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Growing Under Shadow  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.

*******

3.  Up and Down the River

“Here they are, my lord,” said Rudd proudly as he finished prying open the box in which five Dwarven swords were carefully packed.  He pulled one of the long, cloth-shrouded forms out and unwrapped it, revealing a gleaming, wicked-looking weapon.

Ithilden took it from him and tested the blade.  It was well-balanced enough to feel responsive, almost alive in his hand.  Moreover, it was beautiful, with a graceful tapered form and runes declaring it the work of the Erebor Dwarves running down one beveled side of the blade. Rudd’s companion, Cadoc, unwrapped a second sword and offered it to Thranduil’s armorer, who stood next to Ithilden.  He, too, looked pleased with what he held.

“Lay them all out on the table,” Ithilden instructed the two men, “the armor too.”

The men began unpacking weapons and armor and arraying it on the table in the armory. By the time they were finished, enough swords and armor to equip ten warriors lay before them.  Ithilden surveyed it with possessive satisfaction.  He had been increasingly worried about the state of his warriors’ equipment in the last years as the Shadow grew and with it the need for more and better equipped troops.  During the years of the Watchful Peace, many Elven smiths had begun making objects other than weapons or had turned to other trades. Few apprentices had been trained in crafting weaponry for over five hundred years.

And truth be told, the Elves of the Woodland Realm had never spent great effort in making weapons.  All of Ithilden’s life, he had heard tales of the inadequate weaponry that his grandfather’s forces had had at Dagorlad.  Thranduil had remedied that situation to the extent he could in the turbulent years before the Peace, but his people had been only too glad to turn to other pursuits when it seemed safe to do so. Now armorers were at work again, but they were hard pressed to keep up with the growing needs of Ithilden’s warriors.  These objects lying on the table would go immediately to young warriors who did not have suitable armor and weapons because they had been born after the need for them had dwindled.

“Are they acceptable, my lord?” Rudd asked.

“We will see,” Ithilden responded brusquely.  He had learned something about negotiating techniques from watching Thranduil.  “Check them,” he ordered the armorer, “and then come to me in my office.”

“Yes, my lord.” The armorer was already handling the precious objects, his eyes gleaming in appreciation for the workmanship.

“Come,” Ithilden said and led the two men from the armory and down a short path to his office.  His aide came to his feet as the three of them went through into the inner office.  “Bring wine, please,” Ithilden instructed him and waved the men to chairs.

They waited in silence until the aide brought cups of wine and then withdrew.  Ithilden leaned back in his chair.  He did not really believe there would be any problem with the weapons, but it was only prudent to check this first shipment well before he handed over the payment for the next one.  “You made good speed coming up the river,” he commented, seeking to pass the time until the armorer reported his findings.

“Yes, my lord,” Rudd agreed, with a smile. “The bargemen know their business and it took us only three days from the Long Lake. We were only a few miles downriver when we stopped last evening.  We will make even better time going back with the current to push us,” he added. “We should be in Esgaroth by tomorrow.”

“How were your dealings with the Dwarves?” Ithilden asked curiously.  His father’s reticence had meant that he had had few dealings with Dwarves, and those mostly when they passed through the woods on their way to and from the Misty Mountains and lands west.

Rudd shrugged. “They are shrewd traders.” He smiled again slightly. “But no shrewder than some Elves.”

Ithilden could not help smiling at that.  He thought he might like Rudd if he got to know him.  Cadoc, however, disturbed Ithilden a little.  He seemed friendly enough, but he was constantly scanning his surroundings as if looking for something, and he hesitated to meet Ithilden’s eyes.  Of course, many Men had trouble holding an Elf’s gaze for reasons Ithilden did not fully understand, so perhaps it was only that.

The armorer knocked on the open door and came in. “All looks well, my lord.” His face was determinedly impassive, for he too understood negotiations, but Ithilden saw the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.  He turned back to the Men.

“Very well,” he said.  “Then as our agreement calls for, you will deliver twice as large a shipment within two weeks.”

“Yes, my lord,” Rudd agreed.  “And the payment?”

Ithilden took a small leather pouch from his desk drawer and passed it to the Man.  Rudd spilled the golden coins onto his palm and counted them.  Ithilden stiffened at the implied insult, and Rudd noticed immediately.  “I mean no offense, my lord,” he apologized, “but if a mistake has been made, correcting it would delay the shipment.” Ithilden raised his eyebrows but said nothing, and Rudd tucked the pouch into his belt and rose.

The two Men bowed.  “We will be back in two weeks, my lord,” Rudd said and they took their leave.

Ithilden and the armorer exchanged smiles.  “Those swords are pretty things, are they not?” Ithilden asked.

The armorer nodded vigorously. “Indeed they are.”  He saluted and took his leave also.

***

For most of the rest of the day, Ithilden was busy seeing to the disposition of the new weapons and then meeting with one of the Border Patrol captains about a change in the routine for guarding the eastern edge of the forest.  It was well into the afternoon before he settled at his desk, intending to read dispatches and write responses.  But the spring air coming in through the open window soon seduced him, and he decided that it was past time he looked in on the warrior training fields.  With a half-apologetic smile, he dropped some papers on his aide’s desk and left the building. There had to be some compensation for all the responsibility he carried, he thought.

He walked briskly along the path that led to the training grounds. On the nearest one, novices were being put through a drill by the archery master. Ithilden stopped to watch for a while as they ran along, shooting at targets that were behind them.  By the time these younglings pledged their faith as warriors, Elven smiths should be able to provide for them.  It was the young warriors whom Ithilden was already sending into battle ill-equipped that he worried about. The Dwarven weapons and armor would make all the difference to them.

He started walking again toward the field that the experienced warriors used, where he knew an advanced sword drill was in progress that afternoon.  The drill was always an impressive one to watch with warriors swinging very sharp blades in a blur of very quick motion, and Ithilden wanted to see it.  The path led around a small clump of trees and as Ithilden rounded it, a movement caught his eye.  He turned to look more closely at who was in the trees and saw three small forms.

“Legolas, is that you?” he demanded sharply.  “Come out of there, you three.”  Legolas, Annael, and Turgon emerged from the shadows under the trees, looking abashed.  “You know that children are allowed here only for their own training classes,” Ithilden scolded them.

“We wanted to see the warriors with the swords,” Legolas said.  He looked uncomfortable under Ithilden’s reproof, but he could not help peering around his brother to see the drill even as he spoke.

“And besides,” Turgon added, “we are almost not children any more.”

Ithilden resisted the urge to argue that point.  “It is not safe for you to be here,” he said firmly. “The three of you need to be on your way.  And do not let me catch you here again.”

“Do not worry. We do not intend to,” muttered Turgon as the three of them trailed dejectedly off.  Ithilden snorted. He thought he knew very well what Turgon meant by that remark.  He contemplated telling Thranduil about the little incident but decided it was too trivial to disturb his father with. He knew that Thranduil periodically contemplated trying to separate Legolas from Turgon, and there were times when Ithilden thought that would be a good idea.  Unfortunately, Legolas was very fond of the other child. Moreover, such a ban would be hard to enforce in the small world around Thranduil’s fortress where they would be thrown together daily.  Ithilden turned back to the weapons drill, thoughts of his little brother temporarily forgotten in the satisfaction of seeing his troops look so deadly.

***

“Your brother is very bossy sometimes,” Turgon grumbled as they walked away.

Legolas wanted to defend Ithilden, but it was unfortunately true that he was occasionally bossy, as Legolas had more cause to know than Turgon did.  Instead he changed the subject.  “What shall we do?” he asked.

“Let us scout for the deer,” Turgon suggested.  The other two both groaned. They had scouted for the large buck on three occasions in the last two weeks and had found nothing.  Legolas and Annael were getting bored with what seemed an increasingly pointless pursuit, but Turgon was persistent.

“We do not have time before evening meal,” Annael pointed out.

“I know,” said Legolas.  “Let us go and sail our raft.” The three of them had spent a week earlier in the spring building a raft out of driftwood that they had tied together and then using poles to push it along the edges of the Forest River. The raft had been forgotten in the excitement of the deer hunt, but now Legolas’s suggestion was met with enthusiasm.

“Yes,” the other two cried, and they trotted toward a little inlet where they had last left the raft.  It was still there, although the poles had gone and they had to spend time searching for new ones.  They all shed their shoes and rolled up their leggings before scrambling on board and pushing off.  As they came out of the inlet and into the river, a barge slid past them going downstream toward Esgaroth.

“That is the Men who came earlier today,” said Annael, who often knew these things from his father, who was a lieutenant in the Home Guard. Legolas peered after the barge.  He had not realized that the Men had come back.  He wondered if they were bringing the weapons that his father and Ithilden had bought from the Dwarves.

“Let us follow them,” Turgon suggested.  They began to pole their raft along the shallows at the edge of the river, but the barge was in the current and was rapidly being swept out of sight.  “Push it out into the current,” Turgon commanded impatiently.

“The river is fast today,” said Legolas doubtfully. Recent rains had swelled the river and made the current swift. They had taken the raft into the river’s current twice before but then had stuck to the shallows after discovering that while the ride downstream was pleasant, poling the raft upstream along the river’s edge was hard work.

“We can do it,” Turgon assured him confidently, and they tentatively pushed their raft out until the current caught it and began to bear it along.  They could still see the Men’s barge ahead for a brief while, but then it disappeared and the raft was alone on the river.

None of them was particularly troubled by the disappearance of the Men, for they were now absorbed in their own trip. They sped silently along the river in effortless motion.  Ducks paddled in the shallows, and at a point where the trees came down to the edge of the river, a doe and a fawn were drinking.

Then Legolas glanced back behind them and suddenly realized that the sun was low in the sky. “We need to get out of the current now,” he told the others, scrambling to his feet. “We have to start working our way back.” The lateness of the hour had dawned on his friends as well, and they stood up and seized the poles.

Legolas glanced to either side, trying to see which way presented the most placid river edge.  The rapid current had carried them farther downstream than they had gone on either of their previous two ventures in it, and the banks here were high so that there were no shallows near the edges.  “Push to the right,” he suggested and they began to do so.

Suddenly the raft shuddered and a sickening noise came from underneath it.  It caught on something and slowly swung about. “Rocks!” Annael cried.  Legolas peered over the edge and saw that Annael was right.  They were in the midst of a clump of rocks and the raft was lodged against one.  A piece of wood abruptly broke loose from one side of the raft and they lurched free from the first rock only to strike a second one, crumpling another piece of wood.  The three of them balanced on the teetering surface.

“The raft is breaking up!” Annael cried in dismay.

“We are going to have to swim to shore,” Turgon said.  Legolas glanced at him. He actually seemed to be enjoying himself at this unexpected adventure.  Legolas was reminded suddenly of his brother Eilian.

Legolas looked over the edge again.  “I do not want to swim among these rocks!” he exclaimed.  They all swam well, but the current was likely to knock them against the rocks if they went in here, and the banks were steep. They clung to the madly tilting surface of the raft.  The current was tearing at its edges, and more pieces were breaking off as it strained against the rock that held it.  Panic nibbled at the edge of Legolas’s awareness, but he tried not to let his friends see. Then, with a ripping sound, what was left of the raft slid free of the rocks and whirled downstream and around a bend, tipping to one side and dumping them into the rushing water.

Legolas sank beneath the shockingly cold water but kicked his way quickly to the surface again.  He looked wildly around and was immensely relieved to find his two friends both surfacing nearby.  If they were together, he thought, then things surely could not be so bad.  The current dragged at him.  For a moment, he could feel panic bubbling up again, but then, in his head, he could hear the voice of his father who had taught him to swim in this river.  “Do not fight the current,” Thranduil was saying. “Ease out of it gradually.”  He began to swim slightly across the pull of the water toward the southern bank, the nearer one, and, to his great relief, he could see Turgon and Annael doing the same thing.

The bank was drawing nearer now. Turning his head toward it, Legolas almost wept with gratitude when he saw that when the water had swept them around the bend, it had also taken them to a place where the ground tapered to a beach at the water’s edge.  Then water swept over him, and he coughed as he struggled into the air again.  Think of what you are doing, he reminded himself in Thranduil’s voice, and swam with renewed purpose. Suddenly the current released him and his hand struck river bottom. He was in the shallows, he realized, and he struggled to his feet in the thigh-deep water.  He looked around and saw Turgon standing nearby, grabbing the back of Annael’s tunic and dragging him to his feet too. They all waded ashore and collapsed on the little beach.

For a few moments, the only sound was their ragged breathing.  Legolas shivered, only partly from the chill of the late afternoon April day.  It was Turgon who spoke first. “I wonder if we could go home through the trees.”

Legolas looked around. The forest came quite close to the river here and they probably could move through the trees, although the bark might be hard on their feet which had not yet toughened after a winter of wearing shoes and boots.  They would probably get home more quickly that way than they would have poling their raft back upstream. He was glad at least for that. He hated being late for evening meal because his father inevitably scolded him when he was.

“Look at all the footprints,” said Annael suddenly.

Legolas glanced at the ground. It was covered with several sets of prints made by booted feet.  The prints looked oddly heavy to him until a sudden inspiration struck.  “The Men from the barge must have camped here,” he speculated. He climbed to his feet and walked toward the trees.  The bark was slightly scraped in a circle around a sturdy oak tree.  “Look!  Here is where they tied the barge.”  Annael and Turgon were standing now too, scanning the prints with interest.  They were all learning woodcraft and they seldom saw Men’s footprints.  Suddenly, Legolas stopped and stared at a line of prints a little apart from the others.

“What are you looking at?” Turgon asked, coming up beside him.  Wordlessly, Legolas pointed. There in the mud next to the river was a line of very large deer prints.  Annael approached now too and with an exclamation dropped to his knees next to the prints.

“It is our buck!” he breathed.  He glanced at Legolas and Turgon, and for a moment the three of them were silent.

Then Turgon whooped so loudly that birds flew up out of a nearby tree.  “Our buck!” he cried.  “We have found him! And,” he chortled gleefully, “Tynd and Riolith do not know where he is.”

Legolas was looking at the nearby trees and trying to remember the shape of the Forest River.  They were, he realized, only about half a league from the part of the forest where he and his father had seen the deer’s print earlier; they had simply come to it from a different direction.

Turgon suddenly faced both Legolas and Annael, his face fierce. “We must not tell anyone that we have found it.  Not anyone!  If we do, Tynd and Riolith will hear.  And we must come back after our lessons tomorrow and hunt.”

His excitement rising, Legolas could not suppress a slow smile.  “Yes, we will be the ones to find it.”  He glanced at Annael to find him, too, smiling.  Then he was seized by a sudden shiver and realized that he was growing cold in his wet clothes.  “We should go now,” he said.

By mutual consent, the three of them moved into the nearby trees and began the long trip home.

***

“I have instructed the armorer to distribute most of the weaponry to the young warriors in the Border Patrols,” Ithilden said.  “He is to send three sets of armor and swords to Todith’s people in the Southern Patrol, too.”  His voice was firm, and he sat erect in front of Thranduil’s desk.

He is anxious that I will object, Thranduil thought ruefully. He sighed. In truth, he still did not like dealing with the Dwarves, but he also trusted Ithilden’s judgment about his troops’ need for these weapons, and he did not want his son to think that he doubted him.

“That seems sensible,” Thranduil said, and Ithilden visibly relaxed.  “When will they be back?” Thranduil asked.

“In two more weeks,” Ithilden responded quickly, “just as our agreement called for.”

Thranduil nodded. “Very well.”  He smiled and rose.  “I think we should adjourn to the sitting room and share some wine before evening meal.”

“An excellent idea,” Ithilden smiled back at him, much more at ease now.  They went out into the hall and were starting toward the sitting room when Legolas burst through the door that led to the palace’s public areas.  He skidded to halt just in front of them.

“Am I late? I am sorry, Adar,” he said hastily.

Thranduil looked at him in dismay.  His hair and clothes had obviously been immersed in water sometime recently. Although they were evidently beginning to dry, his hair was plastered to his head and hung around his face in clumps, and his clothes not only clung to him damply but were also muddy.  He was, moreover, barefoot and his feet were particularly filthy.

“What have you been doing?” Thranduil asked.

Legolas hesitated for only a split second. “We were sailing our raft, and it wrecked,” he said sturdily.

“Are you hurt?” Thranduil asked in some alarm.  He had been worried about the raft since Legolas had come home with tales of having built it.  He knew Legolas could swim well, for he had taught him himself, and he had sent Ithilden to check the general soundness of the raft.   When Ithilden had reported in some amusement that the raft was of a “unique” design but was not likely to sink immediately, Thranduil had held his tongue for he knew he tended to be overprotective of his youngest son.  Now he wondered if he should have forbidden Legolas from riding on the raft.

“I am not hurt,” Legolas maintained, watching Thranduil anxiously.  His father repressed a wry smile.  His son was only too aware of how likely Thranduil was to stop him from doing some of the more exciting things his friends were doing, particularly his friend Turgon, who, in Thranduil’s opinion, had entirely too much freedom.

“Are Annael and Turgon all right too?” Ithilden asked.

Legolas glanced at him. “Yes,” he said without elaborating.

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed. There was something here that Legolas was not telling them. He strong suspected that the destruction of the raft had been more frightening than Legolas was letting on.  He sighed. There was no point in pressing the matter, given that the raft was now gone. “You are not late for evening meal yet,” he told Legolas. “Go and get cleaned up.”

Relief written on his face, Legolas started along the hall.  “Wait!” Thranduil called.  Legolas turned back to him.  “Why are you limping?  I thought you were not hurt.”  He crouched down and braced Legolas on one of his knees as he inspected the bottom of a grimy foot.  The sole of the foot was scraped and, in one place, cut.  Thranduil frowned.  “Where are your shoes?”

“I forgot them,” Legolas said.

“What do you mean, you forgot them? Where are they?”

“They are on the bank near where we kept the raft,” Legolas said, pulling away from Thranduil and standing on one leg with the foot his father had just been inspecting pressed again the calf.

Thranduil glanced up at Ithilden, who gave a small smile and bowed.  “I will fetch them,” he said and went out the door.

Thranduil looked at Legolas with whom he was still at eye level.  “Go and bathe,” he instructed Legolas.  “I will send a healer to look at your feet.”

“They are not really hurt, Adar,” Legolas maintained.

“Then the healer will have nothing to do,” Thranduil answered.  He looked steadily at the thin childish form in front of him.  Legolas met his eyes and then looked away.  “You need to take care, iôn-nín,” he said. “I treasure you too much to see anything happen to you.”

To his surprise, Legolas darted forward and kissed him on the cheek. “I will be careful, Adar.”  Then he walked off gingerly toward his own chamber.

Thranduil rose.  The raft adventure must have been an alarming one indeed, he thought resignedly.  He could only be grateful that the raft was now destroyed.





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