2. A Warrior’s Homecoming

Miriwen was smiling at him and stretching up on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. His heart sped up and his breath caught at the touch of her soft breasts against his chest. “My, how you have grown,” she said, which was embarrassing because it was true in more ways than she probably realized. But then, confusingly, he was in the banquet hall. Although it was dimly lit, Galelas was firing clay pellets at him. “You need to improve your concentration,” he sneered. Aunt Glilan was there now and she was frowning. “That is not what I meant,” she said. Someone was running and shouting, but Legolas was not sure who. Something was wrong.

He awoke with a start, his heart pounding. Some sort of commotion was underway in the hall. Footsteps and the sound of something heavy brushing against his door, and then his father’s voice: “His chamber is the next on the right. Get that healer here now!” Running footsteps sounded and a door slammed.

He leapt out of bed and jerked his door open. A small group was making its way down the hall of the family’s living quarters. Two Elven warriors clad in travel-worn brown cloaks were carrying a litter, while Thranduil, wearing a night robe, walked to one side. A guard had run ahead to fling open the door to his brother Eilian’s chamber. The pale figure on the litter lay still, covered to the chin with a rough blanket.

It took Legolas a moment to realize that the unconscious Elf on the litter was indeed Eilian. With a cry, he ran after the little group, entering the chamber as Thranduil flung back the covers on the bed. The guard was kindling a fire in the fireplace and then lighting the lanterns around the room. The warriors carefully unwrapped the blanket from Eilian’s inert form. He was naked except for a large bloodstained cloth bound over his side and another binding that held his left arm immobilized against his chest. The forearm had also been braced between two flat pieces of wood. The warriors lifted him from the litter to the bed, drawing a groan that was the first sign of life Eilian had shown.

Legolas found that his chest was so tight that he was struggling to breathe. Ithilden pounded through the door, dressed only in a loose pair of trousers. He was followed closely by Alfirin, who was drawing a night robe around her and tying its sash. “What happened?” Ithilden demanded.

“I do not know yet,” said Thranduil grimly. At that moment, Belówen, one of the palace healers, came hastily through the door, carrying a satchel. He was fully dressed and had probably been in the palace’s infirmary when the guard found him. He approached the bed calmly, put the satchel on the table, and bent to examine the injured Elf.

As they watched, Belówen began to unwind the various bindings and probe first at the arm. After a cursory examination, he laid it gently on the bed, still braced between the pieces of wood. He lifted the cloth from Eilian’s side, revealing a gash from the edges of which an ugly and ominous purple was spreading.

“What is the source of this wound?” he asked one of the warriors, whom Legolas recognized now as a member of the southern patrol, which Eilian captained.

“An Orc arrow,” the warrior replied. Legolas drew in his breath sharply, and he could see Thranduil stiffen. “I do not think it was poisoned, my lord,” the warrior told Thranduil. “If it were, he would. . .” he hesitated.

“Yes,” Thranduil said, “quite.” If the arrow had been poisoned, Eilian would be dead by now. “Then there is that to be thankful for,” Thranduil said steadily.

“How old is the wound?” asked Belówen.

“Four days,” answered the warrior. “We cleaned it, but it is deep. The infection became worse during the trip here. It is his arm that we were worried about,” he added. “We could not treat him adequately in our camp.”

A second healer arrived. The warriors moved away from the bed to make room for him. Belówen motioned him to the other side of the bed, but he had to maneuver around Ithilden to get there. Legolas squeezed back into the corner, trying to see what was happening but not wanting to be in the way. The room was crowded. Belówen glanced up at Thranduil. “My lord,” he said, “if you and the others would wait elsewhere, I will come and tell you how he is when we have finished.”

Thranduil hesitated, but Alfirin drew gently on his arm. “Come, Adar,” she said. “There are too many of us here, and it is distracting for the healers.” Alfirin’s mother was a healer, and she had no doubt heard stories enough about anxious families.

Thranduil sent the warriors off for food and rest, promising to send word to them as soon as he could. He sent the guard to make sure that none of their numerous guests had been disturbed and to reassure any who had been. Then he, Legolas, Alfirin, and Ithilden withdrew to the family’s private sitting room. Ithilden crouched to build up the fire, which had been allowed to burn low for the night.

Thranduil glanced around. “Legolas,” he said, “go and get a night robe. You will freeze in just that sleep tunic.”

Legolas’s anxiety for Eilian had left his nerves raw, and he spoke without thinking. “I can tell for myself when I am cold, Adar,” he cried in exasperation. Thranduil turned toward him swiftly with narrowed eyes.

“Not now, Legolas,” Ithilden admonished sharply before Thranduil could speak. He rose and steered his younger brother toward the door. “Come,” he said. “I need to get a tunic too.” In the hallway, Ithilden turned to him. “You can talk to Adar about the way he treats you, but do not do it now while you are both on edge.” He caught at Legolas’s arm, “And if you want to make any headway, do not do it in that tone of voice.” He released Legolas and strode off to the corridor where he and Alfirin had their suite of chambers. Legolas stared after him. Then he hastily fetched the night robe and returned to the sitting room.

In their absence, Thranduil had sunk into a chair and allowed his head to fall into his hands, a sight that frightened Legolas almost more than had the still figure of Eilian on the litter. Legolas touched his arm. “I am sorry if I was rude, Adar,” he said and then sat down on the floor and leaned against his father’s knees.

Thranduil smiled wryly to himself but said nothing. “If” indeed! He stroked the blond head gently and dropped his own head back against the chair. He was tired of his sons being brought home injured, he though wearily. He was tired of any of Mirkwood’s sons being brought home that way. For how long would he have to send warriors to face the enemy and come to harm? His hand steadily continued to caress the young head leaning against his knee.

They waited for what seemed an eternity. Legolas tried to be patient, but it was difficult. Both of his brothers had been wounded before, he knew, but this was the first serious wound that he had seen. After a while, an anxious looking servant brought wine and a tray of bread and cheese. News of Eilian’s return was evidently spreading through the household. Ithilden warmed the wine near the fire and then offered it around. Alfirin shook her head, but the rest drank, grateful for the warmth. No one touched the food. Ithilden sank into the chair opposite Thranduil and drew his wife into his lap, with his arms wrapped around her. She rested her head on his shoulder. They both looked tired, Legolas thought.

Finally, Belówen appeared. “The news is encouraging, my lord,” he said immediately, and the tension in the room lessened palpably. “The wound in his gut was deep but the arrow missed anything vital, and it is starting to heal. There is some infection, but we have spread a healing paste over the area. We will have to watch to make sure, but it should draw out the infection.”

Thranduil blew out a long breath. “That is excellent,” he said. “What about his arm?”

Belówen grimaced. “That is a little more uncertain. It was badly broken in two places. It had been set in the field, but one of the breaks was not healing cleanly, and we had to reset it.” Legolas winced. “The muscles were torn when the bone twisted,” Belówen went on, “but they should begin to knit now that the break has been reset.” There was silence for a moment. The strength in an Elven archer’s left arm was vital, even if, like Eilian, the warrior was right-handed. The bow was a demanding weapon.

“Will it heal?” Thranduil asked.

“I have every reason to think so,” Belówen said carefully, “but we will have to wait and see.”

Thranduil nodded. There was no point in pressing the healer for a certainty that he did not have. He stepped to the door, summoned a guard, and sent a message to Eilian’s warriors, who no doubt were as wakeful as his family. Then he turned to the healer. “May we see him now?”

“Yes, but I have given him herbs for the pain and to help him sleep, so he will not be conscious,” the healer answered. “Come. I will stay with him for the rest of the night also.”

They entered the room quietly. One of Belówen’s assistant’s was also there now, tidying away some ugly instruments and blood stained cloths. Legolas hastily averted his gaze.

Eilian lay with the blanket drawn up tightly to his chin. His face was pale against his dark hair, and purple circles spread under his eyes like bruises. He breathed shallowly but evenly. Thranduil rested his hand on his son’s forehead for a moment and then turned to the other three.

“Assure yourselves that he is resting quietly, and then go and get some sleep. We will have guests and ceremonies to deal with tomorrow,” he said.

“Adar,” Legolas began in protest, but Thranduil held up a hand.

“The guests will not disappear because we wish them to,” he said, “and the celebration will have to go on in some form, although we can probably shorten it. People will want to hear how Eilian is, if nothing else.” He looked at Legolas. “You cannot help him by staying awake all night,” he said, not unkindly, “and you will have duties tomorrow.”

Legolas remembered how he had told Annael that he sometimes wished he were just Legolas, not the son of the king. He wished it intently now, but his wishes had never changed anything before and he did not expect them to start now. He kissed Eilian lightly on the forehead and then glanced over at Ithilden. His oldest brother stood staring silently at Eilian with an exceedingly sober expression on his face. Then he sighed and seemed to shake himself into motion. “Adar is right,” he said, and taking Alfirin’s arm, he left the room. Following their example, Legolas too withdrew to try to sleep for what remained of the night.

He was up early the next morning, for his worry had kept him awake. He went first to his brother’s room. The door was ajar, and he entered quietly. Thranduil and Belówen were conferring by the bedside. They turned to look at him, and Legolas was relieved when they both smiled, although his father still looked somewhat strained.

“The infection is lessening,” said Thranduil. “And Belówen tells me that he is in no danger.” Legolas closed his eyes briefly and then opened them with a great sigh of relief.

“If you come back after morning meal, I would not be surprised if he were awake for a bit,” added the healer.

“Come,” said Thranduil and led his youngest son away.

“I will be there in moment, Adar,” said Legolas and ducked quickly into his room to retrieve his gift for his father. It was the custom in Thranduil’s family to give begetting day gifts at morning meal in the family’s small dining room. Guests were brought trays in their rooms for this meal, but later in the day there would be far too many Elves around for the royal family to have any chance of privacy. Legolas was not certain that gift-giving was still in order, given the somber mood that Eilian’s injuries had caused, but his brother was better so perhaps a celebration was in order after all.

When Legolas reached the dining room, he found bread and fruit and porridge on the table. His father, Ithilden, and Alfirin were already there. Ithilden was speaking. “But his arm was always the more worrisome injury,” he was saying. He stopped when Legolas entered the room.

Legolas glanced at Ithilden with an anxious frown. “But Eilian’s arm will heal now, will it not?” he asked.

Ithilden sighed. “I am probably worrying over nothing,” he said comfortingly. He looked at the package in Legolas’s hand and took advantage of the opportunity to change the subject. “A begetting day gift, Adar. You probably thought that we had all forgotten.”

Legolas handed his father the gift he had wrapped the previous evening. “May the stars always shine upon you, Adar,” he said and took his accustomed place at the table. Thranduil probed at the cleverly folded, stiff green paper until it sprang apart, revealing the brooch nestled within it. Thranduil picked it up and admired it.

“Thank you, Legolas. It is beautiful,” he said and smiled reassuringly at his youngest. Legolas was relieved. Surely his father would not be so relaxed if Eilian’s injury were as serious as Ithilden had seemed to be saying.

Ithilden cleared his throat. “Alfirin and I have a gift for you too, Adar,” he said, “but it is not wrapped. Or, I suppose that it is wrapped, but it will not be unwrapped for nearly a year yet.”

Thranduil and Legolas both looked at him inquiringly. Alfirin blushed a little. “I am with child,” she said shyly and then added, “May the stars always shine upon you.”

Thranduil looked thunderstruck and then more pleased that Legolas would have thought possible just a few hours before. “On the contrary,” he said, “May the stars always shine upon both, no, all three of you.” And he rose and came around the table to kiss Alfirin and put his arm around Ithilden.

Legolas blinked. A baby. Ithilden was going to be a father. He was suddenly struck by a thought that was so intensely satisfying that it almost took his breath away. “Your child will be the youngest in the family,” he blurted out. “It will be the family baby.”

The other three looked at him, startled. Then Ithilden started to laugh. “Yes, but not until next spring,” he said. “Until then, I am afraid that the honor still falls to you, little brother.” Legolas grinned. He did not care. He knew his father, and he was certain that Thranduil would be fussing over the baby long before next spring.

There was a tap at the door and Belówen entered. “My lord,” he said, “Eilian is awake if you would like to speak to him. I have given him more of the pain drug, though, so he will not be alert for very long.”

The four of them rose immediately. “For a few moments only,” Belówen admonished as they made their way to Eilian’s room. The healer’s assistant sat by the bedside but rose and moved out of the way when they entered.

Legolas was overjoyed. Eilian was indeed awake and now turned his head toward them. Thranduil seated Alfirin in the chair that the healer’s assistant had just left and then turned to Eilian. “How do you feel?” he asked gently.

Eilian managed a ghost of his usual infectious grin. “I have felt better,” he admitted. “But then, I have felt worse too.” His family smiled in relief to hear him joking.

“You have missed the news,” Thranduil said. “Ithilden and Alfirin are going to have a baby.” Legolas could not help but be amused. Thranduil’s excitement over the baby seemed almost greater than that of his brother and sister-in-law.

Eilian looked at Alfirin. “That is good news,” he said. “The baby will be lucky to have you for its naneth.” He looked at Ithilden. “Congratulations,” he said rather muzzily. “We will have to call you Ada.” The drug was starting to take effect. His gaze traveled haphazardly around the room and settled on Legolas. “Do not worry, brat,” he said. “You will always be my baby brother.” His eyes slid out of focus, and he was asleep again. Belówen shooed them all out of the room, even Thranduil who showed signs of wanting to stay.

“It is just as well,” said Thranduil with dignity in the hall. “We need to see to our guests.” And he sent them off to various tasks, none of which seemed as important as the figure sleeping in the bed in the room they had just left.

The day passed quickly. The celebration for Thranduil’s begetting day went on as planned, although it was rather more subdued than usual. Legolas was set to escorting several of his mother’s cousins on a tour of the garden in the morning. He found it hard to pay attention to their conversation because his thoughts kept flying back to Eilian. They were not unsympathetic and one of them finally suggested that they could do very well on their own if he wanted to check on his brother. Gratefully, he hurried back to Eilian’s room, where he found Thranduil standing near the bed.

His father glanced around. “You did not abandon our guests, did you?” he asked with a frown.

“No, Adar,” Legolas responded patiently. “They said that they were familiar with the gardens and could be left on their own if I wanted to see how Eilian was.”

“He is doing well, according to Belówen,” Thranduil said. “But he wakes only occasionally. You can go and play with Annael if you like.” His attention was so focused on Eilian that he did not see Legolas’s pained look at the word “play.” Legolas wisely held his tongue and slipped away.

Thranduil realized that Eilian was awake and had turned his head to look at his father.

“Play?” Eilian asked in a slurred voice. “So how old is Legolas now? Twenty perhaps?”

“Do not be impertinent,” Thranduil snapped. “It was a slip of the tongue. I am fully aware that he is no longer an elfling.”

As his father spoke, Eilian turned his head and looked at the ceiling. He waited a moment and then deliberately let his eyes slip out of focus. After a moment or two, Thranduil sat down in the chair near the bed and picked up a book to read. Eilian smiled slightly. After all, there had to be some advantages to being ill.

Thranduil glanced up. Good, he thought. He is smiling in his sleep. He must be feeling better or at least he is having pleasant dreams.

In the evening, there was feasting on the green and Thranduil and his family would ordinarily have been expected to be present for the whole time. But under the circumstances, no one was surprised when the royal family made only a brief appearance. Thranduil stayed long enough to greet all of the guests personally and then started back to the palace. He paused, however, when he saw Legolas sitting off to one side with Miriwen. The younglings’ heads were together as they whispered of something and laughed. He gazed at them thoughtfully for a moment and then went on, eager to see how Eilian was faring.

Legolas was later than he had intended to be returning to the palace and the hallway of the family quarters was only dimly lit. Down the hall, he could see that Eilian’s door was ajar and there was a light in the room. He moved toward it and looked quietly in, meaning not to create a disturbance if one of the healers was there. But instead, Thranduil sat by the head of the bed, reading. He looked up. “Ah, Legolas,” he said. “Come in.”

“How is he?”

“Better, I think. The wound is healing quickly now that the infection is being treated.” Thranduil did not mention the broken arm. “Sit with me for a while. I have been meaning to speak to you anyway.”

Legolas looked at his father sidelong. It was seldom a good thing when Thranduil had been “meaning to speak” to him. But he drew up another chair and sat near his father, his eyes on the sleeping Eilian’s face.

“Legolas,” Thranduil began abruptly, “what is between you and Miriwen?”

Legolas felt himself blushing but also experiencing a flash of annoyance. Surely his friendship with Miriwen was none of his father’s business. “We are friends,” he said, rather sulkily.

“And is there nothing more than that?” his father asked.

Legolas hesitated, mostly because he did not know what a truthful answer to that question would be. “No,” he finally said firmly, keeping his eyes on Eilian.

Thranduil studied him and then asked gently, “Does she know that?” Legolas looked at him, surprised, for this was not the question he had expected. Thranduil sighed. “Legolas, you know that as a warrior you will be away for long periods of time. You will not be in a position to ask a maiden to bind herself to you for a good many years yet. You do not want to create false expectations in Miriwen or her parents.”

Legolas looked away again, troubled by what his father was saying. “We are just friends,” he finally said.

Thranduil sighed again and then nodded. “Good. I hope so.” He reached out and patted Legolas’s knee. “At least you see her only on the green in the company of others,” he said. “That is wise of you.” He looked at Legolas who still was not meeting his eyes. “You should get some sleep. You will have to be up early with the other novices tomorrow.”

Legolas nodded, rose, and kissed his father lightly on the cheek. “Good night, Adar,” he said and left the room.