had died.

The boy had glanced at Legolas, but his fear seemed so strong that Thranduil was not sure he had taken in what Legolas was saying. He drew near the bed and then crouched down next to it so his eyes and Rodda’s were on the same level. “My son tells me you need help,” he said in as gentle a voice as he could muster. “I think I can give it to you if you will let me.” Rodda stared at him. “This cottage must be cold in the night,” Thranduil observed softly. “Let us take you home and put you in a warm bed.” He put out his hand.

“I have to leave,” Rodda said, his voice breaking slightly.

Thranduil shook his head. “I will not allow anyone to hurt you, child. Stay with us for a while, and we will find a safe place for you to live and grow up.” Rodda hesitated, and Thranduil held completely still, feeling as if he were coaxing a woodland creature to take food from his fingers.

“Did Legolas tell you what I did?” Rodda whispered.

“Yes. And so far as I can tell, you have done nothing for which any reasonable person would blame you. You could not have fought the Orcs. The trained, adult warriors who were with you could not do it. You did the right thing to get away from them. And you have suffered a very great loss, for which I am sorry.”

Rodda stared at him for a moment with his mouth slightly open. Then his lower lip began to tremble, and as he reached out and took Thranduil’s hand, a tear slid down his dirty cheek.  Thranduil rose to his feet, pulling Rodda off the bed and gathering him to his chest, just as he would have done with Legolas. Rodda shuddered in his arms, while Thranduil rocked slightly and crooned to him. After a long moment, the boy drew a deep breath and pulled himself erect.

“Get his things, Legolas,” Thranduil told his wide-eyed son, and Legolas hastened to gather the pack, bow, and quiver, while Thranduil put his arm around Rodda’s shoulders and guided him into the hall and then out into the late afternoon sunshine. Rodda turned a slightly dazzled looking face toward the sky. It had been several days since he had been outside, Thranduil realized. Legolas fell into position on Rodda’s other side, and the two of them began to lead Rodda toward the palace.

“Perhaps you are hungry,” Thranduil suggested. “Legolas is always hungry these days too. I am sure the kitchen can send something up for you.” Abruptly he became aware that Rodda had stopped. They had emerged onto the Green and were heading toward the bridge leading to the steps up to the Great Doors.

“Where are we going?” Rodda asked, and a note of fear had returned to his voice. “I’ve heard about this place. This is the Elvenking’s palace, isn’t it? Are you taking me to him to be judged?”

Suddenly it dawned on Thranduil that Legolas must never have mentioned to Rodda that his father was the king. He saw from the startled look on Legolas’s face that he had just realized the same thing. “No, no,” Legolas said hastily. “I live here, and my adar is the king. He already judged you, I think.”

Rodda turned a stunned face toward Thranduil. For a moment, he seemed caught in his fear, but then he swallowed and hastily bowed. “I’m sorry, my lord. I didn’t know.”

Thranduil gravely inclined his head and then, with some amusement, put his arm back around the shoulders of this boy who was at least brave enough to face the fearsome Elvenking. They made their way into the palace and then down the corridor housing the royal family’s quarters. “Would you like to stay with Legolas?” Thranduil asked. Now that he had seen the boy, he was certain Legolas had nothing to fear from him, and from the relief on Rodda’s face, he welcomed the idea of sharing Legolas’s chamber.

Pausing to ask a passing servant to fetch food for the two younglings, Thranduil escorted them into Legolas’s room, where a fire had already been lit against Legolas’s return, and slipped the heavy cloak from Rodda’s shoulders. A familiar looking cloak, he suddenly realized, the one that had recently been made to replace the too-short one that Legolas had used the previous winter. And he now noticed that the clothes under the cloak were Legolas’s too. With some dismay, he realized that his son had been generous with more than food. He hoped that Cudry did as he had been told and produced the wool cloth. Otherwise, Legolas was likely to have cold legs when the snow flew again.

Thranduil regarded the rather grubby figure that now stood before him with eyes shyly downcast and could not help wrinkling his nose a little. The boy needed a wash. “Show Rodda where the bath is, Legolas,” he instructed. “He has time to clean up before the food arrives.” Legolas led the boy into the bathing chamber, and Thranduil heard water running into the tub, and then someone closed the door, and all he could hear was the murmur of their two voices.

He slid his own cloak off, sank into one of the chairs at the table near the door, leaned his head back against the wall, and contemplated the idea that this child, who was no bigger than Legolas, had been serving in Esgaroth’s army, had seen Orcs slaughtering his fellow soldiers, including his father, and had thought it necessary to flee on his own in order to avoid hanging. All of it made him ill. And suddenly he decided that if Rodda did not want to return Esgaroth, he would find somewhere else for the boy to live, no matter what the Men of Esgaroth said.

A knock sounded at the door, but rather than a servant delivering food, Ithilden entered the room. “Cudry’s guard is still here, Adar. I told him he was welcome to stay overnight in the guest quarters.”

“Good.”

Ithilden hesitated, glancing at the closed door to the bathing chamber. “You found the boy?” he asked, keeping his voice low. Thranduil nodded. “What are you going to do with him, Adar? I know Legolas wants you to protect him, and I would not want any further harm to come to him, but I would hate to have trouble with Esgaroth just now. Eilian’s report shows that they would be good allies, and we need them on our side. We still need to do something about guarding the Forest River, even if we know who attacked the raft. Thieves will inevitably try again.”

Thranduil saw the worried look on his son’s face and grimaced. He ran a weary hand over his hair. He had had millennia of experience with Men and had chosen to stay out of their affairs and keep them out of his. But history was behind him and the future seems to be moving them all closer and closer to a time of great trouble. What was he to make of the Men who were his neighbors? Should he allow his relations with them to grow closer? How was he to see them? Were they valiant fighters? Unscrupulous scrabblers after gold? Frightened children, who had suffered the same kind of loss as his own children and Elrond’s had at the hands of their common enemy?

Another knock sounded at the door, and this time it was the servant with a heavy tray of food. The kitchen had apparently decided that satisfying Legolas’s appetite was a serious task. The servant deposited the tray on the table and started to withdraw, but Thranduil called him back. “Ask Lord Eilian to come here, please.” The servant bowed and departed.

Thranduil rose. “I do not know yet what I will do with the boy, but I will not allow any further harm to come to him.” Ithilden nodded resignedly. “However, I believe I do know what to do about accommodating the Men and guarding the Forest River. You may move some of the warriors in the Western Border Patrol to guard the river.”

Ithilden blinked. “The western side of the realm is reasonably quiet at the moment, but if I move troops from there, I am not sure it will remain so.”

Thranduil smiled thinly. “I have something else in mind to help defend us from that direction.”

Eilian appeared in the doorway. “You wanted to see me, Adar?”

“Yes. Ithilden and I have something we must do. I want you to stay here with Legolas. You will find he has an interesting guest, I think.”

Eilian raised an eyebrow but came into the room willingly enough. Some time with Legolas would be no penance for him. He eyed the tray of food and reached for an apple.

“Come.” Thranduil beckoned Ithilden. “We need to go now if we want to be ready by the time the stars open. And I think we need to invite Mithrandir to go with us.” He swept from the room, trailing an intrigued-looking Ithilden in his wake, his mind already focused on the task in front of him.

***

Ithilden stood on the bank of the river that emptied into the Forest River a mile or so to his right. The river ran fast and deep but was no more than a dozen yard across. In the chilly autumn evening, it burbled soothingly of the mountains from which it came and the forest through which it ran. His father and Mithrandir stood conferring in voices low enough that he could not quite catch what they were saying, but something about the atmosphere tingled with anticipation, as if everything around him waited for something to change. In harmony with the woodland, Ithilden’s heart beat quickly. He knew what was about to happen. He just did not know what form it would take.

Then Mithrandir stepped back and stood holding his staff in front of him, while Thranduil began walking slowly along the edge of the river in the direction of its flow, one hand extended almost casually toward the surface of the water and the other opening toward the forest. Behind Ithilden, the song of the trees suddenly shifted, taking on a deeper tone. The hair on the back of his neck rose, as he sensed their roots stretching toward the water under the ground and heard their leaves fluttering and brushing excitedly against one another.

And then Thranduil turned and began walking upstream, hands still extended. Night had fallen by now, and Ithilden blinked, uncertain at first of what he was seeing. He caught his breath. The water beneath his father’s hand was darkening, and as Ithilden watched, the darkness spread ever more quickly, flowing upstream against the river’s natural course, rushing on ahead of Thranduil now to disappear in the direction from which the river came. In the black surface of the water, Ithilden could see the reflection of stars.

Thranduil dropped his arms to his side and stood for a moment watching the water. Then he turned and walked casually to Ithilden’s side, as Mithrandir too drew near. “Tell your warriors not to swim in this river or drink from it. The water will not do permanent harm to those who come in contact with it, but it will render them unconscious for a time. You can move some of the guards now. The river will protect us.”

For a moment, Ithilden stood rooted to the spot, while his father and Mithrandir made their way back to where the horses stood. He looked downstream toward where the Forest River lay and saw the blackness gradually lightening as the now enchanted river in front of him rolled toward it. And suddenly he laughed. The Men of Esgaroth would be happy to hear that Thranduil’s people would guard the Forest River for its entire length. And their respect for and fear of Thranduil would both be strengthened when they were warned not to enter this river, as they would surely have to be. Wry amusement swept through him. Just when he thought he had at last become wiser than his father, Thranduil would, of course, do something like this. Still shaking his head, Ithilden turned to follow Thranduil and Mithrandir.

***

Eilian realized with surprise that Legolas had fallen asleep on the rug in front of the fire. Given the strain under which Rodda had been living, he would have expected the boy to be the sleepy one, but Rodda was still alert and indeed, judging by the way he was fidgeting in his chair, he was increasingly restless. Eilian supposed that the situation the two younglings had told him about must have worn on his little brother too. He could not help smiling. Hiding a stray boy was such a Legolas thing to do. Their father must have had kittens when he heard about it.

“Are you not tired?” Eilian asked Rodda in a low voice, as he spread a blanket over Legolas. He would rouse him and send him to bed later.

Rodda shook his head. “I thought I was going to be leaving tonight, so I slept most of the day.” He kept his voice low too, trying not to disturb Legolas.

Legolas stirred slightly, and Eilian looked at Rodda thoughtfully. “Would you like to go out into garden?”

Rodda’s face brightened. “Yes, please! I have been inside for days.”

“You are not planning to bolt, are you?” Eilian asked cautiously. “I would be in serious trouble if I lost you.”

Rodda grinned and shook his head. “I promise I will not run away.”

“Come then,” Eilian said, rising and leading the way into the hall. He stepped into his own room to get his cloak and then led the boy out of the palace and into the gardens near the other end of the bridge. They strolled along the gravel path, with the stars spread thickly overhead and the scent of autumn drifting through the air. True to his word, Rodda stayed close by, trailing along behind him. Abruptly, Eilian halted, making Rodda bump into him. Three figures sat on a group of benches just ahead.

“Mae govannen, Eilian,” Elladan’s voice came through the shadows.

Eilian sighed. He supposed he could not avoid the sons of Elrond forever. They were guests in his home, after all, and there was such a thing as common politeness. “Mae govannen.” He approached the benches.

“Have you met Alen?” Elladan asked, gesturing toward the third person, a Man in an Esgaroth uniform Eilian now saw. “He apparently accompanied a merchant to see your adar today.”

The Man stood and Eilian opened his mouth to greet him but suddenly realized that Alen was not looking at him at all. “Rodda!” cried the Man, taking a step toward the boy. “Rodda, we thought you were dead!” And he crossed the remaining distance that separated them and swept the boy into his arms. Rodda’s eyes had widened in alarm at his first sight of Alen, and he stood stiffly in his embrace. “What happened to you?” Alen asked, releasing the boy.

Before Rodda could answer, Eilian stepped forward and extended his arm. “We have not met. I am Eilian Thranduilion.” As politeness require, Alen turned to him and shook his hand. Eilian withdrew from the greeting and put his arm around Rodda. “He managed to escape the attack and has been hiding in the woods,” Eilian said rather defiantly.

“Thank goodness,” Alen intoned fervently. “We lost enough soldiers. We did not need to lose you too, Rodda. And I am so sorry about your father.” Rodda’s lips parted, and Eilian could see that he was breathing quickly. When Legolas and Rodda had told Eilian about Rodda’s flight from the Orcs, it had been obvious to Eilian that the boy thought he had violated some standard the Mannish soldiers lived by. Eilian had been uncertain whether that was true. Expecting a child to fight Orcs had seemed stupid to him, but then allowing a child to be a soldier in the first place had seemed stupid too, and that was evidently normal practice. Alen seemed to see Rodda’s behavior as acceptable, however, so perhaps Rodda had been wrong in judging his own flight.

“Who is this?” Elrohir asked, and Eilian remembered the twins’ presence. “Surely this must be the boy the Esgaroth soldiers were so worried about. Good evening, child. I am Elrohir, and this is my brother, Elladan.”

“This is Rodda,” Eilian said, wondering about the interest Elrohir was showing. Until now, he would have sworn that the sons of Elrond were incapable of thinking about anything other than their grief.

Still looking a little dazed, Rodda made a small bow to the sons of Elrond. “Good evening.”

Elrohir swept his arm invitingly toward the bench on which he and his brother sat. “Sit with us for a while.” Rodda glanced at Eilian uncertainly, and then, at his nod, sat down on the bench, leaving a little space between himself and Elrohir. Reminded of the Esgaroth soldiers’ behavior when the twins sat with them around the campfire, Eilian grinned and sat on the other bench with Alen. He would remove Rodda from the scene immediately if Alen or the twins upset him.

“We are very pleased to meet you, Rodda,” said Elrohir gravely. “We heard a great deal about you yesterday and last night.”

Rodda looked at him uncertainly. “You heard about me?”

“Yes. We were on a mission with some of the Esgaroth soldiers yesterday, and they were quite upset that they had found no sign of you after the attack. They were anxious to have you home.”

Eilian admired Elrohir’s careful language. Rodda did not need to know that the Men had been looking for his bones.

Rodda licked his lips and darted a glance at Alen. “Perhaps I won’t go home,” he said in a voice so low that Alen leaned forward to hear him better.

“Won’t go home?” Alen cried. “Of course you’ll go home. You can’t be out in the world on your own, Rodda. You’re far too young. I know you have no folks of your own now, but there are those who would take you in.  The captain would help you find a place. The soldiers of Esgaroth look after their own.”

“He is too young to be a soldier,” Eilian interposed without thinking. He really could not help himself.

“Too young for an Elf,” said Elrohir mildly, “but perhaps not for a Man. And surely the choice should be Rodda’s.”

“Yes, it should,” Eilian said emphatically. “No one is going to force him to do anything he does not want to do, including returning to Esgaroth. The king has promised him that.”

Alen blinked at them and then turned to Rodda. “I know you might not want to squire for anyone else just yet, lad, and your pledge was only to your father. But if you wait a year or two, you might feel differently. And where would you go if you didn’t come home?”

“He can stay here,” Eilian said. Silence hung heavily for a second, and Eilian saw the doubtful looks on the faces of the others, including Rodda, who bit his lip and looked sideways at the sons of Elrond sitting next to him.

“Thranduil may find that fostering a Mannish boy is a demanding task,” Elrohir observed with a small smile.

“Men dwell near our home in Imladris,” said Elladan, speaking for the first time. “I am sure we could find someone there who would be glad to give Rodda a new home.” Eilian looked at him in surprise. Was Elladan actually suggesting that he and his brother would take Rodda with them and return to the other side of the Misty Mountains?

Elladan leaned forward slightly so that he could look around Elrohir and meet Rodda’s eyes. “But you should think about going back to Esgaroth with Alen, Rodda. I know the idea is painful. You have lost someone dear to you in horrifying circumstances, and you feel lost and abandoned. But your friends and neighbors are still there, and judging by what the soldiers we talked to said, they would welcome the chance to comfort you. Your parents would want you to try to be happy again, and home is not a bad place to be when you are in trouble.”

Elrohir stared at his brother, and then quickly looked down at his hands. He was clearly as astonished at what he had heard as Eilian was to hear nearly his own words to Elladan coming back to him.

A small sound drew Eilian’s gaze back to Rodda, who was pressing his trembling lips together. Eilian jumped to his feet. “Rodda is tired,” he declared, putting his arm around the boy’s shoulders and pulling him off the bench and close to his side. “He is not going to decide anything until he has had a good night’s sleep.” He could feel the boy quivering slightly, and he began to guide him back toward the palace entrance.

Then, caught by a curiosity he could not suppress, he stopped and looked at the sons of Elrond. “And what of you, Elladan?” he asked, although he knew he was prying. “Will you go home to those who want to comfort you?”

Elladan hesitated before he spoke. “Not yet, I think, but soon.” His face was obscured by the shadows of the garden, but Eilian thought he smiled slightly. Elrohir patted his arm but said nothing, and Eilian led Rodda away.

***

Ithilden watched as his father stood next to Alen’s horse with his hand on Rodda’s shoulder. “I will ask my steward to visit you every time he is in Esgaroth, Rodda,” Thranduil said. “I look forward to hearing how you are doing.”

Ithilden suppressed a smile. His father was informing Alen that Rodda was under his protection, and the Man plainly knew it. He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and then Thranduil grasped Rodda’s waist to help him up onto the horse in front of Alen. As he did so, Rodda’s cloak slid aside, revealing the quiver he clutched in his hand. Almost imperceptibly, Thranduil hesitated, and then lifted the boy.

Ithilden followed the direction of Thranduil’s eyes to see the arrows in Rodda’s quiver, arrows with an elegant, Elven crest and dark blue fletching. Next to him, Eilian’s sharp intake of breath told Ithilden that he had seen the same thing. Without comment, Thranduil took the quiver from Rodda’s hand, strapped it to the side of the horse with Alen’s, and stepped away from the horse and raised his hand to send the Man and the boy on their way.

“Good-bye, Rodda,” Legolas called, waving. “Write to me and I will write back.”

“I will,” called Rodda. “Good-bye!” They trotted off along the path and quickly disappeared among the trees.

Legolas stood looking after them, and Ithilden realized that Thranduil was watching him thoughtfully. “You need to go now, Legolas,” Thranduil said, reaching to stroke the blond head. “You will be late for your archery class.”

Legolas made a small face. “I know.” He sighed. “I will see you at mid-day meal” He started slowly off toward the training fields.

“I will walk with you, Legolas,” Ithilden offered, slipping into place next to him. Legolas looked at him a little anxiously. He was probably worried about how Penntalion would react when he came to class with no arrows of his own making, and having Ithilden witness the scene might strike him as a bad idea.

Eilian caught up with them and fell into step on the other side of Legolas. “I would like to get in some sparring this morning before I see the healers later on. I think they will be releasing me for active duty soon.”

Ithilden nodded. “That would not surprise me.” Legolas remained silent, with them talking over his head, for the length of the walk.

As they drew near the field where the archery class was held, they could see most of the other students already assembled. Even from a distance, it was obvious that they were poking through one another’s quivers. The three of them walked up to the fence surrounding the field and paused.

Eilian spoke first. “If you do not mind, brat, I would like to stay and see you shoot. I have not watched you for a while, and Penntalion tells me you are getting quite good, no matter what arrows you use.”

Startled, Legolas turned to look at him.

“Penntalion has been teaching archery for a long time,” Ithilden said, “and he is a good judge of his students, so he is undoubtedly correct. I believe I would like to watch too.”

Legolas swiveled toward Ithilden. A slow smile spread across his face. “Thank you,” he said and trotted off to go through the gate and join his friends.

Ithilden folded his arms on the top bar of the fence and leaned against it, with Eilian next to him. As they watched, Penntalion strode onto the field. As Ithilden had expected, he carried a quiver of armory arrows, just as he always did. He laid it on the grass edging the field, called the class to him, and began inspecting the arrows they held out for his examination. Legolas’s friend, Turgon, stood a little to one side, kicking at the dirt and looking sullen. Legolas walked to stand next to him and said something that surprised Turgon, who turned to look at the quiver on Legolas’s back. Penntalion arrived in front of them, glanced at their quivers, and gestured calmly toward the quiver of armory arrows. They both ran to the quiver and selected a number of arrows.  When they fell back into line with the other students, the class began.

Someone came to stand next to him, and Ithilden looked to see Tonduil’s sister, Alfirin. Immediately his heart began to race, and he became acutely aware of Eilian standing just behind him. Alfirin smiled. “Tonduil has been talking for days about the arrows they were all to make. He expected that Legolas would have something quite special. Today must be Legolas’s day to really shine.”

Ithilden blinked and then glanced toward the field and smiled. “I think it is,” he said.

The End

 





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