11. The Aftermath

The trip home was a nightmare. It rained unceasingly, and they were all soon soaked through. Even their efforts to keep Maldor reasonably dry were eventually ineffective. There were simply no more dry clothes to cover him with. And it was obvious to Eilian that Maldor was slowly becoming more ill. His face was flushed, and although he regained consciousness some time late in the day, his mind wandered. He seemed to believe that they were still under attack and would not lie quiet.

Eilian watched in despair as Maldor struggled against the vines they had used to tie him into the litter, making the task of carrying his not inconsiderable weight much more difficult for Thelion, Isendir, Tonduil, and Annael, who happened to be holding him at the time. How could Maldor still be so strong, as ill as he was? Eilian wondered.

"We will have to stop," Thelion said. "We cannot go on with him like this." They were near some large rocks that provided rudimentary shelter, and they set the litter down in as dry a place as they could find. "Eilian, Galelas and Legolas, stand guard while everyone else tries to scrounge up something we can use to make a fire," he directed. "Do not go out of the sight of one of the guards." He began sorting through the contents of the healing kit, while the rest of them did as they were bid.

Eilian stood with his sword drawn, watching his companions hunting for usable firewood as the dim daylight faded into early evening. They returned with enough kindling and wood that was merely damp that Eilian and Annael were able to coax a fire into starting and Thelion brewed an herb tea that would drug Maldor into sleep and perhaps curb his fever.

Thelion looked at the squirming, muttering Maldor and then slid his glance over the novices, settling on the two whom Eilian would have judged to be the strongest. "Galelas and Legolas," he said, "you will have to hold him still long enough for me to pour this into him." They obediently moved to crouch near Maldor's head. "Pin his shoulders with your knees and use your hands to hold his head steady," Thelion directed, as he approached with the hot tea. "Pull his mouth open, Legolas," he added. "Be careful that he does not bite you." Legolas complied, and Thelion began to force the tea down Maldor's throat. The unarmed combat master struggled, but between them, Legolas and Galelas managed to hold him steady enough that Thelion was satisfied with the amount he swallowed.

Thelion sat back on his heels. "We will wait for a few minutes while that takes effect," he said, and they were only too glad to comply. Eilian knew that the novices were finding the forced march exhausting. Truth be told, they all were. The need to watch for Orcs at the same time added to the toll the trip was taking.

In addition, Eilian's arm throbbed constantly. He knew that he probably should not have tried to use a bow during the battle with the Orcs, but he had felt completely useless once Thelion had ordered them all into the trees. He understood the strategy and, indeed, would have ordered the same course of action himself, but when he had looked around and seen Thelion and the five novices battling the Orcs by themselves, he had been unable to stay out of the fight. As it turned out, they could probably have triumphed without his aid, but he had had no way to know that ahead of time. And he thought that his excuse to Thelion was valid: There would have been no point in saving his arm if they had all died in the attack.

Even now it bothered him that Thelion would not let him help to carry the litter. His right arm was uninjured, after all, and he was right-handed. But he held his tongue and tried to make up for his uselessness by making sure that he had the heaviest of the three packs they still carried. He had seen Legolas stumble the last time he had donned a pack after finishing a turn as litter bearer, and he had steadied his brother and then shifted some things from Legolas's pack into his own.

"I can manage," Legolas had protested.

"Shut up," was the only reply that Eilian had made as he had continued redistributing the packed items. He had looked up to find Galelas, who was carrying the other pack, studying them skeptically, but he had ignored him and gone on with what he was doing. Then he had gone to Galelas and removed items from his pack too.

"You do not have to do that," said Galelas stiffly. "I am stronger than Legolas."

"I expect that you are, but I do not care," Eilian said with a sigh, as he continued to reorganize the packs. Then he had smiled at Galelas in as unpleasant a manner as possible and added, "Shut up." Galelas had evidently been startled into silent cooperation because he had made no further protest.

Eilian recalled that event now as Galelas sat down beside him. Grateful for the brief rest that they were being offered, Eilian leaned back against the rock in as sheltered an area as he could find, and all of the other novices too dropped to the ground near him. Thelion was repacking the healing kit.

"How bad is he?" Annael asked, directing a worried look at Maldor.

"Bad enough," Eilian responded grimly. "But the healers will be able to help him, and I think that we have time enough to get him to them."

"Do you think that the Orcs will return?" Tonduil asked, with an anxious tension in his voice that wrung Eilian's heart. Tonduil had fought as bravely as any of them in the battle, but he seemed to be more shaken by the experience than the other novices were. Thelion evidently heard his question now and glanced over at them quickly, his eyes meeting Eilian's.

"I do not think so," Eilian said carefully. He wanted to reassure this nervous novice, but he knew the danger of encouraging a false sense of security. "We will be watchful though, just as we have been." Thelion turned back to tending Maldor.

There was silence for a moment. "How is your arm?" Galelas suddenly asked.

Eilian turned to him startled. Legolas had asked that question repeatedly earlier in the afternoon until Eilian had been hard put to answer reassuringly instead of snapping at him. "It will be fine once the healers see to it," he answered now. Galelas nodded and looked away. Eilian saw Legolas eyeing the other novice, but his little brother said nothing.

Thelion rose. "I think that we can move on now," he said. Maldor had slid into sleep and looked as if he would be easier for them to carry. They doused the fire, picked up the litter and their packs, and went on with their seemingly endless journey. The only respite from their misery came when the rain stopped shortly after midnight.

The rain and Maldor's restlessness had slowed them enough that it was midmorning by the time they neared the edge of the woods near the training fields. To Eilian's relief, the sight of the litter that they carried was enough to raise the alarm immediately, and first warriors and then healers came running to lend what assistance they could. They lowered the litter to the ground, and Belówen crouched over him.

"It was a poisoned Orc arrow," Thelion said, pulling the carefully wrapped arrow from his belt and offering it to the healer.

"You saved it. Good," Belówen grunted. "That will make it easier to identify the poison." He signaled to the warriors who were hovering nearby. "Take him to the infirmary," he said, and they picked up the litter.

At that moment, Eilian saw Thranduil and Ithilden running toward them from the direction of Ithilden's office. Both looked alarmed. Word had obviously reached them that the novice training party had returned and that there were wounded among them. Thranduil's eyes scanned the group and his relief was obvious when he saw both of his sons among those who were apparently uninjured. Ithilden too looked relieved, although he immediately redirected his attention toward the litter, as did Thranduil.

"He needs to get to the infirmary quickly, my lords," said Belówen firmly.

Thranduil nodded. "Go," he said, and the warriors carrying the litter moved off with their burden, Belówen walking along side. As they left, Lómilad, the novice master, approached hastily, intent upon checking on his charges. He was counting heads and looked reassured when he saw all the novices, although it was also clearly dawning on him that the elf in the litter that had just left must be Maldor.

Both Thranduil and Ithilden now turned to Thelion and Eilian. "What happened?" Thranduil demanded. Eilian held his tongue and let Thelion speak, for with Maldor injured, this was now his mission.

"We ran into a party of about twenty Orcs," Thelion reported and described where they had been when the skirmish occurred. "I believe that we killed most of them," he added, "and we saw no signs of any other parties of them, but we did not search thoroughly. Maldor was injured, and I wanted to get the novices away."

Ithilden nodded. "You did right," he said. He turned to his father. "With your permission, my lord, I will go and see to sending a party to find out what they can." Thranduil nodded his consent, and Ithilden departed, already calling orders to warriors he saw among the slowly dispersing crowd. Weary as he was, Eilian could not help smiling to himself. There was something very comforting about Ithilden's single-minded determination to organize those around him.

Lómilad had quietly asked Thelion a question and now moved among the weary-looking novices, putting his hand on a shoulder here and touching an elbow there. "You have done well," he said. "Go home now and rest. Tomorrow, we will speak of the trip, and you can voice whatever concerns you still have." The novices hesitated for only a second and then, with a respectful nod at Thranduil, they were gone except for Legolas. "My lord," Lómilad gave a salute of his own, "have you need of us?"

Thranduil shook his head. "No," he smiled, "You have my leave to go. I will take my own offspring and go home too." Lómilad nodded, and then he and Thelion left, going toward the novice masters' hut. Eilian trusted that Lómilad would not keep Thelion long. The blade master too needed to rest.

Thranduil now turned toward his two sons, both of whom looked tired and bedraggled. Apparently completely indifferent to the eyes of anyone still in the area, he caught Legolas in a tight embrace. The degree of distress which his youngest son had been feeling was evident in the fact that he did not protest being publicly hugged. Then Thranduil did the same with Eilian, who found that he could not avoid a little gasp of pain at the pressure on his arm, trapped in its sling between him and his father.

Thranduil reacted immediately. "What is it?" he asked sharply.

"Eilian has hurt his arm again," Legolas piped up immediately. "He needs a healer."

Eilian was annoyed. He had intended to go to the healers as soon as he could. He was, after all, not a fool. But he had not wanted to tell his father of his injury until he was sure of its extent. Thranduil would only worry and drive him mad by fussing over him. At least, Eilian thought, Legolas had not announced the injury in front of Ithilden, who would decide whether, when, and where he returned to duty.

"You talk too much, brat," he growled.

"He tells me what you should have told me," Thranduil admonished. "How did you injure it?"

"That is a long story," Eilian said reluctantly. Next to him, Legolas, too, looked hesitant. Eilian would guess that he was not eager to tell their father about nearly falling over the cliff or about disobeying Eilian's order to help him free his arm.

Thranduil looked at his two sons who were obviously not willing to talk about something that had happened on this trip. With a start, he realized that Legolas was now only an inch or so shorter than Eilian. "When did that happen?" he wondered and then shook the thought off.

"Go to the healers," he instructed Eilian. "You may tell me how serious the injury is after you have finished with them. Legolas will tell me the story of your trip." He put his arm affectionately around his youngest son's shoulders. Legolas looked resigned. "Come," Thranduil said. "You need to rest before we talk. And it looks as if this is a story that I will want to hear sitting down with a cup of wine in my hand."

***

Legolas stripped off his still-damp clothes, fell into his bed, and slept the rest of the day away. By the time a light knock on his door awakened him, evening was drawing in. "Come in," he called groggily.

The door opened and Thranduil entered, followed by a servant with a tray of food. The servant put the tray on a table and then discreetly withdrew. Stifling a yawn, Legolas pulled on a night robe and struggled to his feet.

"Come and eat, iôn-nín," Thranduil encouraged. He poured a cup of wine and sat down with Legolas, who suddenly realized that he was starving. Thranduil waited until he had consumed an unconscionable amount of venison, bread, cheese, and cider before he asked again for an account of the trip. "I wish to know what happened to you and Eilian," he pressed gently. "You are too important to me for me to be willing to stay in ignorance."

Legolas found that the tone in which Thranduil spoke made him want to tell his father all that had happened on this stressful and ultimately terrifying mission. He told Thranduil everything – the quarrels with Galelas, the reprimands from Maldor, the mock battles with the masters and the real one with the Orcs, his own near escape from falling over the cliff and into the river. He kept back only two things: his defiance of Eilian's order to help him unbind his arm, and his and Galelas's effort to knock Maldor down. Both of these things struck him as rather dangerous to tell his father.

When Legolas had finished, Thranduil leaned back and regarded his youngest son. Legolas had not told him everything, he thought. There had been one or two awkward pauses in which he was obviously trying to decide what to tell and what to hold back. Thranduil was not unduly concerned about these gaps in the story, however. If the omissions were important, he would undoubtedly learn about them in due time. But he was concerned that his son know how Thranduil judged what Legolas had told him. And Legolas's nervous face told him that he awaited that judgment.

So he leaned forward and put his hand on his son's knee. "The novice masters will decide what consequences will follow from the quarreling, Legolas," he said. "That is not my affair. But it seems to me that you did not want it and made an effort to end it. And it also sounds as if you behaved well and fought bravely during the encounter with the Orcs. I am proud of you," he finished simply.

Legolas flushed with pleasure. The trip had been difficult, but perhaps he had not weathered it so badly after all. Another thought occurred to him.

"Has Eilian come back from the healers yet?" he asked anxiously.

"Yes, he came back some time ago."

"How is he? Is his arm badly damaged?"

Thranduil sighed. "They do not know," he said. At Legolas's look of dismay, he grimaced. He had thought that Legolas might feel guilt over his brother's injury, although so far as Thranduil could tell, it was the use of a bow that had finally done the harm. "Time will tell, Legolas," he said. "It does no good to worry."

He rose and Legolas did too. Thranduil dropped a light kiss on his son's forehead. "Go and bathe," he said. "You have mud in your hair."

Legolas smiled. "Yes, Adar," he answered obediently. As Thranduil moved toward the door, he added, "Thank you."

His father smiled back over his shoulder. "You are most welcome, iôn-nín." And he left, closing the door softly behind him.

***

Eilian sat quietly with his injured arm lying on the table. Belówen ran his hands lightly along the forearm and then let them rest over the damaged muscles. He shut his eyes, trying to sense the extent and form of the injury. His concentration was total, as he slipped into a trance-like state. Eilian did not understand what the healer was doing, but he felt the warmth flowing through his arm, and he drew as much comfort as he could from it. He was far more worried than he had admitted to anyone about this injury. He had been back from the trip for a week now, and the healers were still unwilling to predict when, or even if, it would heal.

Belówen opened his eyes and sighed. He removed his hands. "How does it feel?" he asked, as he buckled the brace back onto Eilian's arm.

"It aches," Eilian answered truthfully, "but less than it did. It seems better." He offered this last, hoping that the healer would confirm it, but Belówen simply finished with the brace and helped Eilian to settle his arm back in its sling.

Eilian sighed and changed the subject. "I am told that Maldor is better," he said.

"Yes," Belówen agreed, "he is. Moreover, when I went to see him this morning, he was out of bed and writing reports. Even his wife's protests did no good. He is a worse patient than you are."

Eilian smiled. Yes, he would imagine that Maldor would be less than docile in the hands of a healer.

"Rest your arm further, and come and see me in three days," Belówen instructed, and with that, Eilian had to be content.

***

Legolas and Annael approached the clearing where the other three novices waited for them around a fire. The week since they had been home had been taken up by discussions led by Lómilad and Thelion about the events of the training mission. At first, the masters had encouraged the novices to talk about what they had experienced. Legolas had found himself, along with the others, gradually feeling freer to voice the fear and uncertainty that had gripped him during the mission and kept him from sleeping well for several nights after their return. Eventually, the talk had turned to lessons in strategy and tactics, and all of them had once again become their everyday selves. But they knew that they had shared something that they were not likely to forget.

Now Maldor was on the mend, and they were soon to return to their normal routine. Tonight they had convened to mark the end of the whole affair and to celebrate together before the single event that still remained to occur: The next morning Lómilad was going to convene the novices of all ages and have a small ceremony commending these five for their disciplined, courageous fighting against the Orcs and the care they took to hurry Maldor into the healers' hands.

"It is about time that you got here," cried Galelas. "We have been waiting."

Legolas rolled his eyes but made no response. He and Galelas had been more or less tolerating one another in the last week, but Legolas found it hard to believe that they would ever be friends.

"It took time to get what we wanted," he responded, "but we did." He pulled three waterskins from under his cloak, and Annael produced two more. They grinned and the others cheered. The two of them had been commissioned to get wine for the celebration, which they had done by taking empty waterskins into Thranduil's cellars and filling them from the first tapped barrel that they came to when no guard was in sight. They distributed the skins around the circle.

Legolas sat down between Annael and Tonduil and took a deep draught. His palate had been educated enough at his father's table that he recognized the taste of a very fine Dorwinian. He paused, considered consequences, and then took refuge in a second long draught. What was done could not be undone, he thought, so he might as well enjoy himself.

Next to him, Annael began to sing and they all joined in, the harmony of their song joining with that of the trees and the stars. At the end of the song, they all drank again. "This is rather good," Galelas said grudgingly. Legolas felt himself smiling as he thought of what Thranduil would say if he could hear Galelas's tepid praise of the drink. But he did not rise to the bait. He was feeling too relaxed.

As if he could not bear being ignored, Galelas now wandered over to Legolas's side of the fire and sat down next to him. "Have you by any chance heard anything about when or whether we are going to have to serve the night duty?" he asked in a low voice.

Legolas shook his head. "I think perhaps that Maldor has not yet filed a report with Ithilden," he said. "At any rate, Ithilden seems to know nothing about it." He glanced at Galelas. "You remember that Thelion was not present when Maldor ordered it, and I do not think that Eilian would say anything about it."

Galelas brooded for a moment. "Your brother is very nice," he said abruptly. "You are lucky." Then he got up and moved back to his former place on the other side of the fire.

Legolas drank deeply again and found that he was beginning to feel a little dizzy. Could he be becoming drunk? he wondered in surprise. Like the rest of them, he had drunk wine on an almost daily basis from childhood. But in his home, as in those of his companions, wine was part of meals and the amount he had had was limited and often mixed with water. He considered these factors and looked around at the flushed faces of the other novices. Then he laughed out loud. Yes, he thought, I think we all are becoming a little drunk.

Annael poked him. "Why are you laughing?" he asked solemnly and then collapsed with laughter himself.

Isendir lay back on the grass and studied the stars. "We should do something to show that we are a unit now," he said, "something to mark us off from the other novices."

"Good idea," agreed Annael, recovering himself somewhat. "What should we do?"

They all considered his question for a moment. Finally Tonduil spoke. "I have an idea," he said tentatively. "It is something you can do with horses, and they look very elegant afterwards. Shall I show you?"

They looked at him with interest. "Show us," said Galelas.

"I need a knife and a volunteer," said Tonduil.

For some reason, Tonduil's request struck Legolas as funny. With a broad grin, he offered Tonduil the dagger from his boot. "I volunteer," he said grandly and then laughed. The others seemed to share in the joke, for they guffawed too.

Still sniggering, Tonduil rose and came to stand before Legolas, brandishing the dagger. "This will not hurt," he said solemnly and then laughed again. He tugged a small lock of Legolas's hair loose at the temple and then, with a single swipe of the sharp knife, he cut it, leaving about six inches of fine, blond hair. Legolas jumped but did not otherwise protest. The others watched in silent awe as Tonduil braided the short lock so that it fell over the side of Legolas's forehead. They were evidently uncertain about whether what Tonduil was doing would fit or clash with their Elven vanity about their hair.

"Now, we need something decorative," Tonduil pondered. "We use bells on the horses but I do not think that they would be appropriate for us." He looked around. "Do you think that we could find birds' nests in the dark?" he asked musingly. "Blue jay feathers would be nice."

Enthusiasm swept through the little group once again. "Of course," snorted Annael, who was the best among them at woodcraft. "I can find anything in the woods at any time," he uncharacteristically boasted. He was immediately up into one of the nearby trees and gone.

While they waited for his return, Tonduil cut and deftly braided short forelocks on Galelas and Isendir, and then Isendir performed the same task on him. By the time that Annael returned with a handful of blue feathers, they were ready for him. Tonduil cut and braided Annael's hair, and then they added a bright, blue feather to the end of each braid. Tonduil stood back and studied them with satisfaction.

"That looks splendid," he enthused, "and it will certainly show that we are a group, for no one else will have their hair like this."

"Excellent!" cried Isendir and slapped Tonduil on the back. The rest of them could not help but agree, and they lifted skins again to toast one another and their newly found solidarity.