Part 15:  An Interlude with the Elders.

Thranduil read the message from Elrond yet again and tried to reconcile his responsibility to remain in his realm whilst it was under threat with his desire to accept the invitation to celebrate New Year at Imladris. He could empathise fully with Elrond’s recently suffered loss, and although he had sent a letter back with Elladan and Elrohir expressing his sympathy, he felt it his duty to personally console his friend now that the opportunity had been presented.

“I think you should go, Your Majesty. Elrond is surely aware of the danger of the journey as well as the constant threat we face. He must have a good reason for asking you to take the risk,” commented Thranduil’s Steward, who was also his good friend and closest confidante, aside from Legolas.

“So you believe this is more than merely a social call?” enquired Thranduil.

“I think it likely,” nodded the Steward.

“I am extremely reluctant to leave his realm in these troubled times, but I will speak with my Captains before I make my final decision,” he told his friend. “Please arrange a meeting as soon as possible.”

The discussion with his Captains was held later that day, and they convinced their King that he should refuse to allow the threat of the shadow to rule his behaviour.  Aside from that, there was also another important consideration, at least as far as the warriors were concerned… their honour.  A challenge had been issued to Mirkwood to enter their best archer in the tournament that was to be the highlight of the New Year’s celebrations. They all agreed that Legolas was to be the one to go, for he had proven on many occasions that he was the most skilled archer in Mirkwood, and when they called for Legolas to tell him of the invitation, Thranduil found his decision made for him.

For the first time in many a long year, his son’s eyes shone with excitement and genuine happiness so excited was he by the prospect of a journey purely for pleasure, and he was so full of confidence that he would be the victor, that Thranduil had not the heart to refuse.

Thus they had travelled the long distance to the Last Homely House with Legolas’s patrol as guards, arriving only a few hours before the evening meal, which was to be a feast in honour of the King of Mirkwood. The Wood Elves had been immediately shown to their rooms so that they could refresh themselves, and after spending a relaxing hour in the bath, Thranduil poured himself a goblet of wine and walked out onto the balcony so that he could admire the view of the river valley in which Imladris was built. The constant voice of the cascading waters was extremely soothing, and offered tranquillity not unlike that to be found in the rustling of the leaves in the glades of Mirkwood. He remained there in silent contemplation until the dinner bell rang, and Legolas arrived to escort his Adar to the dining hall.

A rather raucous peal of silvery laughter caught the attention of the two elder Elves as they sat discussing the merits of the wine that Thranduil had brought as a gift for Elrond. Easily recognising the voices as that of their sons, they glanced across the dining hall to see Legolas blushing slightly and Elrohir placing a comforting arm around his friend’s shoulders as he playfully scolded Elladan for his words. There was amusement glittering in Elrond’s eyes as he turned to speak to his companion.

“One of Elladan’s more ‘colourful’ stories, no doubt,” he said dryly, explaining the likely cause of the merriment.

“It must have been extremely so. Legolas has spent many nights around the fire listening to the deeds, and no doubt the ‘conquests’ of the older warriors, and is not easily embarrassed,” commented Thranduil as he smiled and raised his glass in response to a similar gesture from Elladan before turning back to continue his conversation with Elrond.

“I have heard that you have spent too much time cloistered in your library of late, and although I understand too well the nature of your grief, you cannot let it rule your life,” said Thranduil compassionately. “I think you need to spend some time in the open air, away from your responsibilities, as I am doing. Although I had misgivings about this trip, I now find I am enjoying the freedom it affords. Perhaps you would care to go riding with me tomorrow and experience some of the same?” Elrond appeared to consider this notion for a few minutes before answering.

“I accept, for I have just recalled a place you might find interesting, a small, but little known waterfall about half a day’s ride from here in a secluded and tranquil location,” said Elrond.

“Excellent, then perhaps we can spend some time there discussing the real reason you requested my presence,” replied Thranduil. Elrond raised an eyebrow at his friend’s insight and nodded agreement.

“Glorfindel, I trust that you will see to it that our sons do not become overly curious as to our whereabouts?” he asked the Elf Lord who had just joined them after the musicians had been asked to provide music for dance rather than song.

“There is little likelihood of that, it appears they have accepted an invitation to join the Rangers,” replied Glorfindel as he watched the three younger Elves leave with several of the Dúnedain. “I doubt they will have returned before you leave in the morning.”

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The ever present whispering of the cascading water of the falls was muffled as if by some ghostly hand covering its mouth as a thick morning mist hung heavily over Imladris.  There was a freshness to air that was filled with cool droplets of moisture that clung to lightly the travelling cloaks that covered the simple tunics and leggings that the two Elves were wearing. Neither Elrond nor Thranduil wished to disturb the tranquillity of the new day, so they made their way silently to the stables, having already decided to lead, rather than ride their horses to the stone archway that was the gate to Imladris.

There was not a soul in sight, and even the birds had not yet voiced their welcome to the new day as they passed under the archway, and mounted their horses.

“It is a strange feeling to be leaving with no-one here to wish me a speedy journey, or a safe return. I almost feel as if I am but a child, sneaking out without permission,” commented Elrond with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Speaking of children, I stopped by Legolas’s chamber this morning to tell him not to look for me today, but he was not there, and his bed had not been slept in,” Thranduil said as he whispered a command to his horse, which obligingly broke into a canter. Elrond did likewise, quickly catching up to his friend.

“My sons were not in their chambers either… as is often the case when they are invited to spend the evening drinking with the Rangers, as Glorfindel mentioned. It is nothing to be concerned about,” Elrond explained with a shrug.

“So our attempt at being responsible Adars was foiled by our sons, as often happens,” commented Thranduil said with a sigh, dismissing the subject of wayward sons in favour of his curiosity. “Exactly where is this waterfall you wish to show me?”

 “It is deep in the forest, in a place where the stream that feeds it forms a small ravine that has steep sides. We will need to leave the horses at the top and make our way down on foot and we would be wise to keep our swords with us, for I have heard reports of one or two orcs venturing this far into the valley,” Elrond warned.

Soon the gates and the narrow pathway that lead beyond the valley disappeared from view, and when his horse had broke into a gallop in response to his command, Elrond actually began to enjoy the sense of freedom as he left his responsibilities behind for the day. Thranduil did likewise and soon they were racing to their destination, travelling cloaks and two streams of unbraided hair, one as dark as the other was fair, billowing behind them in their wake.

With the surefootedness possessed by elvish horses, they passed easily through the forest, reaching the clearing at the edge of the ravine just after noon. Taking their travel packs, and their swords, the two elder Elves left their horses to avail themselves of the shade as they grazed on the long grass, and made the slow climb down to the base of the waterfall.

There was plenty of cool shade provided by several willow trees dipping their leafy fingers into the water of the stream, as well as a wide expanse of grass, speckled with the colour of the many flowers that grew amongst the greenery. The waterfall itself was certainly much smaller than those in Imladris, but large enough to fill the glade with the sound of its soft, soothing whisper.

“This is truly a beautiful place, and the water is so sweet,” Thranduil commented as he followed Elrond’s example and drank a few handfuls of the cool liquid before selecting a tree to sit beneath.

“Ai, I had almost forgotten how peaceful it is here,” replied Elrond as he allowed a sigh of contentment to leave his lips. “Just what we both need,” he added meaningfully.

“We have certainly both experienced some heartbreaking times,” agreed Thranduil seeing no need to voice the details.

“How fares Tathar?” asked Elrond.

“I have assigned him to protect several of the small villages near my borders, and he seems to be the better for it. Naturally he still grieves for his son, but he feels he is in some way avenging him Legolas tells me that although Tathar misses Mirieth, he is relieved to know she is safe and well in Valinor.”

“As is Celebrían,” whispered a rather melancholy Elrond, nodding his understanding. “And what of Legolas?”

“I believe he has finally come to terms with his grief over the loss of young Faelas,” replied Thranduil. “This trip and the archery tournament have certainly lifted his spirits, and for that I am grateful. Now perhaps you would indulge my curiosity and tell me what it is you want of me, for I sense you have a request to make, do you not?” asked Thranduil.

“Direct as always, mellon nin,” laughed Elrond. “Tell me, have you found yourself engaged in many of the skirmishes with the fell creatures in that invade your forest?”

“Not often, and I have only had cause to deal with spiders, usually with a well placed arrow,” replied Thranduil, wondering what Elrond was leading up to.

“So you have not had to wield your sword?”

“Only when sparring with Legolas or my warriors,” admitted Thranduil.  “Do you still practice your skills?”

“Nay, I have not wielded my sword for many centuries,” Elrond answered shaking his head.

“Then perhaps you should spend a few hours a day on the practice field, rather than amongst your books. You know as well as I that the Shadow is returning, and if the Dark Lord regains his strength, even Imladris will need defending,” warned Thranduil.

“Glorfindel and my sons have been advising me to do just that, and have offered to spar with me on many occasions, but so far I have refused,” Elrond confided. 

“Why? Is not Glorfindel’s expertise with the sword, if not your sons’ as well, at least equal to your own?” asked Thranduil frowning with confusion at his friend’s apparent reluctance to hone his skills.

“I concede that Glorfindel is in fact a much better swordsman and more than a match for me, but there is little point in sparring with one whose skills and strategies I have come to know so well,” explained Elrond.  “We each know beforehand the moves the other will make…   and in that there is no challenge, not like when you and I met each other on the practice field as our armies journeyed together to Dagorlad. Do you recall those days?”

“When although we had no desire to injure each other, neither of us would concede defeat, until forced to by either Oropher or Gil-galad, you mean?” asked Thranduil, easily perceiving where this conversation was leading.

“Ai, and the Healer often chose to bind our wounds with a salve that was painful when first applied,” added Elrond, wincing as he recalled the sensation.

 “If I understand you, it is a challenging partner you seek? Perhaps you would care to cross swords with me?” offered Thranduil his eyes alight with delight at the prospect.

“Indeed I would, this is my real reason for asking you here, as you have guessed,” replied Elrond.

“Before we begin, tell me why you choose this private location rather than the practice fields?” asked Thranduil. “It would be a worthy spectacle for the younger warriors to witness, and an excellent addition to the celebrations.”

“Aside from the fact that I do not wish all of Elvendom to hear that the King of Mirkwood and the Master of Imladris have finally come to blows, I prefer to spar under battle conditions in a style that our respective guards, and likely our sons, would not approve.”

“Ai, a sharp sword and very little armour is the only way to really test one’s mettle,” agreed Thranduil knowing full well Elrond’s intent.

They quickly divested themselves of all but under shirts and leggings, and circled each other warily, waiting for the unspoken signal that would begin the contest. Thranduil advanced first, catching Elrond off guard as his blade whispered past his friend’s chest, but old skills are never forgotten, and Elrond quickly retaliated. As their confidence in their own skills increased, their blood sang with elation and the desire for victory took hold of their actions, the sound of metal against metal rang throughout the clearing.

Although Thranduil was an excellent archer, he was a far better swordsman, and a worthy match for Elrond and the longer they fought, neither willing to yield, it became more apparent just how fearsome the two elder warriors could be. In the exhilaration of the battle, neither noticed the blood that flowed freely from the shallow gashes they both sported on chests that were now only protected by the shreds of their undershirts.

“So, Peredhil, I see you have lost none of your skill, despite your lack of practice,” teased Thranduil, breathing heavily as the dance of the warriors continued.

“Are you conceding defeat, Oropherion?” asked Elrond, equally as breathless.

“Nay, but if you tire of the exercise, we can stop,” replied Thranduil, ducking quickly, but unable to avoid the small nick to his cheek as he deflected Elrond’s sword.

“I think that would be wise,” said a stern voice from somewhere close by. “Middle-earth cannot afford to lose either of you at this time.”

Thranduil and Elrond were surprised into ceasing their practice and exchanged a look of concern that they had allowed someone to approach. The look changed to relieved amusement upon seeing Mithrandir step from behind the trees.

“Greetings, Mithrandir. I did not expect you to arrive until tomorrow,” said Elrond nonchalantly as he began to inspect his wounds.

“I did not expect you at all!” declared Thranduil, glaring at Elrond for not informing him of the fact.

“Most inconsiderate of you, Elrond,” scolded Mithrandir who then turned his charming smile to Thranduil. “I am pleased to see you Thranduil; perhaps we can journey back to Mirkwood together after the celebrations?”

“Of course,” agreed the King, his anger somewhat mollified by the suggestion. “How did you know to look for us here?” he asked.

“I was not intentionally seeking you, but heard the sound of swords and was curious to see who was battling so fiercely in this peaceful little glade,” the Wizard replied.

“We were practicing, not actually fighting to the death,” explained Thranduil.

“I am glad to hear it,” replied the Wizard, “although you both have many wounds that need tending as a result of your ‘practice’.” They both looked as if they had suddenly just become aware of the fact and exchanged satisfied grins.

“Thranduil, I am going to wash my wounds in the stream before I treat them, and I suggest you do likewise,” said Elrond as he removed the remnants of his clothing and waded into the water to be followed closely by Thranduil.

“Mithrandir, perhaps you would be kind enough to light a fire so that we can have some tea?” suggested Elrond.

“An excellent and very sensible idea,” agreed Mithrandir who quickly set about gathering some firewood.

“These are not too serious, but I expect will be a little painful until they heal,” Elrond said as he examined the gashes on Thranduil’s chest as they stood waist deep in the water.

“They will be all but gone by the morning, I suspect,” replied Thranduil with a shrug.

“As will mine, but I wonder if we should not remain here tonight. I find I am of no mind to have to explain torn shirts and sword wounds to those who will undoubtedly notice,” sighed Elrond.

“I agree, and would find it pleasing to spend the night under the stars after such an invigorating afternoon. Of course, given your sons’ penchant for ‘colourful’ stories, and Glorfindel’s wicked sense of humour, there is the chance that our absence will be considered to be planned, if you understand my meaning,” said Thranduil his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“I hardly think any would dare accuse us of seeking a tryst, especially with Mithrandir here to act as chaperone,” laughed Elrond.

“But no one knows he is here,” replied Thranduil.