5. Family Matters

Alfirin tossed the shuttle from side to side, her feet working the pedals that brought the variously colored strands of wool forward and back. She had not planned this design ahead of time but rather was watching it emerge as she wove in an almost meditative concentration. When she was weaving, it was sometimes as if she were at a taut attention with her senses focused only on what was happening in the moment that was unfolding. It was a feeling that she experienced at no other time except, perhaps, when she and Ithilden were making love.

Today, however, other thoughts kept intruding on her attention. She was worried about Tonduil. Her brother was unhappy, and he would not tell her or their parents why. He had always been a gentle soul, and his decision to become a warrior had taken them all by surprise. She feared that he was finding the training to be more brutal than he had realized it would be. She herself still had trouble sometimes accepting the violence that was part of Ithilden’s life.

As always now, she was also aware of the baby. She felt the small life tenaciously grasping its place in her body and its hold on her heart. “Ah, little one,” she thought, “how will I bear it when you are unhappy? What would I do if someone should hurt you?”

She glanced up when the door to her and Ithilden’s private sitting room opened and her maid entered. “My lady,” she smiled, “Miriwen is here to see you.”

“Show her in,” cried Alfirin in delight, laying the shuttle aside. Her own family’s cottage was near that of Miriwen’s family, and she had known the younger Miriwen since infancy, but she had seen little of the maiden since she had married. She rose and greeted Miriwen with a fond embrace. “Some tea, I think,” she told the maid, “and perhaps some of that seed cake that the cooks made this morning.” She led Miriwen to seats by the fire. “How good it is to see you,” she declared.

Miriwen offered Alfirin a parcel. “My naneth sends you this,” she said. “It is an herb tea that she drank when she was carrying my little sister. She says that it settled her stomach and that you may have need of it.” She sat down a little awkwardly, looking as if she might be uncomfortable in these surroundings, so different from the cottages in which they had both grown up.

“Thank your naneth for me,” said Alfirin, accepting the gift. “I have been fortunate so far and have not been ill, but it is good to be prepared.” The maid entered the room with the tea and cakes, and Alfirin busied herself in serving them, deliberately giving Miriwen time to become more at ease.

She looked at the maiden, who was staring distractedly at a spot on the carpet and playing with the charm hanging from a thin silver chain around her neck. “Would you like some tea, Miriwen?” she asked. Miriwen started out of her reverie and took the cup that Alfirin was offering.

Alfirin sat back in the chair and studied her, realizing with dismay that Miriwen looked close to tears. “Is something the matter, Miri?” she asked gently, using the pet name that her family and neighbors had all used for this sweet maiden when she was an elfling.

“Yes,” answered Miriwen, “everything is the matter.” And then she began to cry – soft, strangled sobs that tore at Alfirin’s heart. With an exclamation, she took the teacup from Miriwen’s hand and put it on the table. Then she knelt before the maiden’s chair and put her arms around her as best she could from this awkward position. Miriwen leaned forward, put her head on Alfirin’s shoulder, and wept.

“What is it?” Alfirin asked. “Tell me.”

“It is Legolas,” Miriwen said. “He has not been to see me in three weeks.” Enlightenment washed over Alfirin. So that was it. How hard it is to be young, she thought.

“Legolas has had night guard duty this week,” Alfirin offered a bit tentatively. She felt that she had no right to tell Miriwen that Legolas was being punished if he did not want it known. And more than that, she did not want to encourage Miriwen to believe that the night guard duty was the reason Legolas had not gone to see her. She did not know if that was true.

But Miriwen seized on the information. “Really?” she asked, eagerly. Then her face clouded again. “But what of the two weeks before that?” she said sadly. “I know that I should not have counted on his coming because he made no promise, but I thought that he would.” She bit her lower lip. “I wanted him to,” she said simply.

Alfirin felt a strong longing to tell her young brother-in-law exactly what she thought of him right now. “I am sorry, Miri,” she said. “If he has said nothing to you, then he has behaved badly.”

Miriwen wiped her cheeks with her hand. “If he does not want to see me, then I do not want to see him,” she said determinedly.

Alfirin sighed. “Perhaps you should talk to him,” she suggested.

“How can I if he does not come to see me?” Miriwen asked. “I cannot go to the training field. I cannot even come here very well.”

Alfirin hugged her. There really was nothing she could say.

“I must go home. Naneth will be looking for me.” Miriwen rose.

They left the room and walked along the corridor together, with Alfirin’s arm around Miriwen’s shoulders. They had reached the door leading from the family’s quarters when they met Thranduil coming in. Alfirin could not help smiling at the sight of him. The king had been out riding, and in his tunic and leggings with his handsome face flushed from the exercise, he looked not much older than Ithilden.

Miriwen dropped a small curtsy. “My lord,” she said.

“Miriwen’s naneth has been good enough to send me some special tea, Adar,” Alfirin told him.

“That was kind of her,” Thranduil said, smiling at Miriwen. Then his eyes caught the silver oak leaf that hung about her neck, and he froze for a moment. Realizing what he was looking at, Miriwen flushed and involuntarily clutched at the charm. Thranduil pulled his eyes back to her face and smiled again. “Please thank your naneth for us.” And he walked off down the hallway toward his chamber.

***

Eilian tugged at the buckle on the leather cylinder that braced his left arm from elbow to wrist. “How does that feel?” asked Belówen. “Is it comfortable when you bend your arm?”

Eilian bent his arm and turned it in various directions. “I feel no pain at all,” he said. This was not, strictly speaking, true, for his arm ached, but he did not feel the acute pain that any movement had caused as recently as two weeks ago.

“You can do without the sling, then,” Belówen said, “but you must wear the brace all the time, even when you sleep. And I am releasing you for light duty only. No archery. Do you understand?”

Eilian frowned at him. “But I may go back to my patrol?”

Belówen rolled his eyes. “Light duty does not include the southern patrol, Eilian. I had in mind something more like helping Ithilden with his paperwork.” Eilian looked so horrified that the healer laughed.

“I no longer feel pain in the arm,” Eilian persisted. “Surely it is time for me to begin rebuilding the strength in it.”

Belówen looked at him severely. “Do you wish to be able to fire a bow again, my lord?” he asked.

Eilian looked dismayed. “Of course!”

“Then do as you are told,” Belówen said emphatically. “Do not lift anything heavy. Do not try to use a bow. Let your arm continue to heal. I will tell Ithilden that you are fit for office work or perhaps some nice easy job minding the novices.” He gathered up his satchel and left the room.

Decidedly sobered, Eilian wandered out of the palace and down toward the training fields. He had been growing increasingly restless in the last week, and his good temper was beginning to fray. He watched a class of warriors going through an advanced archery drill for a while, wishing disconsolately that he could join them. Then he walked toward the novice training fields, thinking of the options that Belówen had suggested. Working with the novices outstripped paperwork by a long shot in his estimation.

As he neared the fields, he spotted Legolas in the middle of a small group of novices. They were practicing archery on horseback this afternoon. A pole with three targets ranged around it had been set up in the middle of a large ring, and one by one, under the watchful eye of the archery master, they were riding into the ring and circling the pole at a gallop, firing arrows into the targets as they went. Eilian saw Lómilad, the novice master, leaning against the fence watching the drill. He came to a halt next to him.

“Eilian,” Lómilad greeted him. “It is good to see you out on the fields again. How is the arm?”

“It is better,” Eilian said. “The healers have given me leave to return to light duty. They suggested that I might be of some use to the novices.”

Lómilad smiled. “We would be happy to have you,” he said. He gestured toward the ring. “Your brother’s class is going well,” he said.

They both turned to look at the rider in the ring. Eilian watched as the sturdy looking rider circled the targets, controlling the horse with his knees while he fired arrow after arrow. “Who is that?” he asked. “He looks familiar, but I cannot place him.”

“It is Galelas,” Lómilad said. “He is Tinár’s younger brother.”

“Ah,” was Eilian’s only comment. Tinár had served for a while under Eilian in the southern patrol. He was a talented warrior who was so arrogant that he had eventually alienated almost all of his fellows, and Eilian had asked Ithilden to transfer him elsewhere. Galelas looked much like his older brother. Eilian and Lómilad watched in silence as Galelas completed the drill. “He shoots well,” Eilian observed, and the novice master nodded in agreement.

“He has worked hard,” Lómilad said. “I do not think that he has the natural talent that his older brother has.”

The archery master was now dragging the targets toward one end of the long enclosure. He returned to his charges and issued a new set of orders. Eilian recognized the drill. In this one, the novices would ride away from the targets and twist around to fire backwards at them. The drill was difficult because it was a tricky angle for a rider to shoot from and he had to control the horse at the same time.

Legolas’s friend Annael was the first rider into the arena. He was a good horseman and a competent archer, but he still had trouble with the unfamiliar angle and almost half of his shots went wide. He rode back toward the archery master who seemed to be offering him advice that Eilian could not hear at this distance. Whatever he said must have been useful though, for when Annael rode back onto the course and repeated the drill, his aim was much better.

Eilian recognized the next rider as Tonduil, Alfirin’s brother. Tonduil lay forward on his horse’s neck, whispering to the stallion whose ears were flicking back in response. Then he straightened up and, with another word to the animal, began the drill. The horse flew down the field, straight and true, while Tonduil twisted around and shot at the targets diminishing behind him.

Eilian watched with interest. Tonduil’s technique with the bow was far more ragged than Annael’s, and yet his first time through the drill was actually more successful, which could only be because he had better control of the horse. Any warrior who had ever fired a bow from horseback knew that the whole secret of doing it well lay in being in harmony with the animal you were riding. Tonduil finished his run, turned, and trotted easily back toward the archery master. Even at this distance, Eilian could see the master grin at the novice and then begin demonstrating some point about his handling of the bow.

Next to him, Lómilad sighed thoughtfully and then turned toward Eilian. “This group is going on a training mission the day after tomorrow,” he said. “Maldor is in command of it, and Thelion is going too. They would probably welcome your help if you do not think that Legolas’s presence in the group will make your going a problem.”

Eilian paused. He did not think that Legolas’s presence would present an insurmountable problem. Eilian had served directly under Ithilden and had watched his older brother carefully avoid any situation in which he might be believed to favor Eilian. He thought that he could do the same.

The question was whether he could treat Maldor respectfully as the commander of the training mission. He had had almost no contact with Maldor since he himself was a novice. He had wanted none. On the other hand, he was bored silly. Moreover, he liked Thelion, the blade master, and would enjoy going on even a novice training mission with him. And he thought that his presence might encourage Maldor to be more temperate in his handling of the novices and particularly of Legolas. He did not want to interfere in the master’s handling of the novices; he knew the complexities of command better than to do so. But in Eilian’s book, an officer who could not stand to let others watch him deal with his subordinates was suspect.

“I believe that Maldor is in the masters’ hut,” said Lómilad. “Go and talk to him about it. Tell him that I said that I approve if he does.” He turned his attention back toward the field as Tonduil began his second run.

Eilian knocked on the open door of the masters’ hut and stepped inside. He had never been in it before. The small room was cluttered with training equipment, barely leaving room for two benches and a small table upon which were piled papers and empty cups. Maldor was seated on one of the benches oiling a pair of boots. “Hello, Eilian,” he said, looking a bit surprised to see him there. “How is your arm?”

“Good enough that I have been released for light duty with the novices,” Eilian responded. “Lómilad suggested that I might go on the training mission that you are leading for the youngest group. That is,” he added, “if you are willing.”

Maldor regarded him thoughtfully. “Will you have problems with Legolas being in the class?” he asked.

“I do not think so. I believe that I am capable of treating him as I treat the others,” Eilian responded.

Maldor raised an eyebrow. “But he not like the others, is he?”

Eilian bristled. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean that he is Thranduil’s son, and he will eventually be in command of other troops,” said Maldor easily. “He is in a more difficult situation than the other novices. He should not demand special treatment now, but, on the other hand, he will eventually receive it because of who he is. So he must practice obedience now but learn command for the future.”

Eilian blinked. “Surely training to be a warrior is task enough for now,” he protested.

Maldor shrugged. “It should be, but when you see him with the others, you will see that none of them forgets who he is and, though I do not think he realizes it, neither does he. Already he assumes a kind of leadership at times, even when he should not.”

Eilian was silent for a moment. Finally he asked, “What do you mean by ‘a kind of leadership’?”

Maldor put the boot he was oiling down and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. “You three sons of Thranduil each have different strengths as leaders,” he began. Eilian could feel himself becoming annoyed already at whatever analysis of him and his brothers this offensive Elf was about to present. He dropped onto the bench opposite Maldor and gritted his teeth, waiting.

“I did not train Ithilden, of course; he is older than I am. But I believe that he has always been very much like your father. Anyone can see that if he were dropped into the middle of an uninhabited forest, he would soon be organizing the deer and inspiring the squirrels to work as a unit. He is a natural born leader.” He smiled at the thought. Eilian had never seen him smile before, and he found it unsettling. But he could not help laughing at the image that Maldor evoked or seeing its truth.

Maldor leaned back against the wall and regarded Eilian. “You were different. I was not sure that you had it in you to command troops. You needed excitement, and also I did not believe that you would be particularly happy organizing actions that someone else had devised.”

Eilian stirred uncomfortably. This picture of himself as a novice was unfortunately accurate. He picked up one of the cups from the table and began to turn it in his hands.

“But then,” Maldor went on, “you had the insight to see exactly where your talents and character would be most effective and the glib tongue to talk Ithilden into posting you to the southern patrol. How you did that, I will never know. It must have almost killed Ithilden to do it and then to have to explain his decision to the king,” Maldor snorted. “I would not have wanted to be in his boots.”

Eilian could not keep himself from smiling wryly. He had not been privy to the scene between Thranduil and Ithilden but he knew that it had been a lively one.

“It was a good decision, however. Your daring, your love of making decisions on the fly in the field, your ability to inspire loyalty, they must all have proved useful beyond measure. Perhaps that is what led Ithilden to send you. Perhaps he could see the sense of it.” Maldor contemplated this idea for a moment before going on.

“Legolas is different again. His impulse is to protect those he cares about – Annael, for instance, or Tonduil. But he still sees them as friends, not warriors upon whom Mirkwood must depend. And he does not yet see the need to understand those he does not love and to draw on their strengths as well. He thinks too personally. That is a luxury a captain does not have.”

Eilian put the cup down on the table. He was more impressed by this analysis than he was willing to admit.

Maldor picked up his boot again. “If you wish to come, you are welcome to do so,” he said. “I am hoping that this group learns something about the importance of command on this mission. Your experience would be useful.” He went back to what he had been doing when Eilian entered.

Eilian rose. “I will join you then,” he said and left the hut without another word.

When he approached the training field again, he could see that the lesson was over and the novices were evidently being dismissed for the day. Legolas was walking away with Annael. Eilian called to him, and he turned and smiled broadly to see his brother. He said something to Annael, who walked off with a wave, and then trotted up to Eilian.

“Where is your sling?” he asked. They began to walk together toward the palace.

“I do not have to wear it anymore. As you see, I am almost perfect again,” Eilian said lightly. “Indeed, I am returned to light duty, which evidently means playing games with you novices.”

Legolas suddenly stopped walking. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I am going to accompany your group on a training mission that Maldor is taking you on the day after tomorrow,” Eilian told him.

To Eilian’s surprise, Legolas looked upset. “I do not need your help, Eilian. I can survive perfectly well as a novice on my own,” he said somewhat heatedly.

“I will not be on this mission to ‘help’ you,” Eilian protested. “I will be there to train you. As it happens, I have some experience and skills that could be useful.” He was annoyed at his brother’s unwillingness to have his company.

“I do not believe you,” Legolas said flatly. “You have been itching to interfere since I came home with a bruise. You are like Adar. You still think that I am an elfling.”

“Do not be ridiculous,” Eilian spoke sharply now.

“Will you call me ‘brat’ and demand to know what Maldor could possibly be thinking if he reprimands me?” Legolas demanded.

Eilian blinked. “Of course not,” he said, somewhat more calmly. “I am your superior officer, Legolas. I know what my responsibilities are.”

His brother studied his face intently and then appeared somewhat mollified. “Very well,” he said. He suddenly grinned. “Perhaps this is a good thing. I think that I would like to serve in the southern patrol eventually, and you would be my captain then. We can practice now.”

Eilian smiled weakly. The thought of Legolas in the dangerous southern patrol appalled him. Perhaps he was more protective of his little brother than he had been willing to admit.