Healing Hope

Chapter One

A Day to Remember

“A friend is someone who knows the song of in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words.” Unknown

A/N This WIP story is AU and is being written for enjoyment only. It is a sequel to “Elladan’s Trials, For Estel.”

It had been a beautiful day in Imladris, the hidden sanctuary valley that housed Lord Elrond, his family and many other Noldor elves who had remained here over the years. Nestled in the Misty Mountains, bordered by the rushing Bruinen River, and protected by the Vilya, the powerful ring of the air worn by Lord Elrond, Imladris had been home to the elves for many millennia, ever since they had founded the refuge during the Second Age as a fortress against the assaults of Sauron in Eriador.

As the shadows of late afternoon stretched from the surrounding peaks, threatening to steal away the remaining warmth of the day, any thoughts of that long ago war were chased away by the air sweetly scented with the fragrance of gardenia carried from the many plants burgeoning with the white blossoms. The mistress of Imladris had loved gardenias and had brought many of the plants from Lindon when she came here to become wife to Lord Elrond. While Celebrían had reveled in the diverse and cultured Lindon, it was here, in Imladris, that she found her true peace and happiness in loving Elrond and raising his children, and with the aid of Erestor, she had created magnificent gardens, which accented the beauty and serenity of this sanctuary.

It was in this place she loved that the twins felt closest to their mother, and they often came here to enjoy the setting and be filled with the peace that her presence had always brought to them. It was here that they now brought Estel, for even though their mother had sailed long before the child’s birth, her essence seemed to linger here and they hoped that some of the peace they felt here would translate itself to the child who was contentedly playing under the watchful eye of his foster brothers. Elladan and Elrohir each leaned back against a tree while Estel explored the garden for treasure. The child found delight in the simplest of pleasures…a tiny rock formed like a star, a fallen blossom still retaining scent, or best of all, an insect with multiple legs – the more the better.

Estel emerged from the bushes carrying a small kitten, newly weaned, from the looks of it. The feline was one little ball of the softest looking yellow fur that either of the twins had ever seen. Two blue eyes appeared from where the head and upper paws were sticking out from the crook of the boy’s arm. The rest of the kitten was flopping around like a rag doll as the excited boy ran towards his brothers, followed closely by Celon and Celos, his self-appointed watch dogs, or in this case, watch horses. The incongruity of the scene never failed to amuse the twins as they watched the unlikely trio approach.

Standing a full seventeen hands, Elladan’s stallion Celos was large, fierce and quite a handful for even Elladan to handle on occasion. Celos and Celon were, of course, identical like their masters. The stallions were snow white and the two of the most powerful elven horses in Rivendell. The pair had been a begetting day gift for the twins from Gandalf four years ago. Celon was everything that a good elven horse should be, but Celos seemed to have a mind of his own. Fiercely loyal to Elladan, he still could become feisty when the mood struck him.

But that was before a four year old bundle of energy had stolen their hearts and made them his. Two months ago an insane elf had stabbed Erestor in the back and kidnapped Estel. The child, already injured and suffering from a high fever, had been virtually buried alive…abandoned to his fate in a ruse to draw out Lord Elrond.

Driven to insanity by his jealousy, Quenthar had obtained a warrior’s spell from a rogue blue wizard and used it to battle Elladan, seriously injuring him before Lord Elrond could intervene. When Quenthar finally came face to face with Elrond, he had met his match. The mighty elf lord had not been Gil-Galad’s herald for many centuries, but his warrior’s instincts were undiminished. In the end, although wounded himself, Lord Elrond had proven that a father’s love was more powerful than Quenthar’s hatred, even with the warrior’s spell. While Prince Legolas, with the aid of the ancient trees, had rescued Estel, Elrond had battled and killed the elf that had brought so much harm to his family.

Erestor, Estel, Elladan and Lord Elrond had spent several days in the healing wing under the care of the healer Sariboril, while Legolas, Elrohir and Glorfindel had hovered nearby. One could almost believe, on such a beautiful day as this, that the incident was simply the result of a nightmare…the type of horror that vanished with the morning sun, but it was not so. The little boy still bore the emotional scars of being taken from his home and buried alive, suffering night mares and often becoming fearful and withdrawn.

Yet this had been a good day, a day the scars were not evident. This day delight was written all over the child as he ran to his brothers, followed closely by his four-legged guards. How the twin stallions had come to cherish and protect Estel was still a mystery to the elves. Perhaps it had started the day that Estel had fallen, sustaining a concussion and badly cutting his lip. Elladan had given the child a ride on Celos and Estel had fallen instantly in love with the animal and formed a bond with him. Perhaps the great steeds just instinctively knew the love their masters bore for the child. Whatever the case, much to the amusement of the elves of Imladris and the utter frustration of the inhabitants of the Last Homely House, the horses had taken to following Estel everywhere that he went, up to and including into the house, whenever they could get away with it.

“Erestor doesn’t like cats,” commented Elrohir as the two dark haired elves watched the boy approach. Identical, the twins were not only alike in appearance, but so alike in movement and demeanor that none outside their circle of family and friends could tell them apart. It was only in their respective personalities that their true individualism shone through.

“I know,” snickered Elladan to his brother, “but are you going to disappoint that face? Besides, after shooing Celon and Celos out of the house repeatedly do you think he’ll even notice something so small?”

Elrohir slowly shook his head, smiling at Estel as the child stopped in front of him. “What have you got there, little one?”

Estel smiled broadly at his brothers. “It’s a kitty! I’m going to call him Blubby.”

“Blubby?” questioned Elrohir.

“No,” explained Estel with a slight frown on is face, “Blubby!”

“I think he mean’s Fluffy,” whispered Elladan from his side, as he fought to keep the grin from his face.

“Oh!” exclaimed Elrohir. “We really must help him work on his ' f’s',” he added so that only his twin could hear. Elrohir looked back at Estel. “Fluffy is a perfect name for him, Estel. But do you not think he would rather stay with his mother?”

Estel considered the question as he proudly showed off his new treasure to Celos, who sniffed carefully and then slobbered over both the kitten and the boy with cordial impartiality, making the kitten squirm and sending the boy into a giggling fit.

“Daro, Celos, daro,” demanded Elladan, laughing himself. “Ada shall have you pulling a cart if he sees you slobbering on Estel again! Was it not bad enough that you followed him into the Hall of Fire last night?”

“And you, my great beauty,” added Elrohir to Celon, jumping up to nuzzle his horse and rub him between the eyes, just where he liked it best, “had better stop eating Erestor’s roses or you will be pulling a cart beside your brother.”

As though in answer to Elrohir’s soft admonishment, Celon shook his great head and gave a nicker. Celos added his own reply in a manner not so refined, nor so fragrant.

“Daro, Celos,” grimaced Elrohir, waving his hand back and forth in front of his face to dispel the odor. “What have you been feeding your horse, Elladan?”

“Not me, brother,” Elladan laughed. “I think it was the marigolds from the side of the house. He ate them in protest after Ada ejected him from the Hall of Fire.”

“No,” decided Estel, ignoring the twins, “the kitty wants to live with me. I will be his Ada, and he can sleep on my sunshine blankey.” With a determined little nod, the boy started up the path towards the house, followed closely by Celon and Celos.

“Well,” yawned Elladan, rising from where he lounged under the tree, “I think I would like to see the look on Ada’s face when Estel introduces him to Fluffy.”

“I’m right behind you, brother,” laughed Elrohir. “This should be good!”

O-o-O-o-O

Several miles from the border of Imladris a host of elven warriors were beginning to set up the camp. Quickly, and with great efficiency, the camp was erected and sentries set. The elven horses were allowed to roam free, for none would ever leave their master. The steeds would feed on the soft grasses of the meadow and take water from a nearby stream as they wished. Had these not been elves and possessed of incredible instincts, the horses could even have been used as sentries themselves, for nothing could sneak upon the camp unawares without the horses sensing it.

However, the being in the center of the camp was not in the least concerned about any threat approaching the group. The regal elf with the cascading silver hair was supremely confident in his entourage. After all, they were wood elves, the finest warriors and bowmen on earth, and they were sworn to protect him with their lives, for he was their king. Thranduil Oropherion was currently smiling at his son, Legolas, who was still somewhat disbelieving of how he happened to find himself here with his father. Thranduil did not leave Mirkwood…did not travel the earth to visit the other elves. It just was not done! Yet, unbelievably, here he was, nearly to Imladris. Legolas could not wait to see the looks on the twin’s faces when he showed up with a full cadre of elven warriors arrayed in their ceremonial finest, the banners of Mirkwood prominently adorning the lances of the Royal Guard, and most unbelievable of all, the King of Mirkwood himself That would be a day to remember!

Oblivious to all the musing of his son stood Thranduil himself. Exceptionally tall, even for an elf, the king was arguably the most beautiful elf in all Middle Earth. The beauty of his features was complimented by strength of will and a determination that would rival any other. He was, quite literally, a force with which to be reckoned, one which few outside of Mirkwood ever encountered. Mirkwood observed almost a self-imposed exile, one that Thranduil fostered and enjoyed. Too many wounds resulted when his people mixed with the other elves. Too many deaths had occurred when the elves of Greenwood the Great, as it was known then, had flocked to Gil-Galad’s call to join the War of the Last Alliance. When Thranduil made the sad journey home with his Adar’s body and without two thirds of the elven warriors who had marched proudly beneath Greenwood’s banner, it had done something to him. Oh, he knew what the elves of Middle Earth said about his father and about him. Quite frankly, he did not care. They said that his father was careless and hot headed. They said that Oropher’s death and the devastation of the Greenwood warriors had made Thranduil bitter. They were wrong. Any bitterness Thranduil felt was aimed towards the humans, the hosts of Elendil who had failed to support his father’s left flank, leaving him open for the crushing onslaught which had come from that direction. Never mind that Elendil had been in conference with the High King of the elves when Oropher had order the march, the edain commanders should have responded to Oropher’s call.

The grieving son and new king of Greenwood had pulled out his remaining warriors and returned home because not to do so could have meant the end of his wood elves. There were few enough left to rebuild the kingdom and protect those who remained. A great many of the grief stricken relatives of the fallen had chosen to sail, further weakening the numbers of the once mighty kingdom of the wood elves. Thranduil had no ring of power such as was wielded by Elrond and Galadriel in the defense of their realms. Thranduil did not rue that fact…did not waste the energy, for it required all the cunning, fortitude, and strength of will he had to keep his kingdom strong. And every year, every day, it became more difficult.Inevitably the beautiful kingdom had fallen more and more into darkness until it become known as Mirkwood. The powers of darkness forever encroached upon his land, continually pushed back his warriors who clawed and fought back with everything they had, seeking to deny the darkness, and fighting to reclaim every yard, every inch of their land from the evil which threatened them. His kingdom was now only a fraction of what it had been, but the wood elves tenaciously clung to that part, refusing to be pushed back another further. He was proud of his warriors, and especially of his son.

Prince Legolas Thranduilion was Mirkwood’s most accomplished warrior and its youngest. He was, in fact, the reason the King of Mirkwood now camped so far from his palace and so close to the realm of Lord Elrond Peredhil. Legolas had visited Imladris many times in his life. He was fast friends with Elrond’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir. It was for information about his friends that Legolas had journeyed to Rivendell just a few short months ago and been caught unarmed by a crazed elf who would have killed the crowned prince if not for the intervention of Elladan. Thranduil owed the Peredhil for his son’s life and that was a debt that he would not leave unaddressed. He would personally thank the son of Elrond for his service and assure the young elf of his undying gratitude, for his only child was the most important thing in the world to Thranduil.

Had it been anything less than the life of his son, Thranduil would not have made this journey. He had not seen Elrond since the day that his Adar had fallen in battle and Elrond, acting as the Herald to Gil-Galad, had come to his tent to offer his own condolences and those of the High King. Angry and grief stricken, Thranduil had lashed out at Elrond, pouring out all the vitriol and anguish that filled his soul. Elrond had taken it as he took everything else in life, with calm acceptance and grace. It was not a memory that Thranduil was particularly fond of remembering, but he would swallow his pride and face Elrond again…for Legolas.

TBC

TRANSLATIONS:

DARO: Stop

ADAR: Father

PEREDHIL: Half-elven

Healing Hope

Chapter Two

Compromise

“A compromise is the art of dividing a cake in such a way that everyone believes he has the biggest piece.”

Ludwig Erhard

Estel eyes shone with excitement as he carried his treasure towards the house.  He just knew the kitty was going to feel much safer sleeping with him in his sunshine blankey.  He would feed him and give him water and pet him every day.  Blubby was his very first kitty ever!

Intent upon his mission, Estel wasn’t paying very close attention to where he was going. He exited the garden and made a sharp left hand turn and barreled into Curúfin.  The boy bounced off the warrior’s legs and would have fallen onto his backside if not for the speed of Curúfin’s reflexes.

“Your pardon, master Estel,” said the elf.  “I did not see you coming.  What have you got there?”

“I am sorry, too, Curúfin.  I was in a hurry.  This is Blubby, my new kitty.  He is going to live in my room,” beamed the child.

“Is he indeed?  Well that is something I shall look forward to seeing.”

Elrohir and Elladan, and of course Celon and Celos, walked up to the pair. 

“I see the guards are still on duty,” laughed Curúfin. “I shall never forget the look on Erestor’s face when these two walked into the Hall of Fire last night.”

Elrohir raised an eyebrow in an uncanny imitation of Lord Elrond, and then chuckled merrily.  “Yes, I must say that it shall be one of my favorite memories as well.  El and I have managed to get a variety of reactions from Erestor, but that was one even we have failed to achieve.”

Impatient to be on his way, Estel did not tarry to listen to any more of the conversation.  He wanted his Ada to meet Blubby.

For his part, Fluffy was taking it all in stride, even dangling as he was from the crook of Estel’s elbow.   Of course, the kitten could see his mother pacing the pair and was, no doubt, secure in the thought he would be safely ensconced with the rest of his litter mates by nightfall.

The door to the great hallway opened with a bang as Estel had only one hand free to get it open.  An enthusiastic shout echoed through the house, bearing witness that in his excitement Estel had forgotten some of the house rules, the chief of which being that one did not shout inside.  “Ada!”

Elrond was in the library and easily heard the crash of the front door followed closely by his youngest’s call.  For a split second his heart had raced, until his mind reasoned that the child’s cry was not one of fear or pain, but of excitement.  Patiently and with a rueful smile, he pushed back the seat from the desk where he had been working and started towards the door.  He would need to remind the boy of the rules, but in fact, was heartened to hear animation in his son’s voice once again.

For too long Estel had been withdrawn. It stemmed, of course, from his fearful experience, and even now he had periods where he appeared almost normal, except for an underlying wariness that lurked to be just beneath the surface.  It was inevitable, the elf lord suspected, given the fact that the child had been taken from his home, from his father’s very bed…a place he should have been safest.

As Elrond neared the door of the library, Estel fairly burst through the door, a smile of excitement on his face.  “Ada, look, look what I found!  He was all alone and I saved him!  I will be his Ada.”  Estel was panting with exertion as he reached Elrond.

“I see, Estel,” began the lord calmly.  “Where did you find the feline?”

“It’s a kitty, Ada.  His name is Blubby and he’s going to live in my room with me.  I will keep him safe in my blankey.”

“Blubby.”  Elrond’s eyebrow arched as he took a deep breath and considered the situation.  In all the long years he had been a father, he had never had a child want to keep an animal in the house.  His thoughts were interrupted by a disturbance coming from the front hallway.  “What now,” he sighed.  “Come with me, Estel, and please bring the..uh..”

“Blubby,” supplied the happy little boy as he followed his father down the hallway.

At the front door, Elladan and Elrohir were laughing so hard they could hardly complete the task of keeping their horses from following them in the front door.  The stallions, intent upon entering, were not ignorant; they had seen Estel carry the kitten into the house and if one animal could come in, then why not two more?   

Celos had his head down and was attempting to push Elladan out of the way.  Celon was right beside him pushing on the door, behind which Elrohir was shoving back.

“Daro, Celos,” laughed Elladan.  “I love you for seeking to protect Estel, but we shall take over in here.  Go...go back to the stables where you belong.”

Celos whinnied and shook his great head before lowering it again, as though to try once more to shove his master out of the way.  Instead, he nuzzled the hand that was resting firmly against his forehead.

“That’s my beauty.  Go back to the stables, and I will bring you a treat,” promised the son of Elrond.  

Once the twins got their horses out of the door and closed it, they turned around to see their father standing before them, head lowered, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.  In short, he had “that” look on his face.  “This has ceased to be amusing.  I will not have horses strolling throughout my home at will!”

“But Ada,” exclaimed Elrohir, “I promise it’s not us!  I mean, we didn’t do it.”

“It’s true, Ada,” nodded Elladan.  “They have adopted Estel and don’t seem to want to leave him.”

A tug on his robe pulled the Elf Lord’s attention down to the four year old waiting patiently - with kitten, a frown marring his intense little face. “Am I in trouble, Ada?”

Elrond smiled down at his son, gently placing his hand on the boy’s head.  “Estel, you have done nothing to displease me, but Celon and Celos remain outside, where animals belong.”

A small set of shoulders sagged and impossibly large silver blue eyes became red rimmed as Estel fought to bat back the tears threatening to fall from his eyes. 

All thought of merriment in the situation fled as the twins watched their little brother.  It was when his bottom lip began to quiver that Elrond could stand it no longer.

He bent down and scooped up the boy and the kitten.  “Do not cry, Estel.  I believe we may work out a compromise.”

“Wh what’s a comprise?” hiccupped the child.

“It is where we come to an agreement with which both of us are happy.”

This brought a smile back to the twins.  Once again, their Ada had come through with just the right suggestion.

“Now,” continued Elrond.  “You may bring the, er, Fluffy into the house occasionally to play with you in your room, and the rest of the time he shall stay outside.”

“But he’s all alone, Ada.”  Tears began to fall from Estel’s eyes once again, as he buried his head on Elrond’s shoulder.  “He’ll be afraid in the dark,” whispered the boy.

It was then that Elrond understood. His heart ached to be able to reassure Estel and relieve him of the lingering torment and fear.

Estel was snuggling his kitten and Elrond was snuggling Estel.  With a kiss to the unruly dark hair and soft sigh, Elrond looked at the terrace opening and smiled.  “Estel, look.” 

Estel looked up to where his Ada was pointing.  There, in the terrace opening, beside the softly blowing draperies, was the mother cat.  She knew not to come in, but she was watching her kitten.

“That is Fluffy’s mother, Estel.  It’s getting dark outside, and she would be very sad if you took her kitten away all night.”

“Like you were sad when the bad elf took me away?” asked the boy.  He shivered unconsciously at the memory.

“Yes, tithen pen,” answered Elrond, hugging the boy just a little closer to himself as he, too, remembered the helplessness of finding Estel missing.  “I am sure that Fluffy’s mother would be happy for you to play with her kittens so long as you are very careful with them and always let them remain close to her.”

Estel was silently considering his Ada’s words as he stroked the soft fur of the kitten.

“Fluffy’s mother has a box in the barn, Estel,” said Elrohir.  “There are four other kittens and you could play with them all there.”

“You love to go to the barn,” encouraged Elladan.  “And Celos and Celon would be happy to have you there as well.” 

“Especially since they cannot come into the house to be with you,” added Elrohir, with a wink at his father.

 “How do we know that’s Blubby’s mother?” asked Estel, still a bit unsure of the situation.

“Why don’t we ask Fluffy?” responded Elrond. He walked over near the terrace entrance and lowered Estel.  “Set Fluffy down and let’s see what he does.”

Tentatively, Estel set the kitten onto the floor.  Fluffy stretched, yawned, and then walked lazily over to his mother.  The mother cat began to stroke and clean the kitten, much to its delight.  Loud purring could be heard coming from Fluffy.

Estel giggled at the sound. “He likes it!”

“Why don’t we leave Fluffy to his mother and go see what is being served for dinner?” suggested Elrond.  “You have had a busy day, Estel, and I am sure that you are hungry.”  Taking his son by the hand, the Elf Lord and the little human boy walked down the hall together followed by the twins. 

All in all it had been a very good day.

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas sat alone, perched as high as he could get in the ancient oak.  He had left Thranduil’s pavilion to seek some solace in the trees and work out his strategy.  Tomorrow they would be reaching Imladris, and he had yet to enlighten his Adar regarding certain facts about Estel.  ‘Ha,’ snorted Legolas to himself, ‘just the small fact that Estel is human.  That’s not so big, right?’  Legolas groaned softly.  ‘Who am I kidding?  It is huge.  How did I get myself in this mess?’

Legolas had naturally reported the details of his trip to Imladris when he returned to his father’s kingdom.  The story about Quenthar and the involvement of the blue wizard had particularly intrigued Thranduil, especially when he heard how Quenthar had cornered his son.  The king’s face had paled, and as a warrior, Legolas had been mortified to admit having been caught unaware and without his weapons.  Even now, that moment angered him as he remembered facing that mad elf.

Legolas was hurrying across the archery field when he felt a touch of evil entering his senses. He stopped, scanning the forests around him. The touch was feathery light and nebulous, but definitely there. He opened his mind to the trees trying to focus on what they might be attempting to tell him. He could feel the trees at the end of the field calling to him in their distress, and it was the familiar call he’d felt before. But now he was also sensing distress and darkness in the trees to his left, where he had not felt any before.

A frown marred the fair being’s face as he puzzled through this new development and to discern what the trees were attempting to tell him. It was as thought they were all agitated and he was having trouble making sense of all the messages he was receiving.

“What is it, my friends,” he called out while turning in a circle. “Where is the child?” He closed his eyes and attempted to still his thoughts as he let the messages wash over him. Undeniably the strongest calling came from the far end the field. “Hannon le,” he cried, “Lead me to the boy.” He stared walking in the direction of the pond.

“Prince Legolas,” called a deep voice behind him.

The surprised prince turned quickly. He was chagrined to realize that he’d let his guard down while so focused on the trees. He was glad that Falathar was not here to share in his embarrassment, for he would never have let his friend live down the failing. “Quenthar, did Elladan send you after me?”

“No, Elladan did not send me.”

Legolas was slightly confused by the presence of the elf. “I am going to find Estel. The trees are leading me.”

“I am afraid I cannot allow you to do that, Prince Legolas,” snarled the elf.

The reality of the situation was beginning to dawn on Legolas. “Quenthar?”

“That’s right, your highness,” jeered the elf.

Legolas gazed at the stable master in astonishment. Quenthar’s face was so twisted in rage that he was almost unrecognizable as the same elf that had always been so kind and attentive to the horses of Imladris and her guests. If the look on his face was indefinable, the sword in his hands was not. Its burnished surface mocked the prince and he had a sudden longing for his weapons, which were back in his room in the Last Homely House.

Resolve crossed the prince’s face and he repeated, “I am going to find Estel.”

Quenthar actually laughed. “Estel, if he’s not already dead, is going to die in that hole where I left him, and you are going to die right here.”

“You will not kill me,” said the prince softly.

“Oh? You are not even armed, in case you’ve failed to notice. So tell me, high and mighty prince, who will stop me?”

“I will,” promised a voice from behind him.

Quenthar spun to look upon the elf who had dared to cross him. He was so close to all his dreams now; he would not allow anyone to interfere. “Elladan…”

When Legolas told his father of Elladan’s intervention, Thranduil had decided to make this trip to Imladris to personally thank the twin, a fact which frankly astounded Legolas. 

He almost shivered as he remembered finding Estel buried alive, traumatized, dehydrated, and severely ill.  He had freed the child and raced back towards the Last Homely House.

The disquiet of the trees alerted him before the sound of metal on metal reached his ears as Legolas started down the path that circled the goldfish pond. He paused, trying to place the position of the sounds of battle. “Hold on, Elladan,” he murmured, “I’ll be back as soon as I get Estel to the house and retrieve my weapons.” Emerging from the woods behind the archery targets, Legolas’ heart skipped a beat when he saw the older twin lying on the field and Lord Elrond himself in a pitched battle with Quenthar; a battle that he did not appear to be winning.

Legolas was momentarily frozen, his warrior’s instincts urging him to come to the Elf Lord’s aid while his heart reminded him of his responsibility to protect the child in his arms. Looking down at the innocent face he was surprised to see serious blue eyes gazing calmly back at him with such trust that he was humbled and amazed at the wave of protectiveness that washed over him. A small hand reached up to touch his cheek and it was as though the Valar had granted him the foresight of Elrond to affirm that he would forever be bound to this child. It was at once unsettling and comforting. Legolas would never speak of it again, but ever after he would think of this as the epiphany…the moment that defined his lifelong relationship with Estel.

The memory brought a smile to the elf’s fair face.  Until meeting Estel, the only humans he’d had contact with were the men from Lake Town.  He was, of course, in attendance at the formal parleys when they came to Mirkwood to trade with the King, but was never allowed to be alone with the humans.  Thranduil was cordial, to a point, but the humans were shadowed by elven guards every moment they were in the Mirkwood.

Even before Legolas had met Estel, he had witnessed the way Lord Elrond and the twins, indeed, everyone in Imladris, had loved the child and known that he must be very special. The ways of the Valar were too much for him to comprehend, yet he felt sure that they had ordained his friendship with the child, even though he did not understand why or how this would be accomplished.

Legolas would never deliberately lie to his Adar, for he was also his Sovereign, but he had not included the fact of Estel’s humanity in the telling, and thus the quandary in which he now found himself. 

“Estel?” the king snorted, astonishment written all over his beautiful features. “Elrond named his son Estel?”

“His foster son,” corrected Legolas, “and yes, he named him Estel.”

Thranduil threw back his head and laughed uproariously.  “And they say I’m prissy!  I hope the elfling learns how to defend himself, for he will have a difficult time among the other elflings with a name like that.”

The conversation had digressed from there and Legolas had never quite gotten around to explaining to his Adar that the “elfling” was actually a little boy.

He sighed, gazing up the stars as Eärendil made his nightly trek overhead.  “Ah, Elbereth, what am I to do?”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Three

The Faithful Pair

“Courage is found in unlikely places.” Gildor Inglorion (Fellowship of the Ring)

Two weeks later

Beling sat perched high above the ground overlooking the area where he normally kept watch.  He had gained much experience in the past few months since taking his place as one of the border guards of Imladris, so much so that he had been giving added responsibilities.

 His current assignment had him further out than he’d ever been before, marking the movements of several orc bands that had been savaging nearby human communities.  Lord Glorfindel hoped to see a pattern develop in their routes that might allow the warriors to follow them back to their lair; there to wipe out the nest before more harm could be done.  There was something unusual about these orc attacks…something that Lord Glorfindel could not quite figure out.

For one thing, the attacks seemed to be coordinated.  Any level of cooperation was not normal for orcs, let alone the coordination of more than one band.  Most orcs were only interested in the joy of killing, tormenting, and of course, feasting on their kill. If humans or, even more appealing, elves were not available, small animals would do.  More often than not their own leaders were stabbed in the back or worse, if the pack grew restless.

The second thing that caught Glorfindel’s attention was the apparent attention given to the details of the attacks.  Again, it represented a level of reasoning and forethought that was unheard of in orc bands.  The last attacks had come dangerously close to Rivendell, and that was something that demanded investigation, for above all else, the Golden Warrior would protect Imladris and Lord Elrond.  Beling almost worshiped Glorfindel and would have followed him anywhere, so he was extremely proud to have been chosen for this duty.

For two grueling weeks Beling had tracked the orcs, getting as close to them as he dared – often much closer than was prudent - and the mental and physical fatigue was beginning to catch up with him. He had finished the assignment just after dawn and spent the next few hours making his way back to more familiar territory.  Now that he was once again within the border of Imladris, if barely, he had chosen to rest for just a few moments in this tree where he was not visible from the ground.  The young guard did not even realize that he had slipped into the elven dream world when the sound of many horses penetrated his thought processes.

Many horses - from outside Imladris - something was not right about that.  Many horses!  Beling jerked upright as the realization finally shook him from his exhausted slumber.  Faster than one would think possible for a Noldo, Beling was down the tree.  He even jumped the last few feet from a lower limb, landing smack dab in front of the advancing column, arrow notched and ready.  “Halt!”

It took a moment for Beling to shake the grogginess from his mind and accept the vision arrayed before him.  He had only a momentary flash of golden hair, golden armor, and magnificent green, brown and yellow standards before he found himself flat on his back, looking up into the enraged faces of several Wood Elves who were presently holding him down with their deadly curved swords at his throat.  “You dare to raise your bow to the King of Mirkwood?”

Beling swore that if he attempted to speak, even so small a movement as that would cause his throat to be cut, so close were the blades.  His eyes moved to the one who had spoken and widened in recognition.  “Falathar!”

Falathar grinned and motioned the other guards to withdraw their swords.  They did so, grudgingly, for they truly were incensed that Thranduil would be so welcomed.  ‘You and I have done this once before, have we not?  I see you did not learn your lesson.  Last time you only fired on the Prince of Mirkwood; this time you drew your bow against the King!”

“Falathar, enough,” laughed Legolas, who had walked up to join the group and was now offering his hand to Beling to help him up.  “Please tell me that no more of Lord Elrond’s sons are in danger.”  The prince meant it as a joke, but he could see from Beling’s expression that the words had been hurtful.

“Much harm was done to my Lord and his family by one we trusted,” explained Beling, gaining his feet without accepting the proffered hand.  “We find no humor in that.”

Several of the Mirkwood guards raised their swords at the perceived insult to their prince, but Falathar waved them off.  He had been promoted to chief of the king’s guard after he had returned home with Legolas.

“Beling, forgive me,” apologized Legolas, “I truly meant no offense. I care deeply for Lord Elrond and his family; you know this.  My jest was aimed at the twins, and poorly timed.  I can see that now.”

“What is the delay here?”

Legolas and all the guards around Beling went to a knee before the one who had ridden up to the group.  For his part, Beling’s mouth fell open. Never had he seen such a beautiful and magnificent elf.  The majesty fairly emanated from him in waves.  He had strikingly silver hair worn nearly to his waist, and his warrior braids were of an intricacy the likes of which Beling had never seen before.  He wore golden armor designed in leaf motif that reflected the sunlight and accented his silky hair.

 It was only when the elf’s eyes fell on Beling and the embarrassed elf lowered his gaze respectfully did he catch the frantic motion of Falathar’s hand instructing him to take a knee.  Quickly, Beling did as he was instructed, confusion written on his face.

“What is the delay?” repeated the King, and it was only then that the elves rose, followed more slowly by a bewildered Beling.

“Adar,” said Legolas. “This is Beling, a guard of Imladris.  He shall accompany us to Lord Elrond.”

Thranduil’s eye fell once again on the young guard, who almost took a knee once again. Guards at Imladris did not kneel before their Lord.  Such formality had never been required in the hidden valley, and Beling was quite unused to all this formality.

The King of Mirkwood raised one delicate brow at the rumpled and dirty – for an elf – appearance of the guard.  “I see the standard of Elrond’s house is not changed,” he opined drolly.  “You stink of orc.”

Beling’s eyes flashed in anger at the insult to his Lord and the snickers he heard from a few of the Mirkwood warriors.  After all, he had been covertly stalking orcs for two weeks, a job that did not lend itself to cleanliness.   Besides, he had to disguise his own scent or risk being found out.

“Peace, child,” replied the King, silencing the snickers with a glace. “You shall grow accustomed to my humor.  Have you a mount?”

The switch of topics was too swift for Beling’s fatigued mind. “My lord?”

Thranduil actually smiled at the young one.  Clearly this one had been on a difficult duty, a circumstance not unfamiliar to Thranduil, whose realm was constantly under attack from the dark forces.  “A horse young one,” he explained.  “Unless you intend to run at my side, you shall need a ride.”  With an imperial flick of his wrist, Thranduil motioned for the horse that was being led by one of the elven guards to be brought forward.  “Shall this do?”

Beling’s eyes widened at the sheer beauty, size and magnificence of the black stallion which had been brought to stand before him. “Oh, he is stunning, Hîr nín.”

Thranduil’s delightful laugh was light and melodious – as beautiful as the rest of him. “Come then, my young escort, Imladris awaits us!  We shall change from these dusty traveling clothes and be off.  I shall not meet the Lord of Imladris for the first time after so many years looking rumpled! ”

O-o-O-o-O

Sunlight streamed through the doorways and a light breeze made the draperies dance in lazy circles as the mid day repast was being enjoyed by Elrond and Estel.   The twins had returned from patrol and decided to go down to the ponds to watch the fish.  Estel, who would still not go near the ponds or even in the direction of the archery field, had declined their invitation to join them.

“My I be excused now, Ada?” enquired Estel, virtually squirming in his seat in his hurry to be off.

The Lord of Imladris glanced at the boy’s empty plate and milk mug, and satisfied that his lunch was finished, granted permission. 

A smile of pure happiness lit Estel’s face.  “Thank you, Ada!”  He wiggled off his seat to give his Ada a parting kiss.

Elrond returned his son’s hug and kiss, holding on for a moment before releasing the boy with a soft sigh. “Do not delay when Erestor calls you for your nap.”

Estel wrinkled his little nose. “I won’t, Ada; I promise.”  With a last smile he walked towards the door as quickly as he could – without running, which was, of course not allowed in the Hall of Fire.

Glorfindel walked into the room just as Estel was exiting.  “Where are you going so quickly, Little Bit?”

“I’m going to play with Blubby,” called the boy as the hurried down the hallway. “I mean Fuh-luh-fee,” enunciated the little one over his shoulder as he ran through the front door.  

Glorfindel would never have been able to hear him without his elven hearing.  The warrior chuckled to himself as he joined Elrond at the table.  He scooted Estel’s empty plate and mug aside and sat in the seat just vacated by the boy. “I see you have been working with Estel on his pronunciation.”

Elrond smiled at his friend.  It was a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Yes, we have been practicing every night.  He is making good progress, when he remembers.” 

Smoothing the table covering from non-existent wrinkles, Glorfindel cocked his head to consider his friend.  He had not failed to notice the small signs that his Lord was preoccupied.  Glorfindel took note of the uneaten and picked-at food on Elrond’s plate.  “When are you going to tell me what you’re fretting over, mellon nín?”

Elrond picked up his wine glass, took a sip, and then fixed his friend with a long-suffering look “I do not fret.”

“May I join you?”

Glorfindel looked at the seneschal and nodded.  “By all means, Erestor, sit.  Perhaps you can talk some sense into our friend here.”

Erestor set his plate down and joined the pair. He was completely healed from the stab wound he’d received from Quenthar, and was once again attending to his duties as chief advisor to Lord Elrond.  In truth, he was much more than an advisor to the Peredhil.  He had made it his duty to oversee the complete running of the household.   Like Glorfindel, he loved Elrond and his children deeply, and was considered a part of the family.  He bit into a slice of buttery cheese and sighed in pleasure.  “I have noticed that he is fretting about something.”

Glorfindel couldn’t help the snort that escaped him at Erestor’s observation.

Erestor continued to eat his bread and cheese, completely oblivious to the fact that he had just echoed Glorfindel, while Elrond fixed him with “that” look.

“What?” asked Erestor, feigning complete innocence.

“Elrond does not fret,” supplied Glorfindel.

And now it was Erestor’s turn to snort.

O-o-O-o-O

Estel was safely ensconced in the back of Celos’ stall, where he had moved the box of kittens.  The mother cat had not been happy with the move and had tried several times to move the kittens out of the stall and away from the stallion, which was known to become feisty.  However, each time she moved them, Estel would carry them back.  The mother cat had eventually become reconciled to the fact that the box was staying in the stall. 

For his part, Celos was happy to have Estel close by and had learned to be careful of where he placed his hooves.  The new stable master would just shake his head in wonder that the “brute of Imladris” was such a lamb with the boy and the kittens crawling all around legs.  It had become routine for the Celon’s stall to be left open so that he could stick his head into Celos’ to share in the fun.

Estel often brought apples for the two horses and small bits of left over fish or meats from his meal for the kittens.  Occasionally he would wrangle a bowl of milk from Erestor to bring out to his pets.  The boy had taken to spending every moment he could out in the stables; playing alone, save for his animal friends.  He had made a haven of the stall, where he was boxed in with his friends.  There was no doubt in his mind that no one could get past Celos and Celon to hurt him.

Busy playing in the stables, Estel did not see messenger that arrived to alert Lord Elrond of the approaching riders.  Celos nickered softly as his ears picked up the sound of the approaching horses.  Celon raised his head in answer to glance over the top of his stall towards the huge stable doors, before looking back down protectively at the little boy playing in front of his huge front legs.

O-o-O-o-O

Helcar entered the Last Homely House.  He was informed by one of the elves in the front entryway that Lord Elrond was in the Hall of Fire.  Helcar quickly made his way down the hall towards the one he sought.  The message of the approaching entourage had been quickly signaled through the sentries until it reached Helcar, who had discretely maintained a presence around his Lord’s house since the previous trouble.

“My Lord, riders approach.”

Glorfindel reacted first.  “Riders?  How many?”

“A goodly number, but not hostile,” replied Helcar.

“You’re sure of that?” questioned Glorfindel.

“The signals from the sentries gave no indication of danger, my lord.”

“Thank you, Helcar,” said Elrond.  “I foresee no problem, but see that your guards are on alert.  The riders may have wounded with them and be in need of care.”

“Shall we go?’ asked Erestor, rising from his seat.  “I see that the afternoon might become interesting.”

O-o-O-o-O

Estel was lying on his back, giggling as the Celos’ soft lips tickled his bare tummy.  He had learned that if he pulled his tunic up to bare his stomach, the stallion would blow on and tickle him.  All four kittens were snuggled together by the top of Estel’s head, using his hair as a backdrop.  He could feel the two of them that were against him purring though his skull. 

Fighting back a yawn, for surely Erestor would be calling him soon for his afternoon nap, Estel reached up to pet Celos on his long muzzle.  “I love you, Celos.”

Suddenly the sounds of many horses filled the yards outside.  Celos pulled away and looked out as Estel jumped to his feet to see what the commotion was.  He had not heard his father speak of any visitors that were due to come.

Estel walked over to the stable doors to look out.  Across the yard he could see his Ada, Glorfindel and Erestor on the front steps of the house.  Between the house and himself, Estel could see many riders with shields and banners.  His breath caught in his throat, however, when he caught sight of the blonde hair of the warriors…hair like Quenthar’s!  Fear seized the little boy.  The unknown riders were between him and his Ada. 

Panicked, he ran to the side of the stables, away from the riders and his home, and into the woods.  He had no memory, at that moment, of the golden haired and kind Legolas that had become his friend.  He didn’t even know where he was going; only that he felt driven to get far away.  Estel ran and fast as he could, unmindful of the brambles and thorns that pulled at his skin and clothing as tears streamed down his face.  “Ada,” he cried as he ran, but the sound was carried away by the rushing Bruinen. 

Celos whinnied as the boy fled, but no one was paying attention to him.  Undeterred, he did the only thing he could do; he went after Estel, followed closely by Celon.  The faithful pair would not let the boy go alone.

TBC
 

Healing Hope

Chapter Four

Doing Battle

“Faithfulness lives where love is stronger than instinct.” Paul Carvel

Elladan was laughing so hard he could hardly catch his breath and Elrohir was looking at him as though he’d lost his mind.  It had all started so innocently. 

Two Hours Previously

The twins had returned from a patrol and decided to relax by getting in some archery practice.  They were standing in the gardens beneath their Adar’s balcony.

“Why don’t we see if Estel will come with us?” suggested Elladan.  “He used to love watching the gold fish while we practice.”

“That was before, El,” sighed Elrohir.  “He’s refuses to go back there now.  You know this.”

“I know; I just thought it was worth trying.”  Elladan sat on the marble bench, his shoulders slumped.  He looked up at the balcony above him.  “Will he ever trust us again, do you think?”

It did not take much reasoning for Elrohir to know which “him” Elladan was referring to.  Estel, their precious little brother had healed in body, but he was far from healed in the seat of his emotions, and it grieved them terribly. 

“Estel used to look at us with complete trust.  He would even let us throw him back and forth in the air and never doubted that we would catch him.  Now I see fear in his eyes at any unexpected sound.  He spends more time in the stables than he does in his own home because he’s afraid there.”

Elrohir tried to think of something to say that would make his brother feel better.  No one knew more than him what it had done to Elladan to not be able to protect Estel and keep him from harm.  His brother saw it was a personal failure…as though he had failed Estel.

“Estel loves us, El,” stammered Elrohir.

“Of course he loves us,” responded Elladan, “but he does not trust us to keep him safe.”

“How can you say that?” argued Elrohir.

“If the trusts us then why won’t he come to the archery fields with us?” countered the agitated twin. 

“Ada says that it will take more time for Estel to process all that happened to him,” reasoned Elrohir.

“Well how much time,” snapped Elladan, before immediately turning contrite eyes to his twin.  “I am sorry, El.  I do not mean to take out my frustration on you.  You hurt as I do.”

Elrohir smiled gently at his older twin.  “Do not doubt Estel’s love, brother.  He does not understand his fear and seeks to deal with it alone.”

“You mean with our horses,” said Elladan ruefully.  “Estel plays in the stables watched over by Celos and Celon while we ride new mounts.  Well,” he sighed, “it is a small enough price to pay if it brings him peace.”

Elrohir clasped his brother on the shoulder.  “We will continue to love our little brother while he heals, but in the mean time, let us go to the archery field.  You can work off some of that frustration of yours.  Besides, your aim has been off of late,” he teased.

“My aim?” snorted Elladan, rising to take his brother’s bait.  “We’ll see about that!”

The archery practice had quickly turned into a contest, as it often did between the twins.  Elrohir won the field and found himself tackled by his brother.  The twins wrestled and played like they had not in years, needing the respite from worry over their little brother. 

Elrohir ran at Elladan, intent upon knocking him on his backside, but Elladan quickly sidestepped him and Elrohir – unable to compensate – ran head long into the goldfish pond.  He came up sputtering, shock written on his fair face.

Present time

And so it was that Elladan was laughing so hard.  “You look like a great big fish! Come on, little brother,” he said as he offered his hand.

Elrohir took the outstretched hand and pulled with all his might.  Elladan was unprepared and fell into the water on top of his brother.  They both came up sputtering and laughing.

“Now who looks like a fish?” laughed Elrohir.  He playfully splashed more water at his twin.

The sound of many riders caught their attention.

Elrohir looked puzzled.  “Who do you suppose that is?”

“Let’s go find out!”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond stood on the wide, white steps of the last homely house with Glorfindel and Erestor on either side of him as the riders thundered into the yard.  Helcar and six of his guards stood to the right of the wide steps.

“The Royal banner of Mirkwood,” wondered Erestor.  “Thranduil does not often leave his realm.  I wonder what brings him here now.”

Glorfindel gave a small smile at the sight.  “I see that he has not changed,” he added softly.  “He still likes to put on a show.”

“If he starts railing at you like before, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” warned Erestor.  “I will not have you disrespected in your own home!”

Erestor and Glorfindel had both been standing outside Thranduil’s pavilion the day that Elrond had gone to deliver the condolences of the High King.  Both had heard the unspeakable and unfounded accusations that Thranduil had hurled at Elrond.  King or not, Erestor would have marched straight into that pavilion to defend his lord’s honor had not Glorfindel stopped him.

Elrond spared a surprised glance at his seneschal. “You never fail to amaze, my friend, but peace. That was many years ago and Thranduil had just been faced with the loss of his father and fully two thirds of Mirkwood’s warriors.  I was merely a convenient vessel to bear the brunt of his grief and anger. Let us see what brings the King of Mirkwood to Imladris.”

Erestor shook his head slightly and looked from his Lord to Glorfindel, half expecting to see censure in his eyes as well.  Instead Glorfindel smiled and dipped his head in respect.  He knew, as did Lord Elrond that Erestor was more than capable as a warrior, and he admired Erestor’s loyalty to Elrond.  The golden warrior of Gondolin was proud to stand beside these two.

The group assembled, the golden-armor-clad royal guard parted as Thranduil rode forth.  He glanced around taking in the sight of Imladris.  He had noted, of course, the lack of guards present.  Well, so be it. Perhaps the Peredhil could be so lax here in his hidden valley, but life in Mirkwood was not so secure.

The King dismounted, followed by two of his royal guard. He nodded to Legolas, who dismounted and moved to stand beside his Adar.  Together they walked up to stand before the steps and Lord Elrond.

The remaining Mirkwood warriors dismounted, but stayed by their horses.  Beling slipped over to stand beside the Imladris warriors.  “He’s really something, isn’t he,” whispered the elf to Helcar.

Indeed, Thranduil had changed from travel wear to the more appropriate - to his way of thinking – attire for this historic trip to Imladris.  He wore forest green leather beeches tucked into the softest of leather riding boots.  His cream colored linen tunic was trimmed in gold thread with tiny golden leaves worked around emeralds at the neckline open nearly to his waist.  Softly billowing sleeves were tied at the wrist by golden thread.  A cream and golden cape was clasped at his throat by a magnificent leaf shaped emerald.  A mithril circlet designed to look like a vine rested upon his brow.  He carried himself like the king he was, proud and tall.

Elrond stepped down the steps and dipped his head in tribute to the King of Mirkwood.  “Welcome to Imladris, King Thranduil.”

Thranduil returned the salute.  “Thank you, Elrond.  I trust that my coming here will not be a burden to you.”

Elrond’s eyebrow raised a notch at that but otherwise he showed no reaction.  “All are welcome in Imladris.”  He turned to Legolas who was looking a bit discomforted in the more formal royal wear his father had insisted upon his wearing.  “Welcome back, Legolas. My sons will be most excited by your return.”

“Thank you, my lord,” smiled Legolas. 

“Enough of these formalities,” said Thranduil.  “Elrond, I have come to repay a debt to your son.  Is he here?”

“My sons are…”

Before anything more could be said, the echo of laughter and running steps sounded from the side of the house.   Elladan and Elrohir rounded the corner looking like two muddy, drowned rats, much to the chagrin of their father and the great amusement of Glorfindel.

The laughing, dripping pair stopped beside their father. 

Standing beside Thranduil, Legolas was doing his best not to laugh out loud.  Oh but he was enjoying this, even if he did have to wear these ridiculously formal clothes. 

Elrond gave his sons a “look,” cleared his throat, and turned to the king. “Thranduil, may I present my sons, Elladan and Elrohir.”

Thranduil looked at the pair and stifled the urge to sniff in disdain at their bedraggled appearance.  Were these the famed orc killers?  It seemed impossible.  Now that he was seeing them for the first time it amazed him how identical in appearance they were, even in their present state.   “Which one of you is Elladan?”

The twins shared a quick glance with each other before Elladan stepped forward. “I am Elladan, my lord.  How may I be of service?”  Even wet and bedraggled, the sons of Elrond would show the correct protocol and be careful not to embarrass their father any more than their untimely appearance already had.

Thranduil smiled, daintily and with great humor plucking a bit of moss from Elladan’s soggy hair.  He ignored the slight chuckle he heard from Legolas.  “Elladan Elrondion, I have journeyed from Mirkwood to pay tribute to the one who saved the Crowned Prince’s life.  Because of you, my son returned to me safely.  You have the thanks and appreciation of all Mirkwood.” 

The king motioned to Falathar to bring forward the stallion Beling had been riding upon.

Elladan’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of the magnificent animal.

“His name is Fuinur, and he is my gift to you,” said Thranduil, bowing deeply to the dumbfounded Elladan.  All around him the Mirkwood warriors went to their knee in tribute. 

All, that is, except Legolas, who shook his head and rolled his eyes while smiling at the twins.  As far as Legolas was concerned, they were all acting as thought he were some precious elfling who was rescued single handedly from a dragon.

“Thank you, my lord,” responded Elladan once he regained his wits.  “Please, rise,” he addressed the wood elves. 

Elrohir longed to pet this wonderful stallion, but he was a bit unsure of himself around the King of Mirkwood.  The only other elf he had ever seen with that kind of presence was his daernaneth, and she always had a hugs for him.

Elrond remedied the unease of his sons by stepping forward to address Thranduil.  “Please accept the hospitality of Imladris, Thranduil, and our appreciation for this honor you show Elladan.  Erestor will show you to rooms for you and the Prince.  Your warriors will be shown to accommodations by Helcar.”

“If it pleases you, Lord Elrond, I must insist that at least one of my warriors remain with the king at all times,” said Falathar.  The elf did not really expect anything untoward, but the safety of his regent was his responsibility, and Falathar took that responsibility very seriously.  Besides, after what had happened the last time he had been in Imladris he preferred not to take any chances, however much it might embarrass Legolas or even himself.

Glorfindel frowned and started to step forward to defend his warriors, but Elrond’s upraised hand stopped him. 

“Erestor will see that you have anything you need,” the Lord of Imladris said smoothly.  “We shall feast in the Hall of Fire tonight.”

Beling walked over to Lord Glorfindel.  “My lord, would you like my report now?”

Glorfindel smiled at the young warrior who was obviously near exhaustion.  “Is there anything in your report that would merit immediate attention?”

Beling thought for a moment.  “No, my lord, only more puzzles.”

“Very well then,” sighed the warrior.  “Clean up and take some rest.  See your family. You may report to me after the banquet this evening.” 

O-o-O-o-O

Estel was running parallel to the Bruinen.  He could see the river to his side and kept running, following the swiftly flowing water further and further from home in his panic to flee from the strange riders.  He could hear sounds of pursuit from behind him and ran even harder, refusing to look back to face the unseen enemy.  The child was beginning to pant from the exertion.  Sometimes he barreled through a maze of twisting and turning footpaths, and at other times he veered off into undergrowth.

After several minutes of running, Estel was very close to the river.  The roar of the rain swollen current drowned out all other sounds of the forest. Momentarily distracted by the water, he caught his foot in a tangled vine, and his momentum caused him to crash through a shrub very close to the edge of the water.  He pitched onto his face, the fall knocking the breath from him, and for a moment his world darkened.  Estel lay there panting, trying to regain his ragged breath between sobs.

A low, fierce grunting startled him and he looked to up see a huge boar not five feet from him.  The boar had been drinking from an eddy on the edge of the river and never heard the boy approaching.  He lowered his head, his eyes seeming to burn with anticipation at the tasty morsel that had so suddenly been deposited at his feet; he pawed the ground.  With a mighty roar the animal charged.

Estel curled into a ball.

Before the boar could strike the boy a flash of white bore down on the animal and the mighty hooves of Celos struck the charging boar, knocking him onto his side.  Celon moved himself between Estel and boar while Celos continued to do battle with the enraged animal.  Again and again the boar charged and was thwarted by Celos, whose kicks were beginning to take a toll on the huge boar. 

The boar, however, was not without success of his own.  His razor sharp tusks and sturdy, compact body were battering Celos as well.  The faithful horse was suffering contusions and lacerations to his legs, but continued to stomp at the boar, using his powerful kicks to pummel the animal. 

Estel glanced up to see the boar slash open a vicious gash on Celos’ breast. Blood splattered Estel in the face – whether from the boar or Celos he could not tell, for both animals were now bleeding freely.

“Celos!” he screamed as he got shakily to his feet.

 The boy, certain that Celos would die because of him, began backing away from the horrific sight, his eyes blinded by tears, his heart heavy, and his mind beginning to block out the images.  His foot hit the slippery side of the riverbank, and before he realized what was happening he fell in the rushing river.

TBC

Fuinir:  Darkness

Healing Hope

Chapter Five

Evil Encroaching

“Let us hold to the light while we may, for darkness ever encroaches.” Anon

The shock of the cold water hit Estel like a slap to the face.  The child submerged and for several terrifying moments his world was a swirl of confusion as he struggled to find his way to the surface.  Luckily, the survival instinct kicked in and Estel broke the surface coughing up the foul water he had swallowed and gasping for air. 

Elladan and Elrohir had spent many days in the past playing with Estel in the water and teaching him to swim back and forth between them.  The child now utilized every bit of training he had received to keep his head above the rushing waters.  Even with the practice he’d had, Estel would not be strong enough to fight this onslaught for every long.  He was already very tired.

Estel slipped beneath the water’s surface again.  As his little arms and legs became more and more fatigued, his strength waned.  The rain swollen water was so dark and muddy that Estel again could not tell up from down.  His vision narrowed as he crashed into some flotsam being carried along and felt a crack followed by tremendous pain in his left arm.  Just when he felt that he had no strength left with which to fight, a determined resolve from deep within him exerted itself. In the future he would be called stubborn, and that strong will and determination now saved him.  He simply refused to die and leave his Ada. 

His right arm brushed a log being carried down the river, and Estel grabbed it and held on, pulling his head out of the water and allowing the buoyancy of the log to carry him down the river.  Twice he nearly slid off as he slipped in and out of consciousness.  Brilliant sunlight and deep shadows rushed by in a haze of speed and even the roar of the waters subsided as his world darkened.  He cried out as the turbulence jostled his broken arm, shifting the bones and causing one to tear through the skin, but it served to bring him back to alertness. 

O-o-O-o-O

As the guests were being shown to their accommodations, the stable master and two of his helpers came to see that the Mirkwood horses would be brushed down, fed, watered, and settled into stalls.

Aradol had been named the Stable Master of Imladris upon the death of Quenthar.  He had worked in the stables with Quenthar for many years and been as shocked and horrified as everyone else at the madness of Quenthar’s actions.  Like everyone in Imladris, Aradol was faithful to Lord Elrond and loved his family, including little Estel.

The young master was now gathering up the reins for the horses of the royal party.  Those would be housed in the stables reserved for the horses of Lord Elrond and his family, Glorfindel and Erestor.  As Stable Master, Aradol would over see all of the stables of Imladris, but this one was his primary responsibility. 

Legolas wandered over to the twins, who were still somewhat bemused by their introduction to the illustrious King of Mirkwood.  “Are you going to tell me, or should I guess how the two of you managed to look so, so…well, words fail me as to how you look.”  The twinkle in his eyes added lightness to his words.

“Trust me, mellon nín, you don’t want to know,” laughed Elrohir.  The afternoon sun was quickly drying their muddy garments into stiffness and the twin was anxious to get bathed and changed.

“Where is Estel?” asked the prince.  “I am eager to see him again.”

The twins shared a glance, which was not lost on Legolas.  “What is it?”

“Come on, we’ll explain on the way to the stables,” said Elrohir, deciding that Estel could keep the prince company while he and El freshened up.

“The stables?  Is something wrong?  Is he well?”  Legolas was concerned for his new little friend.

“Estel is physically well, but he is still very fearful over what happened to him.  He is shutting us out and spending all his time in the barn with Celos and Celon,” explained Elladan.

“Your stallions?” said Legolas, surprise written on his fair face.

“Yes,” groaned Elrohir.  “Our mighty beasts have been tamed by our little brother. Estel, tamer of horses!  They follow him around like lap dogs.”  He could not help but grin.  “You should have seen the ruckus when they followed him into the Hall of Fire one evening.”

“It was great,” agreed Elladan.  “Erestor turned the most interesting shade of puce that I have ever seen.”

Legolas laughed at the image.  He would have dearly loved to see that sight.

“And Ada’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline,” added Elrohir with a chuckle as the trio reached the stables. 

“Estel, look who is here to see you!” called Elladan, as they entered the shadowed building through the front doors. The shade felt cool on their faces after the warmth of the afternoon sun.  No answer came from within the structure.  Elladan could see that the stall of his horse was empty, but walked back there just to be sure.  

The stall was empty save for a box of sleeping kittens being watched over by their mother. 

Legolas eyebrows rose at the sight.  “Kittens?  You keep kittens in the stall with your stallion…and he allows this?”

“Estel moved them here.  And yes, Celos not only allows it, but he also watches over them as well as Estel,” replied Elladan, with a small shake of his head.

The twin’s face sobered as he stared at the empty stall.

“Estel is not here, and neither are our horses,” observed Elrohir, feeling his twin’s sudden apprehension.

“Perhaps he is in the house napping,” suggested Legolas.

“Not unless Erestor has decided to allow Celon and Celos to sleep with him,” said Elladan tersely.   “I have a bad feeling about this; Estel never leaves the yard any more.  He would not wander away.”

“And if he were anywhere around the grounds we would be able to see Celon and Celos,” added Elrohir.

0-o-O-o-O

“We are close, my friend,” rasped the brown robed one.  “My agents scour the mountain passes for the Hidden Valley.”  He walked over to gaze out from the tall window onto the surrounding country side.  The raised hood of his robe cast deep shadows across his features, masking them from the world.  Long, boney fingers protruded from wide sleeves.

“The Hidden Valley?” replied a smooth voice skeptically, as the owner took a sip of wine from a gilded cup. He gracefully sat the chalice down onto the cloth covered table. “Do not be ridiculous.  What makes you think the heir of Isildur is there?  I have had no word of this.”

The brown robed figure lifted his shoulder slightly in answer. “It is, as some would say, a hunch, but my feelings are strong in that direction.  Even now I walk the dreams of many young ones…always seeking.  I will find him, my lord, and when I do…”  He let the words drift off.

O-o-O-o-O

Erestor led King Thranduil and Falathar up the marbled steps to the second floor guest rooms.  He opened a large, ornate door and stepped back so that the king could precede him into the room.  He nodded his head as Falathar followed the king into the room, scanning it quickly to see for himself that all was secure.  With an apologetic glance at Erestor he backed out of the room and took up his position beside the door.

Erestor walked into the room to pull the draperies back and allow the sunlight to spread across the parquet floor.  He opened the door to the bathing chamber to be sure that fresh towels had been stacked for the king.  He turned to see whether or not Thranduil would be in need of any further assistance.

Thranduil was standing with his back to the room, silhouetted as he stood looking out onto the terrace.  “Falathar means no disrespect to Elrond or to you, Erestor.  He is young and takes his responsibility seriously.”

“I take no offense at the young one’s actions,” replied Erestor. 

Thranduil snorted softly and turned to stare at the seneschal.  “I remember you in battle.  You were a formidable force, almost as fierce as Glorfindel.  Would that you had fought by my father’s side.  Perhaps the tide would have turned in our favor. 

“Dozens of me could not have turned the tide of that battle.  It was hopeless.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed.  “Hopeless?  Would you add your voice to those who called my father reckless?” 

“I do no such thing, Thranduil.  It was a black day for all of us when King Oropher was felled.  We all lamented grievous losses suffered by Greenwood’s warriors, and none more than Lord Elrond.”

“When did you lay aside your weapons to become a diplomat?”

“I did not lay aside my weapons, as you put it.  I am still quite capable of wielding my sword should that be necessary.  I choose to serve my lord Elrond in the way that best serves him.”

“It must be peaceful here indeed if Elrond has the luxury of having a warrior like yourself as his advisor.  Mirkwood has no such luxury.  We are besieged by the darkness from every side.  Even my own son must be placed in jeopardy to guard our kingdom.”

Erestor’s temper rose at the implication of the king’s words, but he calmed himself lest he bring dishonor to this house.  What did Thranduil know of the losses Elrond had faced in his life: his parents, his brother, the High King - who was as a father to him, his wife Celebrían, and for many dark years, the twins – lost to him in their grief driven lust for revenge.  His voice was cold when he finally spoke. “You would do well to remember that darkness and suffering are not exclusive to Mirkwood.  Now, if there will be nothing else, I have other duties to which I should attend.”

Thranduil watched him leave and softly close the door.  He turned back to take in sight of the beautiful gardens visible from his terrace and signed softly.  The soft scent of gardenia and roses filled the room with a sweet aroma.  He had not meant to open the door to those bitter memories, especially with Elrond’s seneschal.  Why had he done so?

Perhaps it was the scent of the roses that reminded him of his dear wife, the love of his life – lost to the darkness and now in Mandos’ Halls.  His palace was, for the most part, underground – defensible.  Everything in his kingdom had to be considered around defenses.

What would it be like, for just one day, not to have to consider ways to fight back the evil tide that forever sought to destroy his realm?  How he would love to live in peace with his son at his side instead of sending him out day after day to battle orcs, spiders and anything else Sauron desired to throw at them.  His people needed him, but he feared that should he lose his son he would surely fade.  It was a fear he hid from all, especially Legolas.

“Aye, Thranduil,” the king spoke softly into the afternoon sunshine, “you are becoming maudlin.  You cannot change what is.  You are a king and you must be strong and put the welfare of your people first.  Concentrate on what you can change, not on what you cannot.”  

He walked out onto the sunlit balcony and stood looking down at the gardens below.  He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the feel of warmth on his skin.  Tonight he would allow himself the rare luxury of sitting on this balcony and relishing the peace and beauty of the starlight.  He so loved to gaze into the darkened heavens.  So lost in thought was he that he did not even notice his son racing up the garden path towards the front of the house. 

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan and Elrohir were becoming concerned.  They had checked with the Stable Master, who confirmed that he had last seen Estel playing in his usual spot before the arrival of the Mirkwood contingent.  Legolas and the twins split up and did a quick search of the immediate grounds of Imladris, meeting back at the front of the Last Homely House.

“No sign of him?” asked Elladan as he rendezvoused with his twin and Legolas.  He was standing on the steps with his back to the house.  Elrohir and Legolas were facing him, their backs to the stables.

“We found no sign of him, brother.”  Elrohir was puzzled by the look which came over his brother’s face. He watch as the blood seemed to drain from the familiar features.  “El?” 

He and Legolas turned to see what it was that had so shocked Elladan. 

Emerging from the forest behind the stables were Celos and Celon.  Celos was lagging behind his agitated brother.  As Celon moved out of the way it was became clear what had him agitated.

Celos was blood covered and limping badly, his beautiful coat sticky and matted.

“By the Valar,” breathed Elrohir.  “Elladan, get Ada – quickly!”  He started running towards the horses, calling for Aradol as he passed the stables.

Elladan stood frozen by the sight for only a moment.  Turning, he ran up the stairs and burst into the house with a shout.  “Ada!”

Helcar was just emerging from the stables where he had helped to stable the horses of the Mirkwood warriors when he heard the shouts.  He knew from the tenor of their voices that something was terribly wrong, and he started to run, calling for his guards as he did so.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Six

Hebo Estel – Have Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all.
--Emily Dickenson

Elrond and Glorfindel were talking together in the first floor library when Elladan’s panicked shout pierced the quiet.  For one breathtaking moment their eyes met and then the two elves bounded from their chairs and ran for the hallway.  Elladan met them half way to the library, his feet sliding on the polished tiles as he halted his forward momentum.

“Ada, come quickly!  Celos is badly injured,” cried Elladan. 

“Celos?”  Elrond’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his voice soothing for his excited son.  “Where is Estel?” 

“I do not know. We were searching for him when Celos and Celon emerged from the forest.  Ada, do you think that they were with Estel?” asked Elladan, dreading the answer, yet already knowing the truth of it in his heart.

Erestor, who had hurried from the second floor when he heard Elladan’s cry, joined the trio in the hallway.

Elrond turned to him.  “Erestor, Celos has been injured.” 

“Estel…” breathed Erestor, before he could stop himself.  The last thing he wanted to do was to add to the anxiety he could read in Elrond’s face, despite the calm veneer he presented. 

“Organize a search of the house as quickly as possible to see if Estel is inside.  I will be in the stables.  Notify me immediately with your findings.”

“I will gather the warriors,” said Glorfindel.  “Should the boy not be in the house we will be ready to search.  Elladan, show me where the stallions emerged.  It should be easy enough to follow their trail.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan’s cry had also roused Thranduil from his peaceful reverie on the terrace.  He quickly made his was back through the room.  Before he reached the door, Falathar burst in, his dagger drawn.

“Sire, are you well?” he questioned.

“Yes, Falathar.  The commotion is coming from the front of the house.”

“Stay here, sire.  Do not leave this room until I have I have ascertained the threat.”  If he noticed the slight intake of breath by his monarch, he gave no sign of it.

“I am perfectly capable of protecting myself, young one.” chastised the king.

“Please sire,” Falathar almost begged, “Let me do my job.”

“Very well,” agreed Thrandul reluctantly, a smile tugging on his lip.  Was he ever that serious? The young ones were always so earnest in the beginning, treating him as though he were made of egg shells. 

Falathar glanced around the room one last time and then exited to sprint down the hallway.  As he reached the front door, the royal guard began shrilling whistling the alert for the Mirkwood warriors. He would position two at the king’s doorway and two on the terrace.  Aye, what was it about this place? He was seriously considering never again allowing his king or the prince to visit Imladris!  “Ha,” he snorted to himself, “as though he could stop either one of those hard-headed elves from doing whatever they wanted.  And now I’m talking crazily to myself,” thought Falathar.

Thranduil frowned and walked back out onto the balcony to see if he could garner any information that way.  There was definitely no attack underway, for the trees were calm and bore him no warning.  The yards and hillsides were quiet as well, except for the scrambling of elven warriors to answer the whistled alert signals of Mirkwood and Imladris.  Of course, Thranduil found Mirkwood’s to be much more pleasing to the ear.  No doubt the Golden One has fashioned the Imladris call.

The king frowned as he thought about Falathar’s reaction again.  Perhaps it was time for him to show these young warriors just what mettle their king was made of.   Such was once his prowess in battle that he had been a legend during the war of the last alliance, but that was before his father and two thirds of Greenwood’s warriors fell.  After that his subjects, the warriors in particular, had begged him not to go into battle, a wish that was easily granted as it took all of his time just to lead the wood elves in rebuilding their shattered psyche and homeland.

Greenwood the Great was no more.  In its place was Mirkwood, a kingdom beset on every side by an evil which would give no quarter.  If it had not been for Thranduil’s force of will, most if not all of the wood elves might have chosen to sail after the disastrous losses.  But at great cost to himself, this beautiful being had put aside his own grief, buoyed his subjects, organized trade deal with humans – even though he distrusted and disliked them for good reason – and led Mirkwood back to being a formidable force in Middle Earth.

His warriors were the finest archers in all the world, the best at what they did, and they were always proud to prove it.  His own son was the best of the best.  Aye, his little Greenleaf!  How he wished that he could have given him a secure and happy kingdom in which to live as an elfling.  But it was not to be and he would waste no more time on wishes.  The best he could do was to insulate Mirkwood as much as he could from the outside world, praying that Legolas would not be drawn into the same alliances which had cost him his father.

Mirkwood became a world unto itself, drawn away from the elves of Lothlórien, Imladris, and even the Gray Havens.  The wood elves prided themselves on their independence and even on the fierceness with which they defended their kingdom from evil and outsiders alike.  None crossed into the realm without it being noted by the numerous and highly proficient scouts of Thranduil.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond and Elladan entered the stables to find Aradol and Elrohir working over Celos.  The bloodied stallion was lying on a soft bed of hay near the front entrance of the stables.  His sides quivered as Aradol placed a warm woolen blanket over him to ward off shock.  Elrohir was cleaning the wounds and attempting to ascertain the extent of Celos’ injuries.  Two of the stable hands were holding lanterns close to illuminate the site.

“Let me see, Elrohir,” said Elrond as he kneeled beside his son.  He did not fail to notice the slight shaking of Elrohir’s hands, and paused to give him an encouraging smile, reaching out to surrounding his son’s fëa with his own to soothe and strengthen him.

The sounds of the gathering warriors could be heard outside as Glorfindel and Falathar organized their warriors, but inside the stables only the sound of the softly spoken voices and the panting of Celos were evident.  So quiet was it that the stable mouser could be heard meowing softly to her brood of kittens safely ensconced in their box inside Celos’ stall.

“You have done well, Ion nín.  Now, prepare a poultice of blackwort and honey, please.  We will apply that to the injuries on his legs.”  His very presence and the calmness of his voice eased all of the elves.

“What about the breast, Ada?” asked Elrohir, his voice steady as he drew strength from his father.

The gash to Celos’ breast was jagged, ugly and deep, but had not damaged any of his vital organs. The musculature of his breast was think and true. Had the boar been able to inflict the same damage to his soft underbelly, Celos would not have survived.  

Elrond felt gingerly around the gaping wound as he examined it for debris.  “It will need to be stitched.  Mix a mild poppy extract as well.  I will apply it to him before we begin.”  Elrond forced his mind to concentrate on the job in front of him.  As a healer he had learned to compartmentalize, and he utilized that skill now to close off the nagging worry for Estel.   Until he knew there was need for worry, it was a wasted exercise. 

Elladan had sunk down onto the hay beside Celos and was soothing his horse with long soft strokes to his neck as he listened to and watched his father work.  “My great beauty,” he crooned as he blinked back tears.  “What a fight you put up.”

Celos’ ear twitched as he heard his master’s voice.  He tried to lift his head to better see Elladan, only to have it gently pushed back down by the twin.  “Rest easy, old friend, you are in good hands.”

Erestor entered the stables at a dead run, his robes flapping around his ankles.  Had the circumstances not been so dire, Elladan would have found the sight to be amusing. 

“My lord, Estel is not in the house.  Glorfindel is preparing to lead out our warriors to search for him now.  Prince Legolas and a number of the Mirkwood warriors are making ready as well.”

His worst fears confirmed, Elladan’s eyes met his father’s, and the warrior in him took command.  “I am going as well.  Avo osto, Ada, I will find him.  Tell Elrohir….tell him hebo estel. I will find him.”  Rising gracefully, Elladan walked over to Celon’s stall.  The horse was still agitated, angrily shaking his head as he whinnied his displeasure. He had been kept back from his brother and it was not setting well with him at all.  He bucked and fought the stable hand attempting to hold him.

Elladan took hold of the stallion and led him - with some difficulty – past where Celos was being cared for and out into the yard.  “Come Celon.  You worry for your brother, as do I, but I need your help now.”

The horse reared his head in an attempt to go back to the stables.

“Daro, Celon,” commanded the twin.  “Lasto anim!”  Elladan pulled the horse’s head down to where they stood head to head and began to speak softly, almost prayerfully, to the stallion as he stroked his neck.  The stallion stilled, only the escaping breath from his flared nostrils giving testimony to his state of anxiety.  He nickered softly.

“Shhh, Sidh,” crooned Elladan.  “Ada will care for Celos, my friend.  Lead me to Estel.  Estel, Celon, take me to Estel,” he urged, as he jumped onto Elrohir’s mount.

Celon seemed poised for a moment as worry for his twin warred with his affection for the tiny human.  Then the great elven mount turned and began to lope off in the woods.  He would take Elladan to where they had done battle, to where they had last seen Estel.   

O-o-O-o-O

The moss covered log to which Estel had been clinging was still moving rapidly though the river.  It was difficult for the boy to hang on with just one arm, and several times he slipped under the muddy water as he lost his grip on the slippery surface. Each time he fought his way to the surface, coughing and gagging as he gasped for breath.  Finally, in desperation, his hand latched onto a twig protruding from the log.  One small green leaf clung tenaciously to the shoot as though life still might be possible in its future, and Estel hung just as tenaciously as well.

The child nearly lost his frantic grip when the log jerked almost to a stop as it was jammed momentarily against a small tree that had been snapped off by the raging water.  The sharp shards of its trunk stuck out of the swirling waters like twisted fingers reaching for the sunlight.  As it was, the sapling saved the boy’s life by snagging the log and diverting its momentum towards a pool of still water protected by a dam of flotsam caught in the trees.

It was just the break that Estel needed as he bit his lip against the pain and used the last vestiges of his energy to kick and maneuver the log towards the shore line.   Panting, Estel reached the land and let go of the log which had been his salvation.  He watched as it was snatched away as the dam of debris broke loose under the ongoing torrent.

Terrified he’d be pulled back into the waters he used his good arm gain a better hold on land.  He grabbed his broken arm and held it to his chest, groaning softly as he rolled over onto his back.  His legs were still partially submerged as he looked up at the sunlight filtering through the thick canopy of trees lining the shoreline.  Nothing looked familiar and he was sure he’d never been this far from home.

Estel lay that way for some minutes as he struggled to regain his breath and come to terms with what had happened to him.  Taking a deep shuddering breath, Estel began using his legs to push himself up the steep bank, tears of pain and frustration streaming down his scratched and bleeding cheeks.  The task seemed almost impossible as over and over his heels dug into the muddy ground and he moved upwards only to slip back again.  Each time he would slip almost as far back as he had managed to go forwards.  Slowly, painfully, the push upward-slide back motion began to pay off and the child was fully out of the water.

Estel glanced down at his arm and was horrified to see the shattered bone sticking through his skin. The horrific sight shocked him deeply and he could only turn his head quickly as he retched again and again.  Finally he lay panting, trying to fight off his pain and fear.  “U-awartha nín si erui, Ada.” 

Estel could feel his throat begin to spasm again and forced himself to take several deep, calming breaths as Elrohir had taught him to do when he was afraid. He closed his eyes tightly as he told himself over and over not to look at his arm.  Slowly the nausea, which threatened to overtake him once more, subsided.  But that small victory did not come without cost as his tiny body finally succumbed to the forces of shock and cold that his strength of will could not overcome.  As the sunlight above him narrowed to blackness, his last conscious thought was of hope…hope that his Ada and his gwadors would find him, and it was as though he could hear Elladan’s voice, “hebo estel.”

Translations:

Avo Osto: Fear not

Daro: Stop

Lasto anim:  Listen to me

Ion nín:  My son

Sidh: Peace

U-awartha nín si erui: Do not leave me here alone, Daddy

Healing Hope

Chapter Seven

Thanksgiving

"Nothing purchased can come close to the renewed sense of gratitude for having family and friends." Courtland Milloy

"I do not think of all the misery, but of the glory that remains. Go outside into the fields, nature and the sun, go out and seek happiness in yourself and in God. Think of the beauty that again and again discharges itself within and without you and be happy." Anne Frank

Elladan let Celon lead him where he would. He leaned closely over the stallion’s back as the pair raced through the woods retracing the path to where he hoped and prayed he would find his little brother safe. What could possibly have induced Estel to venture so far into the woods was a mystery to the twin. Estel never left the yard anymore, a fact which was nearly as heartbreaking to the twin as the apparent loss of faith in his brothers that Estel had suffered.

As Celon trotted deeper and deeper into the woods, Elladan let his mind drift back to another time one dear to him had seemed to lose his faith. It was the year 2873 of the third age. The twins had been hunting in the north and decided to take the opportunity to call upon the Dúnedain while in the area. Arador, the Chieftain of the Dúnedain had lived in Imladris for a time, as had his son Arathorn, and the twins wished to see for themselves how the two fared so that they might bear news of their friends back to Adar.

“What shall the wager be this time, brother?” asked Elrohir idly as they walked their horses through the woodland shadows. Anor had set, but a beautiful, full Ithil shined brightly above making the way easy for elven eyesight to see.

Elladan laughed. “You mean which one shall have the newest injury, Arador or Arathorn?”

Elrohir’s delighted laugh brought even more of a smile to his brother’s face, for the sound of his twin’s melodious laugh was one of his favorite sounds in all Arda.

“It is really is not much of a wager, is it?” Elrohir sighed. “They are both extremely accident prone.”

“Don’t forget extremely stubborn,” added Elladan, and he too sighed, though he followed it almost immediately with a smile. “Remember the first time that we took Arathorn hunting while Arador met with Ada, and he nearly shot Glorfindel?”

“How could I possibly forget! Ada was extremely unhappy with us for allowing such a thing to happen.”

“Not to mention Glorfindel,” added Elladan.

The twins shared another laugh at the memory and quickly decided to remind Arathorn of the incident, which always embarrassed the Ranger, who had become an excellent bowman during the ensuing years.

A horrific noise startled the pair from their easy banter.

“Trolls,” said Elladan excitedly. Drawing his sword, he urged his horse to a run. “We haven’t fought one of those in ever so long!”

“Right behind you, brother,” called Elrohir a fraction of a second later. His voice rang out across the hills in a delighted, “Ayeeeee.”

Topping the last hilltop the twins were amazed to see a lone Dúnadan fighting a pair of trolls and quickened their pace to reach him.

“Elladan,” called Elrohir, “it is Arador!”

Frantically Elrohir pulled his bow and began firing arrows even as he rode across the landscape. Arador appeared to be wounded and was falling back under the onslaught from the trolls as the twins rushed to render aid.

“Arador!” screamed Elladan, as the lead troll’s huge club smashed into the man’s skull apparently snuffing the life from him.

A red haze of rage filled Elladan.

“NO!” he could hear Elrohir calling as he leapt from his horse and onto the back of the troll. The abysmally ignorant creature’s attention was still on shattering Arador and did not realize that Elladan was on his back until he felt the blade of the twin’s sword slashing at his neck.

Elrohir used his bow to keep the second troll away from Elladan, hitting it with shot after deadly accurate shot until it fell dead. Trolls had amazingly thick hides, except for just under their chins and in their armpits, and those were the areas for which Elrohir had aimed

Once his was felled, Elrohir turned his attention towards his brother. Elladan was driving his sword into the troll with one hand while attempting to hold onto the wildly bucking and swinging troll with the other. Elrohir was forced to duck several times as the troll struck out blindly with his huge club.

Finally Elladan was able to come up under the creature’s double chin, driving his sword to the hilt, puncturing the small brain. With a thunderous crash the creature collapsed in a heap, throwing Elladan clear.

The twin rolled and came up to his feet again in one fluid motion, joining Elrohir at Arador’s side. Elrohir held Arador cradled in his arms. The man was dead, obviously killed by the blow to his head.

Elladan looked into the stricken eyes of his brother. Elladan gently closed his friend’s death frozen eyes for the last time. Then, placing his hand on Arador’s forehead, he spoke softly, “Navaer, mellon nin. Losto mae.”

“He was so young, brother…far too young.”

“The second born are always too young, El. That is why it is so hard to love them as we do,” replied Elladan softly. Though, the truth be known, neither brother would ever regret knowing those of their Uncle Elros’ ancestry. They were the Peredhil, the half elven, and they embraced the human side of their ancestry as they celebrated their elven ancestry.

The brothers gently wrapped Arador in their own cloaks and returned him to the camp of the Dúnadain Rangers, carrying him close to the hut where Arathorn lived with his new wife, Gilraen.

Arathorn greeted Elladan at the door with great pleasure until he saw the look on the older twin’s face.

Quickly stepping outside so as not to upset Gilaen, he closed the door before turning back to the twin. “Elladan, what is it?”

“I bear grave news, Arathorn,” replied Elladan softly. “Come.” He led Arathorn over to where Elrohir had laid Arador. The twin was kneeling by the dead man as though protecting him.

“Who is it?” asked Arathorn as he joined Elrohir.

“I’m so sorry, Arathorn, but it is Arador. He was killed by a troll before we could get to him.”

“No,” denied the young man. “My father could take a troll any day. You must be mistaken.”

“There were two trolls, my friend, and your father was already wounded. I am sorry,” repeated Elladan, feeling the words horribly inadequate.

Arathorn placed both of his hands over the cloth covered head of his father as though wanting to look, yet not quite ready.

Elladan stayed his hand. “No, Arathorn, do not. Let your father live in your memory as he was.”

Arathorn had then thrown himself into Elladan’s arms and cried as he had done as a child living for a time at Imladris. Elladan rocked the young man and soothed him with soft Sindarin phrases of hope and peace as he let the man cry out his grief. Tonight he would become the Chief of the Dúnedain, but at this moment he was only a grieving man in need of a friend’s support.

The burial had taken place at dawn the next morning on a hillside overlooking the valley where the Rangers now lived.

Afterwards, Arathorn had immediately left the camp accompanied by the twins. They traveled for two days in virtual silence, stopping only to feed and water the horses. When they had reached a craggy peak overlooking the mountains they finally stopped. It was a place that the twins had brought Arathorn on the last day that he had lived in Imladris.

It was a special place for the three friends, for it was here that they had pledged their friendship, loyalty, and trust to each other, taking their daggers and mingling their blood as an outward show of the bond of love which tied them.

As he stood overlooked the valley in the orange light of the setting Anor, Arathorn looked very young and vulnerable. Shadows of grief and responsibility had formed under his eyes and his proud shoulders were momentarily slumped.

“I am not sure I can do this,” he said softly, as the twins came to stand supportively on either side of him. “It was not to be my time for many years. My father was young…I had so much yet to learn from him.”

Elladan and Elrohir each place a hand on Arathorn’s shoulders.

“We were there on the day you were born, my friend,” said Elrohir, “and we will always be with you.”

“We pledged our support to Arador as we pledge it to you,” added Elladan, “and yet he asked but one thing of us.”

“What was that?” asked the man quietly, for he had never before heard this story from the twins.

“He asked us to love and protect his son,” replied Elrohir, “and this charge we gladly accepted, for your father and now you have always been faithful and dear to us.”

Arathorn smiled wanly. “What about all those times you got me in trouble with Glorfindel because of your pranks?” he said with a soft chuckle.

Celon’s growing agitation pulled Elladan back to the present time. He jumped off of Celon’s back to examine blood on the path. This was obviously the way that the horses had returned to Imladris. “Good, Celon,” he said softly. “Keep going,” he said as he jumped back onto Celon. “Take me to Estel.”

The horse moved faster through the thick underbrush causing Elladan to wonder why Estel would have left the marked trails to force his way through the brush. After about a mile, Celon pushed through a thick growth to pause in a small clearing by the river. Elladan again jumped from the horse.

This was obviously where the attack had taken place. Elladan breathed a sigh of relief to see that his brother’s body was not in the gore filled area. A dead boar lay to the side. Elladan was appalled at the amount of blood that filled the clearing. Forcing his mind away from any more contemplation of that, he concentrated instead of looking for signs of Estel.

He quickly picked up the markings where the boy had fallen. It appeared to Elladan as though the child must have surprised the boar when he entered the glade. “Bless you, Celos and Celon,” he said softly, for it was obvious that the horses had saved his brother from the boar. But where was Estel now?

Elladan felt gently around the area, quickly picking up the spot where Estel appeared to have backed away from the battle. Elladan’s heart beat fiercely as he quickly followed the steps to where they ended…in a slide towards the raging waters of the Bruinen. “By the Valar,” Elladan breathed, his heart nearly falling into despair. The child had fallen into the river.

“Estel!” he called, crashing through the foliage at the edge of the river for several yards, before catching himself and forcing logical thought. Elladan raced back to Celon and leapt onto the horse’s back. Turning him, he began to shadow the water’s edge, hope warring with utter despair in his heart.

For miles Elladan followed the path of the river. At times he was forced to track further into the woods because of debris or the thickness of the foliage, but he always kept his eyes on the edge of the water. His heart breaking, Elladan kept going, determined to, at the very least, find Estel’s body. He had promised to bring his brother home and that he would do.

Elladan did not realize that tears streaked his cheeks as he wondered how he could possibly bear to gaze at Estel’s dead body.

When the twin would have kept going, Celon began to fight Elladan’s lead, bucking and whinnying his agitation.

“What is it, boy?” he asked. “Is it Estel?” Hope flared in his heart for on moment as he jumped from the stallion and raced towards the bank of the river. Elladan pushed through the underbrush unheedful of the scratches marring his skin. His heart stopped when he saw his brother’s body lying mud covered and on the bank.

“Estel,” he sobbed, sinking to his knees. “Estel forgive me…”

Elladan’s choked off a sob as he saw a slight movement in the small body and unbelievably the eyes opened. One small hand reached towards the twin, who thought his heart would burst from joy.

“Estel,” he cried, smoothing back the hair from his brother’s muddy forehead. “All is well, little one. I am here. Nothing will harm you.”

“Dan?” cried Estel. “Dan, the bad elf came back.”

Elladan was confused, but soothed the child as he quickly assessed his injuries. He could not tell how much damage was done to his skin because the child was virtually covered in half dried mud, but the horrifically broken arm was obvious. Elladan pulled off his tunic, tore a strip from it, and secured the arm to Estel’s chest. He quickly wrapped Estel warmly in the tunic and pulled him to his chest, pausing a moment to relish the feel of his brother's breath against his neck and sending fervent thanks to all the Valar that Estel lived.

“Dan?”

“I will keep you safe, Estel. I will take you to Ada.”

Estel cried out in pain as Elladan picked him up and started walking back towards Celon. “I’m sorry little one, I’m sorry.” He commanded Celon to kneel so that he could get onto his back with jostling Estel any more than necessary. The stallion complied, rising gently to his feet once Elladan and his precious bundle were mounted.

Every fiber of his being urged Elladan to gallop back to Imladris, but he kept his head and realized that he must keep Estel’s arm as immobile as possible.

“I heard you, Dan,” Estel said softly.

“What, little one?” asked the twin. “What did you hear?”

“You,” said Estel. “You told me to have hope and I did. I knew you’d find me.”

It took Elladan a moment to find his voice. “You knew…”

Estel’s smile was nearly the twin’s undoing. His little brother had trusted that Elladan would find him. Elladan smiled through his tears. He’d never heard sweeter words.

TBC

Translations:

Dúnedain - Men

Navaer, mellon nín, losto mae – Farewell, my friend, sleep well.

Healing Hope

Chapter Eight

Estel Lives

True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
--William Shakespeare King Richard

Evening shadows were creeping across the path way as Celon made his way carefully back to Imladris, ever mindful of the precious cargo he bore.  The horse was proud to have helped find Estel, but was now anxious to return to the stables to see about Celos.

The cooling evening air caused the wet and wounded child to shiver and Elladan stopped to wrap his tunic more securely around his brother.  “Hold on, Estel, we’ll be home soon.”  Hoping to provide some more warmth, the twin moved Estel as much against his body as he dared being mindful of the mangled arm.

As they neared the clearing where the dead boar still lay, they were met by an anxious Legolas and Glorfindel.  The pair had both noticed the direction in which Elladan left earlier, and as soon as they had been able to complete giving directions to the various search parties, had come this way themselves.  Neither one would yield to the other, so they came together.

Legolas and Glorfindel had just remounted after checking the signs of battle and picking up Elladan’s trail.   Both had seen the obvious indications that Estel had fallen into the river.   Neither believed that Estel could possibly survive against such odds, yet not a word of doubt did they utter.

Glorfindel was, of course, privy to Estel’s true heritage and the devastating effect his death would have upon all Arda.  He silently steeled himself to protect Elrond and his family against the dark forces that would continue to grow so long as there was breath in his body.  But Estel was not just the future king, he was a much beloved part of this family as well and it was from those feelings that Glorfindel had to force his mind away.

Legolas simply grieved for the knowledge that he would be unable to better know the bright little boy he had met on that dark night so many months ago.  He felt an unmistakable bond with the small human, which puzzled him then as, indeed, it did now.  Incredibly he felt as though Estel’s loss would leave a hole in life that he might not again be able to fill.

“Elladan!” called Glorfindel as he spotted the twin approaching with a mud covered Estel in his arms.  From the slow gait of Celon and Elladan’s downcast face, Glorfindel feared the worst.  “Estel?”

“Estel lives,” Elladan smiled.  “He lives, Glorfindel!”

Glorfindel gave an undignified but joyous whoop of excitement at the news.

Estel’s eyes fluttered open at the sound. “Glorby?”  The child was too tired and pained to even think about how he had worked to master his “Fs”.  He smiled slightly when he heard the sweetly jingling bells on Asfaloth’s bridle and was comforted that the warrior was nearby.

Glorfindel and Legolas pulled along side Celon and the horse stopped for a moment to allow for the happy reunion.

“Look at you,” laughed Glorfindel.  “You look like a mud monster.”  Glorfindel gently pulled back the tunic to assess the child for himself.  The warrior’s eyes narrowed as he saw the jagged bone protruding from the skin of Estel’s arm, but he kept the smile securely on his face for Estel’s benefit.  Mud and blood had mingled and dried all around the vicious looking wound. 

Estel reached out with a small hand to take hold of Glorfindel’s finger, and the warmth of love flooded the warrior’s heart as he leaned over to bestow a kiss to Estel’s forehead.  

“Your Ada shall be very happy to see you, Pen-nîn tithen, as am I,” smiled Glorfindel.

Estel tried to smile back but only managed to shiver.  Glorfindel quickly covered him back up to preserve what warmth the child had.

Estel’s eyes looked incredibly large, white and vulnerable against the all the mud of his face and they batted sleepily.

“Hello, little one,” said Legolas gently.  He too had seen the arm and feared what it might mean.  Could even so mighty a healer as Elrond repair such damage without permanent disability?

Estel looked over to who had spoken.  His body stiffened and he cried out fearfully, turning his head into Elladan’s chest.

The three elves were confused by the reaction, for it was clearly one of fear.

“Estel, what is wrong?” Elladan questioned calmly. “All is well, little one,” he soothed.  “You are safe.”

“The bad elf,” Estel cried, his voice muffled against the twin.  A soft sob escaped the boy and tore at Elladan’s heart.  “The bad elf came back for me. He said he would.”

Suddenly the reason for Estel’s panicked run into the forest became clear.  Of course, the child had seen the blonde riders from behind and his mind’s eye had substituted the thing he feared the most and that still troubled his dreams…that Quenthar would return to bury him.  Elladan closed his eyes imagining the fear that Estel must have felt.

“Estel,” said Legolas softly, unable to resist reaching out to lay his hand on the boy’s knee.  “I am Legolas. Do you remember me, tithen pen?” He deliberately kept his voice mellow and calming.

“Legolas?” came the still muffled reply.  Slowly Estel turned his head so that he could peek with one eye, prepared to once again to seek the safety of his gwador’s chest if need be.  One large silver-blue eye peered at Legolas followed cautiously by the other one. 

When the child didn’t flinch, Legolas smiled at the boy.  “That’s it, Estel.  You remember me now, don’t you.  I am sorry that I frightened you.”

Estel began to shiver again and Elladan realized the need to get him back to Ada quickly. “We must go,” he said, spurring Celon on to a fast walk. The horse responded easily, for Celon was anxious to see Celos.  Quickly, Glorfindel and Legolas turned their mounts to follow. 

“I will ride ahead to alert Elrond and to recall the search parties,” said Glorfindel.  “I will tell Erestor to have plenty of water warmed. It will take a while to get all of that mud off of the little one.”

“I will stay as escort to Elladan and Estel,” said Legolas.  He spurred his horse ahead of Celon to help clear the path.

O-o-O-o-O

Celos lay trustingly on the hay being soothed by Elrohir. His legs were smeared with the healing potion prepared by the twin.  Elrond sewed the last stitch into Celos’ breast.  He knotted off the thread and held it out for Elrohir to cut off with his dagger.     

Elrond sat back onto his heels, stretching his back and neck after working hunched over on the floor of the stables for so long. 

Aradol dipped a towel into a bucket of fresh water and then wrung it out before handing it to Lord Elrond.  “Here, Hîr nín, use this to cleanse your hands.”

Elrond looked up gratefully to his stable master and accepted the wet towel.  “Celos should be watched carefully tonight, Aradol.”

“Of course, Hîr nín, I shall stay with him myself.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow at the interruption but did not chastise the stable master, for he recognized the tension that this day had brought to all of them.  “Thank you, Aradol.  Please do not hesitate to send for me should he had any signs of distress.”

The sweet tinkle of Asfaloth’s bridle bells could be heard as Glorfindel rode into yards.

Elrohir’s hopeful eyes met his father’s.  “Perhaps he has word of Estel…”

“Let us go see,” replied Elrond carefully.  If Glorfindel did not have word of Estel, he did not want to dash Elrohir’s hopes just yet.

Glorfindel rode straight up to the last homely house, jumped from Asfaloth’s back and ran inside.  Within moments he was out and heading for the stables.  He was just reaching the doors when Elrond and Elrohir emerged.  He could not help but see the hopeful look on Elrohir’s face and smiled at the twin.

“Glorfindel?” questioned Elrohir hesitantly.

When Elrond saw the smile on Glorfindel’s face his heart leapt with joy, but he also noted the wary look in his friend’s eye.

“Estel is found,” said Glorfindel without preamble, “but his arm is badly broken.  The large bone of the lower arm has broken through the skin.”

Elrohir was relieved and alarmed all at the same time.   He was thrilled to hear that his little brother lived, but the fact that his arm was so badly broken, and the thought of how it might have happened was troubling.”

“Was there still warmth to the arm below the injury?” asked Elrond, fearful that the circulation to the arm might have been compromised by the severity of the break.

“I do not know,” admitted Glorfindel.  “I did not get a chance to touch the arm.  However, I can tell you that the break is jagged and that Estel is covered in mud.  He had fallen into the Bruinen from what I could see.”

Elrond’s heart lurched at that bit of information.  He knew all too well how easily he might have lost his youngest that day.  That Estel survived the raging waters was a miracle in itself.

Elrohir’s face had lost all its color at Glorfindel’s news of Estel falling into the river.

“Come with me, Elrohir,” said Elrond quickly.  “Let us go prepare.  We must bathe and change our clothes quickly so that we will be ready to work on Estel.”

“I have already alerted Sariboril and Erestor.  Sariboril is preparing the surgery and Erestor is preparing the baths and plenty of hot water,” added Glorfindel. 

Besides Lord Elrond, Sariboril was the most experienced healer in Imladris.  She had lived and worked at Imladris through many years and was the indisputable head of the house of healing.  These days Lord Elrond generally only worked as healer for the family, allowing Sariboril to manage and maintain the main healing wing on the first floor, which she did with the disposition of a general.  Few dared to cross Sariboril.

“Glorfindel, have Elladan take Estel to the family surgery. Elrohir and I will meet him there as soon as we are as clean as possible,” said Elrond. The trio walked quickly across the lawn.  “Did you see any other injuries to Estel?”

“There appeared to be several scratches and cuts to his skin, but I was unable to determine the number and extent because of the mud.  He was shivering as well, though Elladan had him wrapped in his cloak.”

As he listened to Glorfindel’s report, Elrond was nodding thoughtfully, a frown on his face.  He was mentally running over the possible problems Estel could be facing from the fractured arm as well as the probable contamination of the site.

O-o-O-o-O

A whimper escaped from Estel. 

“I have to slow down,” groaned Elladan.  He quickly slowed Celon back to a walk.  “Estel is in too much pain if I jostle him, but I want to get him Ada as quickly as possible.”  He looked helplessly at his friend.

Legolas paced him.   “It’s all right, Elladan, let Celon walk.  You’re making good time and we are almost there.  I know you’re frustrated, but keep concentrating on keeping Estel still and as warm as possible.”

“I will,” agreed the twin.  “He’s just so hurt and I want to get him to Ada.”

“I know you do,” soothed Legolas.  “Glorfindel will have gotten back to Imladris by now and Lord Elrond will be prepared.”

Elladan nodded, and kept watching Estel for signs of shock. 

“Is he still conscious?” questioned the prince.

“I think so,” answered the twin.  “Estel?  Stay awake, tithen pen…stay with me.”

Estel’s eyes fluttered as he tried to focus on his brother’s face.  “Cold, Dan.”

Legolas swiftly pulled off his tunic and maneuvered towards Celon.  “Here,” he said, tucking the tunic around Estel’s legs.

“Is that better, Estel?” asked Elladan.

Estel nodded.  “I’m sorry, Dan…”

“What, Estel?” asked the twin.  Even with his elven hearing he was unable to make out what the child was saying.

 “Sorry…Celos…”  Estel’s voice trailed off as his eyes rolled back into his head.

“Estel?  Estel!” called Elladan.  “He’s unconscious, Legolas.  We have to move, now.”  Without waiting for Legolas to answer, Elladan spurred Celon into a run.  The trees were beginning to thin, and they were on established trails now that they were closer to Imladris, so the going was much easier and smoother. 

Legolas nodded and matched Elladan’s movements.  He feared that they were running out of time.

O-o-O-o-O

Thranduil had had quite enough of his enforced confinement.  The recall for his warriors had been signaled, so there was obviously no danger.  The king stalked across the room and opened the door.  The two warriors reacted immediately, but after one look at his face, simply saluted and stood back as their sovereign exited the room.  Thranduil sighed slightly as the pair fell into step behind him. 

Turning back, he fixed the pair with an imperial look.  “I will not have Lord Elrond insulted by my guards in his own home.  You will cease following me.”

The two guards halted and looked at each other.  They were obviously in a somewhat of a quandary, torn between the orders of their king and those of their superior officer.  The king’s orders, of course, took precedence over all others, but Falathar could also make their lives miserable.

Thranduil’s legendary temper was beginning to simmer. Enough was enough.  “I am your king. If Falathar has a problem with those orders, you may tell him to see me.  Leave me!”

There was no mistaking the tenor of their king’s voice.  The two guards each took a knee, moving their right arm across their heart in salute, and then rose and left their monarch.  They would report to Falathar and let him deal with the king for neither of them had any wish to test the boundary of Thranduil’s displeasure.

TBC

Translations:

Hîr nín – My Lord

Tithen pen – Little One

Pen-nîn tithen – My little one

Healing Hope

Chapter Nine

The Sons of Elrond

It needs courage to let our children go, but we are trustees and stewards and have to hand them back to life—to God.  As the old saying puts it; “What I gave I have.” We have to love them and lose them.”
Alfred Torrie

As he gracefully descended the stairs, Thranduil’s eyebrows rose as he took in the level of controlled chaos that seemed to be running rampant throughout the house.  Servants were scurrying around talking in hushed whispers as doors slammed, and there seemed to be an unending clatter of pots in the kitchens. Never would he have believed it possible to see such helter skelter activity in a household belonging to Elrond.

The fair being snorted softly to himself, for kings never lowered themselves to actually do something so base as snorting.  Could this possibly be the household of the same Elrond who stood perfectly still and ramrod straight – with nary a hair out of place - by Gil-galad’s side for hours and kept the High King’s palace as organized and well running as though the Valar themselves had ordered it?

The king had just reached the bottom steps when Elrond and El…well, one of the twins, he was not sure which, came walking quickly through the doors.  Both were a sight, and were he not a regent and well trained in etiquette and protocol, his mouth might possibly have dropped open in amazement. 

Elrond had bits of straw sticking to his robes and there appeared to be dried blood on his robes and lower arms, though it was apparent he had at least attempted to wash it off.  His braids were askew, and there were smudges and even a small tear on his robes as though he had been on the ground on his knees.  Impossible!

The twin had been dripping wet and muddy when he first came before the king. Now that mud had dried and he was just a mess, though he too had washed from the elbows down and now there was blood apparent.  Obviously it was not his blood.

I am dreaming, thought Thranduil.  That must be the answer.  I am asleep and will soon wake up again.

Deep in conversation, neither elf gave the king more than a perfunctory nod as they hurried past him and started up the stairs. Curious, thought Thranduil, very curious. 

No, amended the King of Mirkwood, it was downright astounding!  Could this possibly be the same Elrond, who could trace his ancestry to the High Houses of the Noldor, Sindar, Vanyar, Edain – well there has to be some tainted blood in the line – and even that of the Maiar, who served as the Herald of the High King Gil-galad in Lindon and on the battlefield, who was such a warrior that he carried not a shield or wore a head dress nor, it always seemed to Thranduil, ever seemed to look messy even after battle, who Thranduil had known for three ages and had never seen lose his composure, his dignity, nor his bearing…could this possibly be the same elf?

About the time that Thranduil of Mirkwood was beginning to believe he had somehow been thrown into some dungeon of disbelief and unreality, Glorfindel, the golden warrior of the House of the Golden Flower, the hero of Gondolin, the famed Balrog slayer, and the savior of Thranduil’s sanity, walked into the house.

“Praise the Valar,” shouted the King.  “Glorfindel, please tell me.  Is this real?  Am I dreaming?”

Glorfindel who was rather taken back by Thranduil’s outburst looked at him as though he had suddenly grown two heads.  “Are you feeling well, Thranduil?”

“Am I…” stammered the king.  No, not stammered, for kings never stammer, thought Thranduil, who pulled himself up to his full height and regal bearing restored, calmly looked at Glorfindel and restated the question. 

“Tell me, dear Glorfindel, what can possibly have happened to the Elrond that I have known for three ages to so change him from the stiffest elf I ever knew to the one who just walked past me a dirty mess?”

“Oh!” smiled Glorfindel.  “I believe I know understand your question now.  The answer is quite simple.  It is not what but who.”

“Who?”

“Yes, who,” repeated Glorfindel.  “Estel, the answer to all your questions is Estel, for since he entered this household it has been one unending stream of chaos, laughter, joy and yes, even untidiness.”

“I see,” murmured Thranduil, though truthfully he did not.  “Then I am most anxious to make the acquaintance of this Estel.  Shall he be at the banquet tonight?”

“No, I think not,” replied Glorfindel.   “You see all the activity has been because Estel was missing.  He has been found safely, but injured.  Elladan and your son are brining him back now.”

“Injured,” said Thranduil. “I am most distressed to hear that news.  Please give my condolences to Lord Elrond and convey that we should postpone the banquet until a more opportune time when I might have the pleasure of meeting all of the sons of Elrond together.”

“I shall,” nodded Glorfindel.  “There will still be a meal served in the hall of fire this evening.  You and your warriors are most welcome to dine there and share an evening of story telling and music with the elves of Imladris.  I shall be attending Lord Elrond and his son.  However, I know just the one to serve as hostess for the evening in our absence.”

“That will not be necessary,” replied the king graciously.  “My warriors and I will be most at home in your hall of fire.  I would not want to cause any more disruption to this household than I have already witnessed.”

“Oh,” smiled Glorfindel, his merry eyes twinkling with mirth, “It shall be no trouble at all.  Sariboril will be more than happy to act as hostess for the evening.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond finished his bathing and walked into his bedroom. The ever efficient Erestor had laid out his lord’s clothes, so he was dressed before Elrohir, for it took too baths to clean all the dried mud from Elrohir.

Elrond walked to the family surgery just down the hall way.  Sariboril was waiting for him there with Erestor. 

“Erestor, I believe we will need at least three large tubs of warm water up here to bathe Estel. From what Glorfindel says of his injury and his state we will need to thoroughly wash him before we can begin to work.  Once he is clean we can more methodically clean the injury site. 

“Sariboril, the break has torn through the skin of his arm.  I would like for you to assist me with the setting of the bone.  Elrohir will mix the elixirs that we will need.  Erestor, you and Glorfindel will need to do the bathing so that Elrohir, Sariboril and I do not become contaminated by the dirt on him.”

Erestor nodded his readiness.  “I will find Glorfindel.  I have a feeling that he is lurking somewhere near here.”

“I do not lurk,” came the reply from the doorway. 

O-o-O-o-O

“Elladan, we are there,” said Legolas as he broke through the last few trees onto the manicured lawn of Imladris.  He quickly reached up to hold back a limb of the last tree so that it would not hit the twin in the face.

Elladan had been riding almost by feel, so intent was he to keep Estel from being jostled too much.  The child had not regained consciousness in the few minutes that it had taken to reach clearing.  He breathed a sigh of relief when he looked up to see the Last Homely House in front of him, and nudged Celon to go faster now that they were clear of the trees.

“We’re home, Estel, home.  Ada will take care of you now.”

“Look,” smiled Legolas, pointed towards the stables.  Celos stood in the doorway looking out.  The heroic horse began walking painfully towards them with a worried Aradol trailing along trying to dissuade him.

“My brave Celos!” Elladan called, his heart leaping with joy to see that his beauty lived.

Elladan and Legolas reached the front of the house at the same time Celos did.  Celon whinnied and rubbed his nose protectively against his brother’s. 

“Here,” said Legolas, holding out his arms for Elladan to hand him Estel so that the child would not be overly moved by the dismount.

Elladan gingerly handed Estel down to Legolas, who took the opportunity to do just a bit of snuggling himself.   “Welcome home, mellon nín,” crooned the prince, gifting the child with a kiss to the forehead before handing him back to his brother.

Elladan took a moment to let Celos smell of the boy, smiling as the soft breath of the horse fell onto the child’s hair. The twin kept his tunic carefully covering the arm to protect it from any contamination from the horse, but he had to let Celos see that his sacrifice had not been in vain.  “You did it, boy,” praised Elladan.  “You kept the boar from killing Estel, and Celon took us to find Estel. Now I must take him to Ada, and you must go back and rest.  Go, go with Aradol, both of you!”

“Yes,” scolded Aradol, “you must rest, Celos.  Lord Elrond will put me to washing pots and pans if he sees you are up and about,” teased the stable master.  “Come with me, come…Celon will come too,” he coaxed the great stallion.  Both horses dutifully followed Aradol.

Elladan carried Estel up the steps following Legolas, who opened the large front door for him. 

“Legolas!”  Thranduil’s eyes went wide at the sight of his son…his formal tunic was missing and the inner one was now covered in mud and indeed, there was even a smudge on the prince’s chin.

Legolas turned to see his Adar walking down the hall from the Library.  “Adar, we have found Estel!” he called joyfully as he trailed after Elladan.

Elladan barely looked, so intent was he on getting Estel upstairs to their Ada.

As he ascended the stairs he could hear Thranduil saying something about mud and all the son’s of Elrond.

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel and Erestor met Elladan and Estel at the door of the surgery. 

“No, Elladan, give him to me,” said Erestor.  “Glorfindel and I will cleanse him.”

Elladan was opening his mouth to argue when Legolas put his hand on the twin’s shoulder.  “Look at yourself, mellon nín; you are covered in mud.  Come with me.  Wash and change into clean clothes and we will come back to check on Estel.”

With a last wistful look at his baby brother, Elladan handed the precious bundle over to Erestor and Glorfindel.  “Wait,” he said, reaching out to soothe back the hair and bestow a quick kiss to the top of his head.  “Take care of him.”

“We will care for him until you can return, fear not,” said Glorfindel.  “And Elladan…well done.”  He turned back into the room as Elladan and Legolas went down the hall to the Elladan’s room.

Glorfindel held Estel out from him slightly so that Erestor could carefully remove first Legolas’ tunic and then Elladan’s before slicing through the makeshift sling that the twin had used to secure Estel’s arm to his chest.

Elrond could not resist peeking around them to see for himself how badly the arm was broken.  As he had been told, the bone had punctured the skin and there was quite a bit of swelling around the site from what he could tell.

“Stand back, my lord,” said Erestor.  “It wouldn’t do to get any of this mud on you before you have to work on the boy.”

Duly chastised, Elrond stood back a bit but still kept close watch on his son.

Erestor slipped his arms under Estel’s head and feet and, with the tub between them, the two elves slowly lowered Estel into warmed water.  The loose bits of dried mud and bits of grass began to float to the surface.  Glrofindel took his knife and began to gently cut the tunic away from the boy, clearing it first from the arm before quickly moving to the rest of his body.

When he was finished, he cupped his hand to pour water over Estel’s hair and used his hand and a soft cloth to clean the boy’s face, taking extra care as cuts and scrapes were revealed.  Once that was complete, he slid his arms back under Estel and the pair lifted him out of the now filthy tub.

They maneuvered to the next tub and repeated the process of washing.  Now that more of the mud was gone they were able to continue faster.  As he washed, Glorfindel quickly and expertly felt for any more broken bones.  He found what he thought might be a couple of cracked ribs, but no more broken bones.  Elrond tucked that information away to contend with once they had set his arm.

By the time they had finished with the third tub, Estel was clean and wrapped in a soft white robe.  His injured arm lay exposed on top of the soft material. 

Their job complete Glorfindel and Erestor stepped back to allow Elrond and Sariboril to go to work.  Elrohir had the potions and elixirs all prepared and ready as the two healers began the tedious and intricate job of repairing the damaged limb. 

As night fall descended upon the valley, the elves of Imladris once again settled down to await word of the young son of Elrond. Many of the sons of the line of Elendil had dwelt within this valley, hidden and protected, many had they watched grow and learn at the knee of Elrond, but none before had been claimed as a son of Elrond. None other had so claimed the hearts of them all as this one little silver eyed child whose laughter had returned joy to the halls of the Last Homely House and whose innocence and tender heart had brought healing to the hearts of so many others.

Yes, they would settle down and wait, for this one was well worth the effort, and the first born of Imladris treasured every moment they had with their little Estel, the hope of so many.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Ten

Little Love

“A thousand words will not leave so deep an impression as one deed.” Henrik Ibsen

Elrond finished the last of the splinting of Estel’s arm. Sariboril helped him by holding the arm steady, and Elrohir had prepared the molding clay-like substance that would be applied around the splints and which would harden to a protective cast. The arm was simply too badly damaged for just splinting alone.

Alternately standing, sitting and pacing in the family healing room adjacent to the surgery tucked away on the third floor were Elladan, Legolas, Erestor, and Glorfindel. They would have preferred to be inside the surgery, but every time they attempted to enter Sariboril would growl at them to get back out.

‘Honestly,” complained Elladan, “you would thinks she would at least let me in there.”

The other three looked at him with astonished and amused looks on their faces.

“And just why, pray tell, should you be allowed in there when we are not?” asked Erestor, all but daring the twin to claim a familial preference.

“I would like to hear the answer to that question as well,” said Glorfindel, raising his eyebrow in his best imitation of Elrond.

Legolas just looked back and forth between the pair before glancing back at the twin.

Elladan had the good grace to blush slightly. “I did not mean to imply that I have more claim to his love.”

“I would hope not,” huffed Erestor.

“But,” continued the twin, a bit more forcefully, “I was there the night he was born.”

“You were?” said Legolas, surprise written on his fair face. “I would like to hear that story.”

“I have never heard you tell that story either,” said Erestor, suddenly very interested.

Elladan glanced at Glorfindel. “I never told anyone about it, except El.”

“Would you share it with us,” asked Legolas softly.

Elladan sat down next to Legolas, a far away look in his eyes as he began to speak of the night just four years ago.

It was cold…so very cold…and El and I were traveling to the Ranger’s compound…

The twins were taking gifts for the Winter Solstice…blankets and woolen socks, sweetmeats and pastries baked especially for Rangers and their families. The winter had been particularly harsh and there was much sickness, so they also carried extra medical supplies to supplement the Ranger’s depleted stock. Arathorn’s child would be born soon so they planned to do some hunting to compensate for the extra patrols he was doing while covering for so many of his sick men.

At midday the heavy clouds shadowed the sky as though it were twilight. Soon it began to sleet. The bits of ice felt like pin pricks hitting their faces. The going was slow and they debated turning back, but overriding their caution was the knowledge of how much the supplies would be needed. As it grew closer to darkness the paths became especially treacherous, even for the elven trained horses.

The twins were some miles from the encampment when they encountered Arathorn. He was leading a horse on which sat Gilraen. The sickness had become so bad in the encampment that he feared for Gilraen and the child she was carrying and had set out for Rivendell before the weather set in. Now he was nearly frantic to find shelter for the child was on its way.

As Elladan and Elrohir rode towards them the horses began to sniff the air and act spooked. They had picked up the scent of orcs and were warning the pair. It would not be long before the orcs were upon them. The twins rode as quickly as they safely could to reach Arathorn and Gilraen. The look of relief in Arathorn’s eyes was short lived when they told him what the horses had scented.

Resolve replaced the relief on his face as Gilraen moaned softly from the back of the horse. Arathorn glanced around the area, as though getting his bearings.

He handed Elladan the reigns to the horse. “Elladan, there is a cave system nearby, just over that rise. Take Gilraen there and protect her. I am going to lead the orcs away from here.”

“No, Arathorn, let us,” Elrohir insisted.

“We can take care of the orcs,” Elladan added, but Arathorn would not listen.

“No, take Gilraen to the caves and guard her. You will be more protection for her than I. My child is to be born this night and I would know that my wife and child have a chance for life.”

It was obvious from the set of his jaw that to argue was useless, and the orcs were growing ever nearer, emboldened by the darkness of the day.

Elladan sighed at his friend. He always was a stubborn man. “I will take Gilraen to the caves and protect her. Elrohir, you go with Arathorn to lead the orcs away. But for Eru’s sake, hurry back here. I know nothing of the way that Edain women give birth.”

That brought ghost of a smile to Arathorn’s face. “I rather think the basic mechanics are the same, but don’t worry, it usually takes hours and hours for a baby to come.”

Elrohir gave his brother a look that spoke volumes of the relief he felt to be facing orcs and not childbirth.

“Just hurry back,” Elladan stressed. “Fear not, Arathorn, I will keep your wife and child safe.”

“I know you will,” he nodded, relief and gratitude evident in his eyes. Quickly he gave Gilraen a kiss and started off with Elrohir. They planned to come up behind orcs and lead them away before they got close enough to scent the horses or laboring woman.

Taking the reigns of Gilraen’s horse Elladan started in the direction that Arathorn had pointed. He knew the caves the man mentioned. One would be perfect for their needs…deep enough to quarter the horses out of the storm and also to mask the smoke of a fire. He would, at least, be able to keep her warm and dry. With any luck at all, Arathorn and Elrohir would be back before the child was born.

The sleet had covered everything with a white sheen that made the going slow and treacherous. Elladan could see that Gilraen was wet, cold, and in pain. His heart ached for her.

“Hold on, Gilrean, we will soon be in shelter.”

She tried to smile her thanks, but another spasm of pain cut off her breath. Her skin was so pale and she shivered violently from the cold, but worst of all was the fear that that the twin could see in her eyes. He wished that his Ada was here.

Elladan led Gilraen’s horse while the elven horses followed, and they soon made it to the cave. It was perfect for their needs. Elladan quickly checked it out to be sure that no orcs hid within, and then led in all the horses. They were grateful to be out of the weather and did double duty in blocking some of the cold wind from entering the tunnel and as lookouts. Their senses would alert the twin long before any enemy could creep upon them.

Gilrean was moaning softly again and a fine sheen of sweat had broken out on her forehead. Elladan knew that could not be good, especially as cold as she appeared to be. He lifted her from the horse and helped her to sit with her back against the cave wall. Then he retrieved one of the woolen blankets to wrap around her shoulders while he made the fire. Obviously this was a cave often used by the Rangers, for there was a plentiful supply of dry wood for fire.

Elladan quickly came back to kneel beside the woman. “Gilraen, your clothes are soaking wet. We must get you out of them and into something dry. Can you stand?”

Gilraen nodded weakly and leaned onto the twin’s arm as she tried to stand. Another pain wracked her before she could get all the way up. Elladan supported her weight as a gush of water splashed at her feet, alarming him to no end. He kept his voice calm as he continued to soothe her through the contraction.

Once it was complete he laid her back down. She was panting weakly and tears of fear ran down her face. “I can’t…I can’t…” she breathed over and over.

“Yes, you can,” the twin assured. “We will have a great surprise for your husband when he returns, won’t we?”

That brought a weak smile to the woman’s face before she sobered again. “Elladan, I am afraid. Don’t let my baby die. Promise me you won’t let my baby die.”

“Of course I won’t,” promised the twin. “I was present when my sister Arwen was born. Did you know that?” Elladan kept up a steady stream of conversation as he quickly removed her wet clothes and wrapped her in a blanket. He then slipped a pair of the socks on to her feet to keep them warm. In between contractions Elladan worked feverishly to make everything ready, praying the whole time that Arathorn and Elrohir would make it back to help him.

As he talked, he took a small pan from the pack horse and filled it with water to heat. He also took several more blankets and fashioned a better bed for the woman to lie on. Then he slipped one of his clean under tunics over her head. The whisper soft material would be more comfortable against her skin than the blanket.

“My Daernaneth and my Daeradar were present as was Elrohir. My Ada held Naneth and supported her while Arwen was born into my Daernaneth’s waiting hands.” He chuckled at the memory. “My Daeradar kept taking her away from my Daernaneth so that he could hold her. So you see, I’m quite familiar with what to do. You mustn’t worry.”

“Your, your father held your mother h, how?” she panted as another, stronger contraction gripped her. They were coming fast and hard.

“Ada was behind my Naneth. To give birth, Elven women squat in a sitting position supported by a member of their family. We cannot do that here, though, because there is only one of me.”

Elladan stopped his chatter when a stronger contraction forced a scream from the woman. She quickly clamped her mouth closed, fearful of attracting unwanted attention for potential attackers. “I wish I had family here.” A sob broke from her. “Elladan, help me, I’m so afraid.”

Elladan was nearly desperate. Arwen’s birth had been beautiful and peaceful; it was nothing like this. This birth was violent and painful and messy, as though it were a foretaste of the life of the Edain. He needed help!

Whistling quietly for his horse, Elladan directed the gelding to lie down on his side. “Now don’t move, boy. You’re going to be my supporter.”

“Gilrean, look, we have help!”

Elladan threw a blanket across his horse. He showed Gilraen how to squat down beside the gelding, leaning back on to him for support. The horse would also help to warm the woman.

“That, that is better,” she panted. “It makes my back feel better.”

“See,” smiled the twin. “We have our help.” He slipped around behind the woman and transferred her weight to his arms as he knelt behind her. “Put your head back on my shoulder and rest. Give me your weight, child. I will hold you until the baby is almost here. Then I will give you back to Gwend to support while I help your baby to be born.”

Elladan continued to soothe the woman and Gwend, lest the horse become agitated by her soft cries. While they awaited the birth of the baby, he tried to remember every scarp of medical information he ever heard from his Ada.

The birthing was quickly progressing and Gilraen cried out that the baby was coming. Quickly, Elladan shifted her weight to Gwend’s back, soothing and praising the horse for his aid. He grabbed one of Elrohir’s spare under tunics to wrap the baby once it was born and kneeled between Gilraen’s knees.

The pain was driving the woman to distraction and she was very nearly on the verge of panic. “Elladan, I can’t do this, I can’t do this,” she cried.

“Look at me,” Elladan commanded in his most Ada-like voice. Well, at least it got her attention. “Look in my eyes, Gilraen. Look in them! Good. Now just keep looking at me. We can do this. Now push. Push! I can see your baby’s head, Gilraen. Push!”

The woman let out a terrible scream, but she fought and she pushed. They were both panting by the time the tiny little boy slid in to Elladan’s waiting hands. The twin quickly wrapped the babe in the tunic and then turned him over his hand to rub his back. After a moment the child gave a cry and began to breathe and cry in earnest, bringing a smile of pure joy to Elladan’s face. “Praise the Valar and thank you, Eru Ilúvatar, for this precious child. It is a boy, Gilraen, a boy!”

“Is he all right? Is everything there?” she asked in the age old question of every new mother.

He looked at the tiny bundle. “Yes, ten impossibly little fingers and toes.” He held the child up to his face and chuckled at the downy soft hair tickling his cheek. “Hello, little love!”

Laying the baby safely to his side, the twin got back to work. Taking his dagger, he quickly cut the cord and tied it off. He then finished assisting Gilraen with the rest of the delivery before helping her to the makeshift bed he had prepared and handing the woman her newborn son.

Gwend got to his feet and gratefully joined the other horses. Elladan continually praised his horse for all he help he had been and the horse whinnied softly to his master.

The twin then tidied the area and added fresh wood to the fire. He placed another blanket across Gilrean and the baby for the temperature seemed to be dropping. He glanced outside to see that night had fallen and that a soft snow was quickly covering the landscape.

“Look Gilraen,” he said softly so as not to disturb the child who was now busily suckling from his mother. “It is snowing.”

Gilraen smiled up at the twin, tears of gratitude in her eyes. “My son and I owe you our lives, Elladan. I could not have done it without you.”

“You did all the work,” laughed the twin. “I just tried to act like I knew what I was doing.”

From the entry, Gwend began to nicker and shake his head, alerting Elladan that someone approached.

The twin grabbed his bow and moved to the doorway. In a few moments he caught sight of Elrohir and Arathorn running through the snow. So heavily was it now falling that their tracks would soon be covered, and they would be able to rest in warmth and safety for the rest of the night.

Elladan greeted them at the door. “Shush, you want to wake the baby?”

“Baby!” cried Elrohir.

“B’Baby?” echoed Arathorn.

“Yes baby,” grinned Elladan. “You have son, Arathorn. A fine son.”

“Up, get up off those beds, you malcontents,” said Sariboril. “How are we supposed to keep them sanitary with you warriors sitting all over them?” The feisty healer clicked and clucked at the four, but her bluster was lost on them as Elrond emerged from the surgery carrying the still sleeping Estel. A large cast encased his arm.

Elladan stopped his story and the four of them jumped to their feet at the chance to see Estel.

The four elves gathered around Elrond to see for themselves that the boy was well.

“He looks so vulnerable,” breathed Legolas. “It is amazing how fragile the second born are.”

“But they are also resilient,” said Elrond, “like Estel.”

“He looks feverish,” said Erestor.

“He looks a little pale too,” added Glorfindel.

“He has a small fever, but that should respond to the elixir prepared by Elrohir.” Elrond looked closely at Elladan. He sensed the emotions churning within his son.

Elladan reached to brush back an errant tuft of hair from his little brother’s forehead. “Hello, little love.”

TBC

 A/N The elven birthing technique was first written about by Nilmandra in her magnificent History Series.

Healing Hope

Chapter Eleven

A Looming Threat

“When did the future switch from being a promise to being a threat?” Chuck Palahniuk

The Hall of Fire in Imladris was as welcoming a room as was ever crafted by elven hands.  Born during the dark days of war and siege, when it did double duty as an infirmary as well as a meeting place for warriors and a makeshift cafeteria, over the years it had grown from a rowdy place of chaos to the peaceful gathering space it was now. 

Elves from all over the hidden valley would often dine in the Hall of Fire, chatting with friends, catching up on news, listening to musicians, poets or storytellers, or just sitting amicably in the presence of the Lord of Imladris himself.

This night, as always, cheerful flames danced and crackled in the huge fireplace which dominated one wall of the hall.  The light from the blaze was augmented by flickering torches arranged around the walls, casting deep shadows across the ceiling.  Scattered in small groups, the elves from Rivendell and those from Mirkwood lounged, ate, or talked softly.  In the corner two musicians strummed lyres and sang an enchanting melody. Their beautiful voices brought peace to the hearts of all who listened as a warm breeze caressed the gathered elves with the delicate scents from the flowers outside.

To the Silvan warriors of Mirkwood, who were used to the dark and dangerous forests of their homeland, this seemed like a small slice of Valinor itself.  It was not that the warriors did not love their home, for indeed they fought daily to defend her and to keep the evil from encroaching any further with its life sucking tendrils of darkness.

In Mirkwood the King’s palace and the residences of many of the elves was within a huge cave system.  Oh, it had been enlarged and skillfully crafted, as only the elves can do, so that its great hall resembled Greenwood the Great and so vast were the ceilings of the great hall that you could almost believe the sky beckoned from above.  The palace was as open and airy as possible, but it lacked one very important thing that Imladris had in great abundance…accessibility to the stars and soft, refreshing breezes.

So as the visiting warriors chatted amiably with the Noldor elves they relished the sweetly scented breezes and often stole outside to the terraces to gaze contentedly at the starlit night.

Accompanied by Falathar, Thranduil strode into the Hall of Fire with all the grace and assurance that only an elven king can possess.  This night the king had chosen the colors of Mirkwood itself in which to dress…the cool shades of greens and brown that symbolized the forest of home. His only concession to a different color was the sky blue under tunic visible only at the neck and sleeves. His cloak of deep green was secured at the throat by an emerald clasp and his mithril crown was dotted with emeralds (his signature stone) and andalucite, the warm brown stone found near the sea shores of Gondor.  His boots were brown suede that appeared so yielding as to be the next best thing to wearing nothing.

Immediately all of the Silvan elves rose from their seats and took a knee.  Their heads were bowed as the king entered.  The elves of Imladris, unused to such formality, were never-the-less aware of protocol and out of deference to their guests rose and bowed their heads in respect.  However, they did not take a knee, as that obedience would belong only to the Lord of Imladris, should he ever require it.

Once the king was seated at the head table all the elves retook their seats.  The musicians began to play again, having stopped in confusion at the grand entrance of the King of Mirkwood.  Not even the Lady of Light and Lord Celeborn received such obeisance when they visited, for they were family.  It was their daughter Celebrían who had life bonded with Lord Elrond and was the mother to Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen, who now resided in Lórien with her grandparents.

All of Imladris had loved the Lady Celebrían for her grace and gentleness, her generosity of spirit, and for the peace she brought into the life of their Lord.  When she was taken and put to the torment by orcs it was a bitter blow to the peaceful valley.  That she could no longer find any peace on Middle Earth and was forced for her own sake to sail to the West cast a pall on all who lived here…none more so than the beloved Lord of Imladris himself, Lord Elrond.

Even for beings so inherently merry as elves, it had taken many years for joy to return to the valley, and many more for the family to find any semblance of peace.  In the last four years, particularly, the rage that seemed to have overtaken the twins had abated as they focused their love and attention on Estel.

Estel, a cheerful bundle of energy had entered their lives in the middle of a bleak mid winter’s night, wrapped in a blood stained cloak carried by Elladan to his father.  The twins had been spending more and more of their time with the Rangers as orc attacks increased in frequency and ferocity.  In his foresight, the Lord of Imladris had seen that the evil one was rising to power again and seeking to destroy the line of Eärendil.

The child was given sanctuary here to be raised and cherished as a son of Elrond, and cherished he was, by all who came to know him.  It was Estel that brought life and laughter back into the Last Homely House as he taught the ancient, fair beings how to find joy again in such simple things as butterfly wings and lady bugs…in robin’s eggs and kittens, milk mustaches and the buttery softness of a sunshine blankey.  Estel was curious about everything and found joy in all as he explored life in the hidden valley.

Aware that he held the attention of all, Thranduil reclined as servers appeared with goblets of wine and platters of fresh fruit, cheese, and hot bread, fresh from the ovens.  Falathar sat by his king’s side, ever alert for signs of anything amiss.  A slight stirring from the gathered elves caught the king’s attention and he turned to see his son entering the room.

The sight of his green leaf brought an indulgent smile to the king’s face.  While Thranduil might be considered by many to be the most beautiful elf in Arda, Legolas had a beauty that was all his own.  It was the beauty of innocence and wonder, of loyalty and the compassion that marked his tender heart, and most of all, of the warmth of a fire on a winter’s eve.  To Thranduil, he was the living image of his lady mother, his beloved queen who had been consigned to Mandos’ Halls the very day she gave birth to their much anticipated green leaf.

Ah, thought Thranduil, ever the bitter sweet was embodied in his Legolas, for the king could not gaze upon his son without being touched by the bitterness of loss, and yet that same son brought such joy to his heart that he swelled with pride at the mere thought of him.

Following Legolas was Erestor.  Thranduil’s eyes narrowed as he considered the haughty seneschal.  What a warrior he had been!  What I could do with a warrior of his experience in Mirkwood, he further considered. 

Then the king noticed that Erestor was escorting a lovely elleth…a very lovely elleth.  She was a bit shorter than the average, but exceedingly fair of face, with shiny dark brown hair falling in waves to her slim waist. 

For the evening meal Sariboril had chosen a soft, shimmering gown of pearl grey with tiny embroidered roses in mauves and pinks accenting the neck and sleeves. The daringly low cut gown show-cased her creamy skin, and the form fitting cut accented his slim curves. The inside of the deep sleeves were a burgundy and that color also peeked out form the hem of the gown.

From around the room “ahs” of admiration could be heard from the gathered elves, particularly those of Imladris, for the feisty healer rarely bothered to change from her shapeless healing robes or loose her hair from the tightly woven and practical bun she customarily wore.

Thranduil’s eyes widened as he beheld the beauty that graced Erestor’s arm.  Gallantly he rose from his seat, causing Legolas nearly to trip from surprise.  Of course, once the king had risen, every warrior from Mirkwood sprang to his feet.

A slightly raised eyebrow was all the indication Sariboril gave that she had even taken note of the reaction to her arrival.  By her side, Erestor was nearly choking from suppressed laughter.  Oh but he would delight in regaling Glorfindel and the twins with this story.  He had never seen that haughty Thranduil’s beauty be outshone by anyone and yet here was Sariboril brining him to his feet like a love sick puppy.  Sariboril!

For his part, Thranduil relished surprising those around him and keeping them off their guard in so far as his actions were concerned.  His heart was still bound, as it always would be – for elves bonded for life – to his fair queen, but he could still enjoy the company of a beautiful elleth and actually enjoyed the chance to be a gallant dinner companion rather than the irascible king he might be at other times, for Thranduil Oropherion was a complicated being, his wit and natural personality had been honed early by bitterness and loss.

When he had assumed the throne upon his father’s death, he was forced to put aside the carefree tenderness of youth and don the demeanor of a fierce king, for truly his people were on the verge of collapse and had not he ruled with a will of iron, Mirkwood might not have survived.  Over the years he had simply grown used to the extreme formality his office required, as had his people. In truth, he rather enjoyed it now, and what was the harm…it served its purpose.

All this and more flashed through the king’s mind as he watched the arrival of Legolas and this beautiful elleth.  That she was being escorted by the seneschal was a minor inconvenience.  He bowed graciously to the lady, ignoring the look of astonished amusement on his son’s face.  “My lady.”

Erestor was turning an interesting shade of puce.

Sariboril dipped her head to the magnificent king.  The healer’s eye noted the fairness of his countenance.  So the rumors of his beauty had not been exaggerated.  She was greatly amused by the expressions of awe on the faces of the elves of Imladris.  She had, after all, lived here for centuries.  Oh, I really must come out of healer’s mode more often she thought, only to veto the idea a second later as frivolous.  She had found her niche here and she liked it.

“King Thranduil,” said Erestor, “my I present Sariboril.  She will act as hostess this evening in our Lord’s absence.”

“My lady,” said the king again.  He took her arm and led her to the seat beside him, effectively nudging Legolas – to his great amusement – one seat over.

Sariboril smiled.  “Please call me Sariboril, your highness.”  The mellowness of her voice was musical to the ear. Beside her she could hear Legolas choke on his wine.  Normally, of course, she would never bother with a title, but she was rather caught up in the delight of surprising those elves who had known her for so long.  There was far more to this fair being than the feisty healer they were accustomed to and perhaps it was time she show them.

“Sariboril,” echoed the king ignoring Erestor, “a beautiful name for a beautiful elleth.”

Oh, this was too good, thought Erestor, who seemed completely forgotten.  As much as anything was his astonishment at the apparent change of the normally acid tongued healer - the terror of the healing wing - into this mellow and deferential hostess.  If he wasn’t seeing it and hearing it with his own two eyes and ears, he would never have believed it possible.

O-o-O-o-O

Upstairs in the family healing rooms, Elrond sat in a rocking chair holding his sleeping child.  Elrohir had brought Estel’s sunshine blankey and draped it over the boy’s sleeping form.  Elladan and Glorfindel sat on the end of the bed nearest to the rocker.

“How is he, Ada,” asked Elladan.  “What injuries does he have besides the arm?”

Elrond gifted his youngest with a kiss to his forehead before answering. “You were correct that he has broken ribs. I have bound those, but they will be quite sore for some time to come.  The arm, of course, was the worst injury.  He has numerous cuts and bruises, but we are fortunate that he survived falling into the Bruinen. 

Elladan sighed.  “What about the mud?”

Elrond considered his answer.  “Estel is at risk for infection from the mud, it is true, but he is healthy and should be able to fight off the infection with our help.”

Glorfindel sat nodding beside Elladan.  “Until Estel came here, I never appreciated the risks taken by the Edain warriors who fought beside us in the war.  Not only did they face the same enemy as we, but their bodies were far more susceptible to the privation and filthy conditions than ours were.”

The admission brought a smile to Elrond’s face.  “I remember the first time Elros became ill after choosing the way of the second born.  His first mate sailed into the port at Lindon almost frantic to reach me.  Elros had never before been ill and was certain that he was dying.”

Elladan perked up at the smile on his father’s face.  “Was Uncle Elros very ill, Ada?”

“No,” laughed Elrond, “he had a head cold.”

The trio shared a fond chuckle at Elrond’s memory of his brother.  It was good to see him be able to share such a memory, for it had taken many centuries for Elrond to recover from the choice of his twin to follow the way of the second born and the severing of the bond between the twins.

“Look,” said Elladan suddenly.  He gestured towards Estel’s eyes.  Behind his closed lids the eyes were moving back and forth.”

“He is dreaming,” responded Elrond.  “It is nothing to fear.”

O-o-O-o-O

Inside his dream Estel found himself once again in fog…or clouds or mist, he wasn’t sure which.  This time he remembered his Ada’s words and did not fear the mist.  His kittens were with him in his dream.  He could hear them purring as he tickled their soft, furry tummies.

“Aragorn”

Estel raised his head from where he played with the tiny felines.  It was the same voice he heard before, but why did it call that name?  It was a similar to a name he had heard his gwadors use, but not the same. 

“Aragorn, where are you?  Tell me where you are that I may come for you.”

Estel wondered if he should respond.  Perhaps he could help the voice find the one it sought.  He started to answer, but something held him back. 

The voice seemed to move closer, surrounding him.  “Are you Aragorn?”

Estel did not answer but felt a smile from the voice, which was very confusing, for how did one feel a smile?

Yet, impossibly, the voice did smile as its owner felt the truth revealed to him.  This was the heir, even if he did not confirm it.  The brown robed one felt a bolt of excitement shiver down his spine.  He had done it.  How the master would reward him!  Now, he must find the location…he must!

“I have been looking for you Aragorn…”

“Estel, awaken son.”  A gentle and much loved voice penetrated the fog.  “Estel, you are dreaming.  Awaken.”

From his Ada’s arms Estel began to stir.  His eyes blinked sleepily as he awakened to the softness of his blankey and the strength and protection of his Ada’s arms.   

“Welcome back, Estel,” Elrond smiled.  “You have had quite an adventure.”

Estel stiffened as the memory of his fear returned.  “The bad elf, Ada.”

“No Estel,” assured Elrond. “The bad elf did not return. It was Legolas and his Adar that you saw.  They rode in with many of their warriors.”

“Hello, tithen pen,” said Glorfindel. “I am most happy to see you awake.  You must trust your Ada when he tells you that Quenthar will never return from Mandos’ Halls.”

Those impossibly silver eyes regarded the golden warrior solemnly.  “You did.”

Glorfindel gasped in surprise.  It had never occurred to any of them to explain the extreme circumstances of Glorfindel’s return….indeed had not occurred to any of them that Estel would fear the same for Quenthar.  No wonder he feared all blonde elves.  “Oh Estel, forgive me. I had forgotten how literally a child sees the world around him.”

“What’s lit-trl,” asked the boy sleepily. 

“Never mind that now,” said Elrond.  “Just know that Quenthar will never return.  Never, Estel.”

“Hello, little love,” smiled Elladan, reaching out to stroke the child’s cheek.

Estel’s face clouded and his eyes grew red with tears.

Elladan was stricken.  “Estel, what is wrong?”

“I’m sorry, Dan.”

Elrond, sensing the emotions within Elladan, stood and shifted the child into Elladan’s arms.  “I must see about some tea for this young one.”

Elladan sat down in the rocker and regarded his brother seriously. “Tell me, little love.  Why are you sorry, and why do you look so sad?  You are safe and that is all that matters.”

“C, Celos,” sniffed the child.  “It’s my fault he’s dead.  He fought the boar to save me, and I saw what it did to him.”  He turned his face into his brother’s chest as the tears began to flow in earnest.

“Estel,” Elladan said gently, “Celos is not dead.”

Estel turned watery eyes to his brother’s face.  “He’s not?”

“He’s right in the stable with Celon,” said Elrohir, who could not stand to remain quiet any longer and wanted his chance to soothe his little brother.

Estel turned his head to smile at the twin.  “Really?”

“Really,” assured Elrohir.  “When you are stronger we will take you out to see for yourself.”

“In the mean time, I want you to drink this,” said Elrond, who was just walking in from his adjoining apothecary.

Estel’s eyes grew wide and he quickly turned his head back into Elladan’s chest. His little head shook back and forth.

“I’m afraid we won’t be able to convince him that Elrohir made the tea this time,” laughed the twin, referring to their long standing way of convincing Estel to drink Ada’s disgusting tea by putting lots of honey in it. 

“Don’t want it,” said the stubborn little voice, muffled by Elladan’s chest.

“Estel,” said Elrond, “I put honey in the tea, and I want you to drink it.”

There was no mistaking the tone of that voice, so Estel reluctantly turned back to accept the tea.  Elladan helped him to sit up and held the cup for the boy.

In between sips, Estel remembered to tell his Ada what he had forgotten.  “The voice came again Ada.”

“What voice,” said Elrond patiently as he watched Estel to be sure he drank all the medicated tea.

“The one in the fog…”

Elrond had forgotten the voice that Estel had mentioned from his fever induced nightmares while buried alive.  He had assumed that it was all a figment of the raging fever that had gripped the child.  “What did it say, Estel?”

“It was calling for someone…someone named Air-gorn.”

Elrond’s blood ran cold at those simple words.  He exchanged a quick look with Glorfindel.  The name Aragorn was not one that Estel would ever remember being called.  So how did he now hear this name in his sleep?

“What did you say?” questioned Elladan, who had also realized that Estel would not recognize his Edain name.  For his own safety they had never used it.  The evil one ever sought to end the line of Eärendil…had sought to destroy the line for years until the Rangers could not even keep a permanent encampment but rather had to continually live on the run.  The last permanent encampment of the Rangers had been the one led by Arathorn, Estel’s biological father.

“Air-gorn,” repeated Estel, unaware of the terror his words had struck into the elves.  “The voice kept asking for Air-gorn and it …it smiled and it asked me where I was.”  Estel had forgotten that part until just now.  He yawned hugely as the tea began to work its magic.

“Let’s get you into bed,” said Elrond, seeing the yawn.  He nodded at Elladan to cut off the question the twin had been about to ask Estel.  “We will speak more of this when the child sleeps” he added softly so that only the other elves could hear.

Elladan rose and laid the boy on to the soft sheets of the adjoining bed.  Elrohir had pulled back the cover and now tucked the child in.  Elladan also layered on the buttery soft yellow blanket that was Estel’s favorite.  “I will stay with him,” he volunteered, though he really wanted to hear the discussion that was about to take place, he knew that Elrohir would tell him all that was said.

Elrond nodded, too preoccupied by his thoughts to even respond.  In truth, fear had entered his heart…fear for Estel.  Evil was afoot, and Elrond needed to find out from what source it came.  The shadow of threat was growing in his mind.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Twelve

The Candle

“It is better to light just one little candle

Than to stumble in the dark.

Better far that you light just one little candle

All you need’s a tiny spark.

If we’d all say a prayer that the world would be free

The wonderful dawn of a new day we’d see

So if everyone lit just one little candle

What a bright world this would be.”

Anon

“My boots is cold,” said Estel.

“What?” asked Legolas, confused by what the boy was saying.

“My boots is cold. See!” Estel held up a bare foot and wiggled his toes. “My boots is cold.”

“Oh,” said Legolas, finally understanding what the child meant. “You mean your foot is cold.”

“That’s what I said,” frowned Estel.

“No, you said...”

“Forget it, Legolas,” interrupted Elladan with a smile. “He forgets his “f’s” when he is upset. Isn’t that right, Puppy?”

“I’m not a puppy,” contradicted Estel with a nod of his little head, “I’m a boy.”

“A boy with a cold foot I see,” said Elrond, entering the room and gracing his youngest with a smile.

“Ada!” squealed Estel in delight.

“Elladan, whatever are you doing?” questioned the elf Lord to his son who was currently on his hands and knees beside Estel’s bed.

“I’m looking under the bed for Estel’s sock,” explained the muffled voice of Elladan. He rose up and sat back on his heels. “It’s not under the bed. Estel how do you manage to lose your socks like that?”

“I don’t know,” apologized the child.

“All is well, Estel,” soothed Elrond. “They probably got caught up in the bedding when it was changed. Besides, I just happen to have a fresh pair right here.” He indicated the fresh tunic – specially fitted to accommodate being put on around a cast, leggings and socks that he carried in his arms. “You know what that means.”

“Not a bath,” whined the four year old.

“Yes,” confirmed Elrond. “a bath.”

Elladan and Legolas smiled at the interplay between the two. It was the same every day. Estel hated the ritual because it had become an ordeal to bathe the child while keeping the cumbersome cast dry. It took two to accomplish the feat and the task had been shared by Elrond, the twins, Legolas, Erestor and Glorfindel. Today it was Elrohir’s and Erestor’s turn to help.

“Where is Elrohir?” asked Elrond.

“Here I am,” announced Elrohir as he walked into the room. He held a stack of books from Estel’s room. On top of the stack was the carved replica of Asfaloth that the child loved to play with. Along with Asfaloth was the stuffed “Fluffy” that Estel adored and snuggled with each night. Erestor had made the stuffed version of Estel’s favorite pet so that the child could have an indoor Fluffy to accompany the outdoor version that now resided in the stables with his mother and siblings.

“Blubby,” smiled Estel tiredly.

Elrond frowned slightly. Estel had worked hard to learn the proper pronunciation of his “f’s” and had been proud of his progress. Now he only lapsed back when he was extremely tired, agitated, or felt bad. Elrond felt of Estel’s cheek. It was pink colored and warm to the touch.

“I believe we will skip your bath for tonight, Estel.” He sat the fresh clothes on the bedside table. “However, I do want you to put on these socks. Hold your foot up here.”

Estel obediently leaned back onto his pillow and held up his foot. He chuckled softly as he wiggled his toes to make it harder for his Ada to get the sock on.

Elladan, Elrohir, and Legolas were immediately at Estel’s bedside looking on with concern.

“What is it, Ada?” asked Elladan.

“Estel has a slight fever,” responded the elf Lord. “I do not wish to chance him becoming chilled in a bath.”

“Ada?” whispered Elrohir, a frown marring his fair face.

“Did we overtire him?” asked Legolas.

Elrond smiled his reassurance to the three young ones as he sat on the bed beside Estel and wiggled the socks onto his feet before placing them firmly back underneath the blankets. He patted Estel’s leg. “How would you like to hear a story?”

Estel nodded his head. His eyes were becoming slightly glazed as the fever elevated.

“Legolas, would you tell Estel a story while I prepare some tea for him?”

“Honey, Ada,” pleaded Estel, drawing a smile and an affirming nod from his father as he rose and left the room.

Legolas chuckled and sat down on the foot of Estel’s bed. “What kind of story would you like to hear, Estel?”

Legolas frowned as Estel’s eyes welled up with tears. “What is it, little one?”

“Estel?” said Elladan and Elrohir together.

The little boy looked back and forth between his gwadors and his new friend and sniffed. “I don’t beel good.”

Elrohir felt of Estel’s head and was alarmed at how hot it was. He kept his face and voice light as he addressed his brother. “I will go make sure that Ada puts lots of honey in your tea, Estel.” He nodded for Elladan to follow him.

“Legolas will tell you any story you want to hear, little love. Elrohir and I will be right back.” He followed Elrohir hurriedly from the room. They wanted to alert Lord Elrond to the child’s spiking fever.

Legolas was uncertain for a moment. He was not used to being around children, especially sick ones. He determinedly put a smile on his face. “What would you like Estel?”

“Wanna rock,” said the little boy miserably. His head hurt and he felt hot and cold all at the same time.

Legolas could see him shivering.

“I think we can make that happen,” replied the prince. He lifted Estel from the bed and wrapped the child’s favorite yellow blanket securely around him before sitting down with the child in his lap. Estel put his head against the prince’s shoulder and sighed. Legolas was surprised at how hot the child’s body felt.

“Are you warm enough, little one?” asked the prince.

Estel nodded his head contentedly. He loved to be cuddled and rocked.

It was the first time that Legolas had sat in this rocking chair with the child. Glorfindel had specially crafted the chair for the healing wing when Estel was just a two year old and cried for his mother. They had all recognized how the rocking motion soothed the child as they walked and Glorfindel fashioned the chair so that they might continually rock the babe. Legolas was not sure exactly how it would work, but he quickly got the rhythm of it and Estel sighed again as the motion soothed him.

“I will tell you a story now.” Desperately Legolas searched his memory for a suitable story for the little boy. Spying a candelabra holding four candles on a table across the room he smiled, for he now had the exact story in mind. It was one that his father had told him when he was young and would ask about his mother.

The twins were walking back into the room, so Legolas asked them to light the candles and to set them over on the table beside where Legolas rocked Estel. Next he asked them to extinguish all the other oil lamps or candles in the room.

When the four candles were lit and they had completed the other tasks, the twins sat down on the bed beside the rocker. Legolas’ face was washed in the soft glow of light as he smiled at Estel.

Estel was enchanted watching the cheerful flickering of the four candles, which now provided the only light in the room. He smiled because the muted light made him feel cozy and safe. Ever since Quenthar had buried him in a box Estel had been afraid in the darkness.

Legolas’ melodious voice added to the ambiance as he began his simple story.

“Once there were four candles burning for Arda. The first candle was named Peace. Bravely Peace struggled to stay lit as beautiful Arda was beset by anger and fighting. Finally Peace spoke to the other candles. ‘Arda is besieged by Orcs and Wargs, and Fear. I cannot stay lit any longer.’ And with that the candle of Peace went out.”

Legolas licked his thumb and forefinger and reaching up, extinguished the first candle. Estel’s large eyes blinked as he considered the now dark and smoking candle.

“The second candle,” Legolas continued, “was named Faith. Faith was very sad that Peace was gone from them and spoke to the other candles. ‘I am no longer indispensable to Arda, and many hearts have turned away from me. I am sorry, but I can no longer stay lit.’ So the candle of Faith left Arda.”

Again, Legolas reached over and snuffed the second candle. On the bed across form him the twins were as enrapt as Estel in the story, for they had never it before. Unbeknownst to them all, Lord Elrond had silently entered the room along with Glorfindel and Erestor. They stood quietly in the shadows listening to the story which Legolas told. Estel frowned as he looked at the two darkened candles. His bottom lip quivered as he struggled not to cry.

“Now the third candle’s name was Love. Love flickered bravely beside the two dark candles. Love tried hard to burn bright enough to compensate for the darkness left by the absence of Faith and Peace, but he could not. ‘Nobody thinks me important any more and so they put me aside. They don’t even think to love those nearest them. I can no longer light Arda.’ So Love’s light went out like the others.”

Legolas glanced down as he reached to put out the light of third candle. Tears were now freely running down Estel’s cheeks, though he said not a word. Legolas could not resist bestowing a soft kiss to Estel’s forehead before continuing the story.

From the bed across from Estel and Legolas now barely visible in the darkened room, Elrohir turned to Elladan. “The story’s supposed to make him feel better, not worse,” he whispered just loudly enough for Legolas to hear and not Estel. The prince just smiled in return.

“There was a special little boy who had broken his arm and did not feel very well.”

“Just like me?” asked Estel, still sad, but now intrigued by this new development. The soft candle light reflected in the tear tracks on the child’s fever heated cheeks as damp eyelashes batted slowly.

“Just like you,” answered Legolas. “And just as loved as you.”

“The little boy came and saw the candles that were not burning any longer and he was very sad. He had hoped that the candles of Peace, Faith, and Love would make him feel better. Distraught, the little boy began to cry. ‘You are Peace and Faith and Love,’ said the little boy to the silent and dark candles. ‘Arda needs you and I need you. You are supposed to burn forever.’”

In the darkness Glorfindel smiled as he remembered being told this story in a slightly different form by his mother. Of course in his story it was a little elfling and not a boy, and the elfling did not have a broken arm.

Beside him Erestor sniffed quietly. He was more affected by the tale than he thought he would be as he watched the faces of the young ones reacting to Legolas’ words. He remembered the twins as elflings and the many times they had sat in his lap listening to stories. How innocent they were then, before the evil had reached out to snatch their mother from them.

Elrond was the most still of all as he watched the face of his youngest. His gift of foresight came to him in the dim light…and he realized that sometimes it was also a curse, for he could see his young one struggling for so much of his life against the darkness…struggling to keep Peace, Faith, and Love alive in his heart and in the hearts of those around him.

His heart ached as he watched the tears flow down Estel’s cheeks and he wished with all his heart that he could keep the child here with him and safe for his whole life…could lessen the struggle he was destined to fight.

The soft voice of Legolas brought him back to the present.

“‘Do not be afraid,’ said the fourth candle to the little boy, ‘for I am Hope. While I am burning the others may still be lit.’”

Legolas sat up and took the fourth candle from its holder and handed it to Estel. “Here Estel, light the other candles.”

He held Estel close to the candles and allowed him to light each one in turn before placing the fourth candle back in its place. A small smile now graced the child’s face as he watched the four candles once again flickering together. The light wrapped them in a comforting glow of warmth.

“You see,” continued the prince, settling back into the welcoming arms of the rocker, “the flame of Hope should never go out from life. With Hope, each of us can live a life filled with Peace, Faith, and Love.”

All was quiet in the room as Estel considered the story he had just been told. “So Hope has to be stronger than Peace and Faith and Love, doesn’t it?” he asked.

Legolas considered the question. It was a fair question and a good one. “I would say that it does, Estel, for without hope it is impossible to have the others.”

Estel again looked at the four candles.

“Do you have hope, Legolas?”

The prince was surprised at the question and looked into the serious face of the child in his lap. He smiled as he realized that he did have hope in his life. “I have you, Estel, and that is all the hope I need, is it not?”

Estel smiled, “I’m not hope, I’m just a little boy.”

Elrond shivered as he realized the burdens that Estel would one day carry upon his shoulders.

Beside him Glorfindel reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm. “Lay aside the future for tonight. For now, let us just enjoy him for the joy he brings into our lives.”

Elrond nodded. “You are very wise, my friend.”

“What good is returning from the Hall of Mandos if you cannot bring a little wisdom with you?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

“Ada!” Estel said as he spied his father. “Legolas told me a story about Hope.”

“So he did,” responded Elrond, handing the cup of herbal tea to Legolas so that he could help Estel sip it before it cooled too much. “So he did…”

Legolas noticed the wisp of sadness in the way the words were spoken and glanced unsurely at the Elf Lord.

Elrond noticed and placed his hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “You did well, Legolas, to remind us of the importance of hope, for it is truly the most important candle in Arda.” As he spoke the Elf Lord looked at his young son thanking Eru once again for the tiny ray of Hope that had come into their lives.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Thirteen

The Meeting – Part One

"I want people to know my life philosophy, to remember to play after every storm." Mattie Stepanik

Estel’s fever spiked once more during the late watches of the night, but Elrond was right there to bathe his brow with cooling cloths, cuddle him close as they rocked in the rocking chair, and give him some more of the fever reducing herbal tea. After the most recent dose the child slept comfortably throughout the rest of the night, and Elrond settled once more to keep his patient vigil. Erestor came in shortly before dawn to relieve Elrond, for one of the adults always stayed with Estel now while he slept. They never knew when the terrifying nightmares would return to rob him of his breath, so one of them was always near.

Elrond could clearly remember the first night it had happened.

The nightmares began a few weeks after Legolas freed Estel from the stiflingly dark box in which Quenthar had buried him. Elrond was walking down the hallway when he heard the child gasping for breath. As he rushed into Estel’s darkened room he could see the child sitting up in bed, his eyes glazed over as he was gripped by the night terrors. He hands were clutching at his throat as he tried to breathe.

Elrond rushed to sit beside the child, afraid that he was choking on some foreign object in his throat. It didn’t take him long to ascertain that Estel’s throat was clear but the child was literally gasping for air, his face red and his lips beginning to become blue tinged. Elrond called his son’s name, and Estel began trying to speak.

“I can’t bweathe. Let me out, please, let me out! Ada! Ada….”

The elf lord realized then that the child was in the midst of a nightmare forcing him to relive his burial, and it tore at his heart to see his son suffering so. He quickly pulled back the covers and carried Estel over to the terrace where he could feel the velvety night breeze in his face and hear the comforting rumble of the falls. Gently he began to massage the boy’s chest in long, slow motions. “Awake, Estel, you are dreaming.”

The child began to cry and gasp while clutching desperately at his father’s robes.

“Estel,” Elrond said more forcefully, “breathe, son. You can breathe. Feel the air on your face. Estel, I am with you, son. Hear me!”

It took a while, but Estel slowly became aware of his father’s comforting touch and the caress of the evening breeze. His breathing slowed and hitched slightly as he calmed down, and he began to draw in deep, shuddering breaths as he awakened once again to reality. Both father and son were deeply shaken by the severity of the dream and Estel’s response to it. Slowly the tightness that had wrapped itself around Elrond's heart eased up.

Estel was shaking with fear as he awakened and continued to cry for some time as Elrond held the child on his lap soothing him. He became terrified each time the elf lord would attempt to put him back in his bed. So upset would the boy become that he would begin to hiccup and gasp again. Twice Elrond was forced to take him back out to the terrace so that Estel could feel the air in his face. Before Elrond could completely calm the child, the twins, Erestor and Glorfindel had all made their way into his bedroom, alerted by the sounds of distress within.

After that one of them always stayed with Estel while he slept. Nighttime seemed to intensify the child’s fear so they kept a small oil lamp burning so that Estel would not awaken in the darkness. Slowly the nightmares were becoming less frequent, but none of them wished to discontinue sitting with the child.

“Take some rest, my lord. I will stay with Estel now,” offered Erestor.

Elrond stood from the rocker and placed his hand over his son’s forehead, nodding at the coolness he found. “His fever broke during the night. He should feel much better when he awakens this time.”

“I am pleased to hear that,” said Erestor as he smiled fondly at the child.

O-o-O-o-O

Falathar walked quickly down the path leading to the training fields. It was early and he wanted to get to the sparring field first so that he could be completely warmed up before the rest of the Mirkwood contingent arrived. The young commander had decided that they had been away from their training schedule long enough and had called for this morning’s workout. Falathar would lead the morning training session before the break of fast. Constantly under attack as they were in Mirkwood, none ever grumbled at the training schedule set by their commander.

The first tinges of light were gracing the eastern sky, painting the trail in the warm and welcomed hues of morning. A fragrant mist hung heavily in the evergreens and hardwoods causing delicate spider webs to glisten as he wove his way through the forest to the glen where all the training fields were located.

Falathar was proud of his warriors and their skill level. They worked hard to keep at their peak of performance. No doubt the warriors of Imladris were not required to keep such an exacting schedule, he reasoned. They were, after all, residing in the hidden valley and not constantly under siege as were their Mirkwood brethren.

Cheers caught his attention, and he quickened his pace, curious to see what was happening on the sparring field. Rounding the last corner he was amazed to see the field full of Noldor elves sparring and training. In the middle, standing out like a beacon on the top of a dark mountain, was the golden Gondolin warrior himself.

Glorfindel was sparring with five of the Imladris warriors, and beating them all. A fierce grin graced his features as he thoroughly enjoyed his workout. Another cheer rose as the golden one executed a particularly difficult move to disarm one of the warriors, who immediately bowed and backed away from the fray. The remaining four were hard-pressed to maintain any kind of advantage, and one by one they were disarmed.

“Right,” called Glorfindel once his adversaries had all been beaten, “now we run.”

As Falathar watched, the Imladris group fell in behind Glorfindel as though this was a well practiced maneuver. As they jogged past the Silvan commander, Glorfindel dipped his head in greeting.

“Falathar,” he called, “the field is yours. We have completed that portion of our workout.”

Falathar watched as they disappeared up the steep path leading up the side of the mountain. Slowly he smiled to himself as he began his stretches. He knew that he had just been given a lesson in the inaccuracy of conclusions drawn from appearances and not from facts.

O-o-O-o-O

Sunlight streamed across the floor in dancing patterns caused by the billowing of the soft material covering the windows. The breeze brought a refreshing breath to the surgery where Estel had been confined. The light worked its fingers across the room until it spidered its way across the bed holding Estel.

The boy slept on his back with the heavy cast encased arm resting on his chest. One leg had snaked its way out of the cover revealing a foot, which had managed to rid itself of its bothersome sock. His hair was a riot of curls from having been dampened during his illness by the numerous cloths of cool water that had been placed on the boy’s forehead to curb the fevers which had wracked him.

When the light fingers found their way into Estel’s eyes he woke up slowly. Erestor was dozing in the rocking chair by his bed. The child lay there watching the elf for a moment. With a mischievous smile, he kicked back the cover as quietly as he could. He had been trapped in this bed for too and long, and the youngster had a feeling this was his best hope for escape. His sleeping tunic was wrinkled and still damp from where his fever had been sweated out in the night, and only one foot still wore a sock, but he was undeterred, for he usually managed to wander around with one sock on and one off until his Ada noticed.

Estel frowned as movement caused pain in his broken arm, but he was not about to let that stop him either. He wanted to go outside and feel the sunshine on his face, or even better, go to the stables to see Celos, Celon and Fluffy. It was funny to him that in his mind his words were always perfect. It was only when he tried to say them all that he ran into problems.

Ever so carefully he slipped his legs over the side of the bed, taking every precaution not to cause a single sound. Since this was the bed that was always used for Estel, the child knew the location of ever single creak that the bed was known to make. From across the room, the doorway beckoned invitingly, tantalizing him with the promise of freedom. His eyes shifted back to the sleeping elf. With great deliberation he allowed his body to slide to the floor.

He had to stand there for a moment, leaning back against the bed, until the slight wave of dizziness passed. The tickle in his dry throat almost caught him unaware, but at the last second he was able to throw his hand across his mouth to stifle the slight cough produced by his thirst. Estel froze, his hand on his mouth and his eyes wide as he watched Erestor for any reaction to his mistake.

Luck was on his side it seemed, for the elf did not move. Letting out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding and smiling at his success, Estel began his ever-so-slow trek past the danger to the open doorway. It was a game that his brothers played with him…how to sneak past a prey without making a sound. Estel loved the hunting games his brothers played with him. His beloved Erestor became a sleeping warg that would devour him should he awaken the beast.

He began to inch his way away from the bed, taking care not to stumble at the unexpected and quite irritating weakness he found in his legs, which caused him to wobble for a moment like a leggy colt. After a few second his legs felt more normal and he decided to chance a larger step, never taking his eyes off of the danger. Estel bit his lip in concentration for he was even with the rocker now and taking extra care not to step on one of the warg’s paws.

Once he was past the paws of his prey, Estel allowed himself a small smile of victory. He could almost feel the soft muzzle of his favorite horses and hear the delighted purr of Fluffy now.

With a great growl, the warg leapt out at Estel and the child found himself snatched up into the lap of his nemesis.

Squealing in delight, Estel giggled as Erestor growled and pretended to bite his tummy. “I have you now and you shall make a tasty morsel for my dinner, little mouse,” grumbled Erestor in a deep voice.

Between giggles, Estel manage to catch his breath. “I’m not a mouse, I’m a little boy.”

“A little boy?” growled Erestor. “Wargs eat little boys.”

“But you’re not a warg, you’re Restor!”

“So I am,” laughed the elf. “And you are a little boy with a cold foot. Where is your sock, Estel?”

“I don’t know,” replied the boy. “Can we go outside? Please, Restor, I’ve been in bed for seben whole days!”

Erestor reached over to the bed for Estel’s yellow blanket. He wrapped the child and then settled the wiggling boy onto his lap stealing a quick moment to nuzzle the babysoft hair. “You haven’t been in bed for seven days, Estel. It only seems like it when you are ill.”

There was a little frown line between Estel’s eyebrows, a dead give away that the child was not happy. “You’re not going to let me go out to the stables, are you?”

Erestor could not help but smile. “No, I am not. However, Legolas’ Adar has been most anxious to meet you, and I do believe that you should be able to attend dinner tonight and meet him.”

Estel sobered and seemed to consider the news for a moment. “Is he mad at me?”

Erestor was confused by the question, but then, that was not always an unusual occurrence when talking to Estel. “Why would he be mad at you, child?” asked the seneschal.

Estel ducked his head, biting on his bottom lip as he pondered his answer. A deep sigh found its way from his chest and he blinked his eyes rapidly as though to dispel moisture gathering there.

Erestor gently nudged up the child’s chin until he was able to look in the boy’s eyes. What he saw there troubled him. There were tears in Estel’s eyes. “Estel?”

Estel swallowed and sniffed and then wiped his nose on his sleeve.

At the seneschal’s upraised eyebrow, Estel quickly apologized. “I’m sorry, Restor. I’m not supposed to use my sleebe.”

“Well,” allowed Erestor, “we will let it pass this time, if you tell me why you would think that Thranduil is angry with you.”

“Because I thought he was the bad elf and I ran away,” said Estel. “Is he mad that I thought he was bad?”

Erestor smiled and hugged the boy. “No, Estel, he is not angry with you. He does not even know the reason why you left the grounds.”

That brought a smile to Estel’s face, which was quickly squashed when Erestor announced that he needed a bath.

“A bath?” whined the four-year-old, for that was always his reaction to the suggestion.

“Yes, a bath,” laughed Erestor, thrilled and happy to hear his little one feeling well enough to complain about his bath. “Why don’t we go find Elrohir to help us? I believe that we missed our turn last night.”

Estel nodded his head in acceptance. Why his family thought he needed so many baths was beyond him, but he’d learned that arguing, begging, and bargaining did no good so he just gave in gracefully.

“That’s my good boy,” smiled Erestor. “You would not want to meet King Thranduil smelling like a warg would you?”

“Legolas’ Adar is a King?” breathed Estel. His eyes were wide at the news. “I never met a King before!”

Erestor sat the boy down on the side of the bed and used one of the linen cloths to fashion a sling to keep the full weight of the cast from Estel’s arm. “Is that better?” he asked.

“Yes,” nodded Estel as he studied the sling. “I look like a warrior now, don’t I?” he smiled, for there was nothing more in the world that Estel wished to be than a warrior like his brothers and Glorfindel.

“Yes, you look like a warrior,” grunted Erestor as he retrieved Estel’s missing sock from under the bed. He sat up and put the sock onto the boy’s foot and then stood up and took Estel’s hand. “Come along, Estel, let’s go find Elrohir.”

Hand in hand the pair walked from the healing rooms.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Fourteen

The Meeting, Part Two (of Three)

Secrets

“The man who can keep a secret may be wise, but he is not half as wise as the man with no secrets.” Edgar Watson Howe

This Chapter is dedicated to Kim.

Glorfindel sat in a chair holding a two pronged candelabra as he poured over the document laid out on the table in Elrond’s study.  Candle wax dripped onto one corner unnoticed, so thorough was the warrior’s concentration.  Sighing, he sat down the candelabra so that he could massage the muscles of his neck.  After rolling his head a couple of times, he steepled his long, graceful fingers as he once again pondered the scroll.

Lord Elrond Peredhil’s attention was pulled back to the room by the sighs of the warrior.  Reluctantly he turned his face from the warmth of the afternoon sun.  Normally he was soothed by the familiar sights and scents of this cozy, book-lined room, but not today.  His robes brushed softly against the floor as he made his way back to the table to once again join his commander.

The object in question, the scrolled map of the hidden valley and the surrounding mountains, also showed the locations of all the human villages within range.  Dotted here and there on the map were markers indicating the locations of the orc raids.   

“As you can see,” Glorfindel continued, “the raids appear to be drawing ever closer...almost in concentric circles.”  He frowned. The pattern was certainly clear when displayed as it was before them.  Yet the whole idea seemed impossible, for the words pattern and orc were rarely, if ever applicable together. 

“What did Beling report?” questioned Elrond, pacing once more to the terrace, his gray eyes masked in concentration.

“Much as we suspected,” said Glorfindel, “that the orcs appear to be organized. They also attack further from their lair than is normal.  Beling tracked them for almost a full night and still they did not betray their den.  He was forced to retreat when they sent a rear guard to scout behind them.”

Elrond spun around. “A rear guard?”

Glorfindel dipped his head in confirmation.  “When is the last time you heard of an orc band being that organized?”

“They were certainly well organized during the war of the last alliance…”

“Yes, they were…because they were being led.”  Glorfindel tapped his finger on the map a few times as he pondered.  “Could it be that the ring of power has been found?  Could Sauron be preparing for another all out assault?”

“Impossible,” breathed Elrond. “Galadriel or I would have seen it had Sauron regained that much power. If he were in possession of the ring…”   He let his voice trail off.  “No, I cannot believe that scenario.  We would have had word from the Maia if that were the case.  Still…” 

Glorfindel’s voice took on a somber timbre.  “What have you seen, old friend?  I must know if I am to protect you.”

Elrond’s face softened as he beheld the golden elf before him.  “You returned from Mandos’ Hall to protect me. You are my commander, my advisor, and most of all, my friend. I gladly place my life and more importantly the lives of my children in your hands.”

“Then tell me what it is that has been clouding your mind these past days, for I have watched you wrestle with it by yourself. Why do you hide it from me?  Until now, I was content to wait for you to decide when to share your concern.”

Elrond’s eyebrow lifted. “Until now?”

Glorfindel rose determinedly. “I gave your father my word that I would protect his line.”

“Peace, Glorfindel,” chided the elf Lord. “I fully intend to tell you what I know.  And therein lies the problem.”

Glorfindel leaned back against table crossing his arms across his chest.  “I am prepared to wait.”

With a soft sigh, Elrond sunk gracefully into the chair across the table from his friend.

The warrior walked around the table and began to knead the elf lord’s shoulders.  “You stubborn elf,” he chuckled.  “You enjoy vexing me, but it will not divert my attention this time.  Now tell me, my friend, what it is that weighs on your heart.”

“I wish that I could be specific…”

“Then be unspecific,” interrupted the warrior.

The raised eyebrow was Elrond’s reaction, a dead give-a-way to Glorfindel of Elrond’s preoccupation with the worry….whatever it was.

“I apologize,” conceded Glorfindel. “Please continue.”

“Thank you,” replied Elrond drolly.  He sat quietly for a few moments relishing the feel of the tension being worked from his shoulders.  “There is a shadow in my mind, Glorfindel, but it is as yet too nebulous for me to read.  Before last night I sensed that it concerned Estel.  Now I am sure of it.”

“The dream?”

“The dream,” confirmed the elf lord.  “Estel specifically said that the voice in the fog asked for Aragorn.  Thankfully that name has no meaning to Estel or he might have revealed his location to an unknown enemy.”

“Estel did not respond to the name Aragorn.  Perhaps that will be the end of it,” suggested the warrior.

Elrond shook his head. “I cannot take that chance.  This was not the first time that the “voice” called to Estel.  And now with these unusual orc attacks drawing near…”

Glorfindel’s brow creased. “You think them related?”

“How can I not?” responded Elrond.  “In any event, we cannot disregard the possibility.  If the one seeking Estel believes him to be here, he could be using the orcs in an attempt to gain entry or to draw us out and force us to reveal the way into the valley.”

“Beling did say that the orcs spent a lot of time probing areas that were not inhabited by humans…areas close to our defenses.”  He thought about the implications for a moment.  “I will double the guard.  Nothing will get through our defenses, my lord.  Estel will be safe here.”

Elrond closed his eyes wearily.  “But Estel cannot stay here forever, can he?  His destiny will lead him into the very teeth of danger.”

Glorfindel stopped kneading the tension-tightened muscles and rested his hands on Elrond’s shoulders in unspoken support.  “His time is not yet come.  We have many years in which to prepare him, and we will do it well.”

Elrond turned to look up at his advisor.  “In the mean time, how do I protect him from a voice in his dreams?”

Glorfindel walked back around the table and sat down across from Elrond.  He leaned back in the chair looking at the ceiling as he thought.  Presently he brought his gaze back to Elrond.  “Can you not just warn him not to tell the voice where he lives?”

“I thought of that,” admitted Elrond, “but he is already stalked by terror in the night. I do not wish to further frighten him about the voice he heard.  Besides,” he smiled ruefully, “you know Estel.  The harder he tries to keep a secret…”

“The faster he ends up blurting it out,” finished Glorfindel with a chuckle.  “Yes, his face is as his heart… an open book for all to read.  He will have to learn to mask his feelings better.”

“That will come in time.  His innocence is what is so forthcoming.  He wishes only to please those he loves.”

The pair sat in companionable silence, each lost in thought as they continued to study the damning evidence on the map.  One thing was deadly certain from the pattern of attacks…the circle was closing.

O-o-O-o-O

The long awaited event was approaching and Legolas Greenleaf was as nervous as a cat in a room full of Glorfindel’s rocking chairs.  The moment of truth was barreling down on him with the momentum of an avalanche from the Caradhras and he was powerless to divert the massive wave of energy.  Shortly his father, the King of Mirkwood, would meet Estel.  How could he have kept this secret from his father…why did he keep this secret from this father?  Well, he knew why.  ‘I am a coward,’ moaned the Prince.

Legolas shuddered as he pondered once again how he had managed to get himself into such a predicament.   His father hated humans.  Legolas knew that…everyone within shouting distance knew that.  But, he argued with himself, he had expected to have years in which to slowly break the news of Estel’s race to his father.  Now the day of reckoning was at hand and he had no idea how it was going to play itself out.

Would his father be rude to Estel?  Legolas’s features darkened at that thought. He would not see Estel’s tender feelings hurt.  Surely his father would not take out his anger on a child.  No, Legolas, reassured himself, his father would take his anger out on him.  At that thought, he groaned again, wondering – not for the first time – if this would be the time that his father actually did throw him into the dungeon.  He certainly threatened to do so often enough.

Legolas rolled over on the massive limb so that he could rest on his back.  He had sought refuge in the very same elm that had helped lead him to Estel the night he found and freed the child from where Quenthar had buried him. He smiled as he remembered his bond with the magnificent tree.

Legolas nodded to one of Helcar’s guards as he crossed through the beautiful garden. He paused to glance up at Lord Elrond’s balcony, knowing that it was from there that the renegade elf had taken the human child. ‘Of course,’ he realized, ‘why did I not think of this before!’ Walking over to the ancient elm, which stood majestically over the marble bench where the scrap of bandage from Estel had been found, the Elven prince placed his hands respectfully against the bark. It was the same tree from which the three elves had perched outside Elrond’s window searching for sight of Estel when banished from the house, and the tree had shared their laughter and their cares. Taking a deep breath, Legolas asked the ancient life for permission to experience its life force. Receiving permission, Legolas allowed himself to relax into the flow of life which emanated from the tree. The ancient had withdrawn into himself when he had felt the unusual touch of evil. Many lives of man the tree had lived in Imladris, and never had it felt such evil at its base. Unsettled, the tree had pulled within.

Becoming one with the tree sobered and awed the prince, as it always did when he had the rare opportunity to have this experience. Quickly gathering himself before he became too caught up in the moment and wasted time that Estel did not have, Legolas searched the tree’s memory for images of the child. What he felt and saw were visions of joy and happiness, of unruly dark curls and infectious laughter. He quickly pushed past these memories, seeking the ones that might aid him now. Finally he came to what he sought. The elf was dressed darkly and Legolas could not make out a face. He could see them jump from the window. The elf and child had landed hard, and the boy rolled against the marble bench, tearing off the bandage in the process. The tree had reacted in distress at the damage to the child’s lip, and Legolas shared its compassion. The dark elf had jerked up the child and run off through the garden, in the direction of the archery fields.

 Legolas unconsciously shivered at the memory of that night.  Finding the child had been a momentous experience for him, and he once again allowed his mind to drift backwards.

Legolas was moving faster and faster as he climbed the steep path leading up the hillside. The trees were almost twitching in their enthusiasm and willingness to help the Wood Elf. Legolas was becoming excited the closer he came to finding the human child.

The Prince stopped and kneeled on the path, his hands carefully feeling the tracks. He was close; he was sure of it. Glancing up at the trees, he smiled his appreciation to them for their help. He rose and quickly followed the tracks to where they ended. Scanning the area he noticed the skillfully prepared brush covering what looked like a trap door. ‘Success,’ he breathed, ‘now, please Elbereth, let the child be alive.’

Legolas began pulling the bush and dirt away from the door using as much speed as he could. At last he had the door completely cleared and he gently pulled at door. The door was stiff and creaked ominously as it was pulled clear. A vile stench assailed the prince’s nose but he forced himself to ignore it as he peered into the small cramped space.

Curled unmoving in the corner was the Edan. Legolas feared that he was too late. Carefully he reached in to pull out the child and was relieved to feel the warmth of his skin. The child lived! Legolas quickly assessed the boy’s condition. He was obviously dehydrated, covered in scratches – several of which appeared infected – and had a raging fever. The prince pulled off the soiled pants the child wore, swearing to himself at the horror he was seeing. If Elladan did not finish off Quenthar, then by all the Valar, he would for the torment this innocent had been put through. Legolas pulled off his outer tunic and wrapped the child in the soft material.

“Come on, little one, awaken,” he crooned softly to the child, as he smoothed back the dark curls stuck to Estel’s face.

Estel’s eyelashes batted slowly as he finally managed to open his eyes. Silver blue eyes looked fearfully at the Prince.

“Saes, tithen pen, you are safe now.”

Legolas realized with a start that he had even referred to Estel as “the human child.”  How strange that seemed now that he knew Estel and the little one shared a part of his heart.  He sighed again.  He just had to find a way for his father to get to know Estel.

“Legolas,” came an annoying voice from below. “What are you doing up there?”

“Thinking,” grumbled the prince at the interruption. ‘Go away.” 

Well, of course, that was like waving a red flag in front of a bull, and the twins quickly scrambled up the tree to join their friend.

“Scoot over,” said Elrohir, nudging the prince’s foot.

Legolas obligingly rolled over and sat up, allowing room for the twins. 

“What are you doing outside Ada’s window?” asked Elladan.

Legolas colored slightly as he realized that he was directly across from Lord Elrond’s balcony.  “I didn’t realize,” he managed to stammer.

Elladan frowned. “What’s wrong with you?  I haven’t seen you this nervous since we hid the bells from Asfaloth’s bridle.”

Legolas took a deep breath and decided to just come out with it. “My Adar does not know that Estel is human.”

The twins stared at him. 

“So?” said Elladan.

“What does it matter?” echoed Elrohir.

“My Adar, as well as most of the inhabitants of Mirkwood, hates humans,” Legolas said flatly, seeing exactly what he thought he would…two identical scowls.  “Wood elves are not as …open…to the other races as you are here in Imladris.”

“We are half-human,” said Elladan hotly. “Will your Adar refuse to eat with us, do you think?”

Legolas rolled his eyes. “I knew you would not make this easy.”

“Easy?” exploded Elrohir.  “You tell us your father and your people hate humans and you expect us to be happy about it?”

“No, not happy,” replied Legolas icily.  “But you could try to understand.  My father blames the line of Elendil for the death of my Daeradar and two thirds of his warriors.  Very few of my people were spared the grief.”

“Elendil died fighting Saruon,” said Elrohir quietly.

“Then to make things worse,” Legolas continued, “Isildur kept the ring of power for himself when he should have destroyed it.  Our lands have been besieged ever since.”

“So all humans now bear the taint of Elendil?  Is that what you are saying?  Maybe you don’t want to be around us either,” accused Elladan.

Legolas stared at the twins; hurt warring with the anger in his eyes.

Elladan sighed and dropped his head in shame. “I’m sorry, Legolas.  Of course you don’t feel the same way.  You saved Estel, and I will forever be in your debt because of it.  I’m just worried about Estel.  He will not understand it if your Adar is rude to him, and I will not let that go unchallenged.”

Legolas nodded his head. “I cannot believe that my Adar would be rude to Estel no matter how he feels about humans.  He would not be so ungracious.”

“Why don’t you simply tell him before hand?” suggested Elrohir.

“I thought about that,” replied Legolas, “but if I do that I think he will find a reason not to attend the dinner, and I want him to meet Estel.  It’s one thing to eat with a human if you didn’t know he’s human,” he reasoned, “and quite another to choose to, if that makes any sense.”

“In a convoluted Wood elf sort of way I supposed it does,” nodded Elladan. 

“So what are you going to do about it?” asked Elrohir.

“Do about what?” said a deep voice behind them.

All three of the younger elves jumped.

“Glorfindel!” gasped Elladan, putting his hand across his chest to still his rapidly beating heart.  “I swear you’re going to cause me to drop from fright some day.”

The golden warrior just chuckled. “I believe we have had this conversation before.  I can always steal up on the twins when they are running their mouths, but I am surprised to catch you unaware, Prince Legolas.  It is rare to catch a Wood elf by surprise.”

Legolas colored at the comment.  Glorfindel was correct.  He was so engrossed in the conversation with the twins that he had dropped his guard completely.  It didn’t matter that they were within the safety of Imladris.  A mistake like that at the wrong time could be deadly.

Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed as his eyes moved from one to the other, taking in the three guilty looking faces.  “Perhaps you should tell me what it is that you were talking about.”

Legolas silently pleaded with the twins not to share the details of their conversation with Glorfindel.  He was already feeling extremely disloyal for talking with the twins about his father, who was also his king. After several moments of uneasy silence Legolas blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. “We are the ones that took Asfaloth’s bridle bells!”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Fifteen

The Meeting, Part Three

“It is a wise father that knows his own child.” William Shakespeare

Thranduil Oropherion lounged sanguinely in a comfortable chair on the terrace outside his room enjoying a cup of miruvor, the cordial favored by Imladris, while he soaked up the rays of the waning afternoon sun. If pressed the king would admit that the drink was favorable, though he still preferred the full-bodied wines of Mirkwood. A benevolent breeze toyed with the ends of his silken hair. As he sipped the drink, Thranduil mused over the events of the past two days, especially the measured chaos he had witnessed while here in Imladris.

It had been many centuries since he had seen Elrond; indeed many centuries since he had even left his kingdom. Only the debt of honor he owed to the son of Elrond had enticed him to venture forth. Thranduil could not contain the small smirk that graced his beautiful features as he shook his head slowly. Only his Greenleaf could end up owing his life to a son of Elrond.

Of all the haughty, self-contained, infuriating elves Thranduil had ever met, Elrond was the most…of all of those things. Elrond was like the favored child, always the best at everything he did, he mused. The two of them were like oil and water…Elrond calm and deliberate while Thranduil was fiery and passionate. Even when, fresh from battle, Elrond had come to Thranduil after the disastrous loss of his father, the elf had hardly had a hair out of place. Thranduil had vented his rage and grief at Elrond, and he had not batted an eye, which had only made things worse from the grieving young king’s point of view.

‘Aye,’ sighed Thranduil, ‘I have always had a temper.’ The king smiled. Self contemplation was not something in which he normally dallied. He supposed it must be a result of the vibes of peace and harmony literally washing over him from this valley. How very different from his woodland realm it was.

He sighed again. ‘I am not meant for peace and quiet. My life is more about the daily struggle to protect my realm, my people, and - most of all - my Greenleaf.’

A soft clearing of the throat brought the king from his contemplation.

“May I join you, Adar?”

“Greenleaf! I can think of no more desired companion to share this fair afternoon,” responded the king with an indulgent smile for his offspring.

The Prince of Mirkwood pulled another chair beside his father’s and joined him on the sun drenched terrace. Were it not for his nervousness, he might have enjoyed the exquisiteness of the scene before him, but as it was, he fidgeted instead of relaxing.

Thranduil cast a side-long glance at his heir, wondering how long it would take the young one to broach the subject with which he struggled. Aye, the truth was he was quite content to simply look at his Greenleaf, who embodied all the best qualities of his beautiful mother and, if the truth be told, of himself. Legolas had all of Thranduil’s passions without the raging furnace of temper which too often burned just beneath the surface of the king. His mother’s calmness had banked those flames in the offspring and lent him a stubborn patience, which could at once infuriate and make proud his sire.

“Um, Adar,” began Legolas hesitantly, shifting nervously in the chair, “there is something I should probably tell you.”

“Truly? I wondered how long you were going to wrestle with yourself on that great oaken limb today,” replied the king knowingly.

“You saw me?”

Thranduil dipped his head in answer. “What is it, Greenleaf, that you struggle so to tell your Adar? I have watched your internal battle for our entire journey.” The king arched a delicate, imperial brow. “Or is it, perhaps, something you feel you should tell your king?” Very patiently, to his way of thinking, the king waited for his child to gather the needed courage to address him.

A small, almost defeated, sigh escaped Legolas. His father had known he was hiding something from him this entire trip. ‘Does my face so readily reveal my thoughts,’ wondered the prince miserably, much to the amusement of his father, who was easily able to perceive his son’s morose thoughts.

Thranduil decided to ease his son’s path. “I understand that the young son of Elrond is going to join us tonight for a formal banquet. I have anticipated meeting the one called Estel,” he added with a chuckle.

“Estel is very special,” explained Legolas. “He is…I mean…you will like…um…” Legolas faltered, still unable to speak the damning words.

“Are you attempting, at last, to inform your king that the child is an adan?”

Legolas’ mouth fell open, and Thranduil struggled to hide the twinkle in his eye. Oh, he so enjoyed surprising his Greenleaf.

“How?” sputtered Legolas.

“Come now, child, have you so little faith in your king’s ability to gather intelligence?”

Thranduil wasn’t happy, of course, to learn that his son’s newest “friend’ was edain, and even less amused at his reticence to admit the fact, but what else could he expect? All his life, his Greenleaf had been a collector of stray animals, his tender heart easily moved to protect the defenseless. Why the elfling had once found a baby spider and tried to sneak it past the palace guards. Aye, at this rate he would end up dragging home a dwarf! Aye, but that would be taking a kind heart too far! Even so benevolent a king as Thranduil could not suffer that much of an insult.

“Do close your mouth, child, for it is most unbefitting a prince,” chided the king.

Legolas closed his mouth and swallowed, but his narrowed eyes remained unerringly on his father. “You knew all along?”

“When I learned is unimportant,” responded the king, his voice hardening slightly. “I would have been most displeased had you allowed this knowledge to be sprung on me before the eyes of others, especially the Noldor. I may be an indulgent father, Legolas, but I am still your king.”

Legolas dropped his eyes guiltily. “I know, Adar. It was wrong of me to even consider that course of action. ” He moved to kneel before his father’s chair, his head bowed. “Forgive me, my liege.”

Thranduil leaned forward to place his hands on either side of his son’s face and kiss the silken tresses. “You are as the light of the stars in my life, my son. There is little I would deny for your happiness, but I am also a king, who must needs put the good of his people above that of his own. Let us pray that it never comes to that choice, for surely my heart would break on that day.”

Legolas raised his eyes to meet those of his father. “I love you, Adar.”

“And I love you, my Greenleaf.” The king held his son’s serious gaze for a moment longer before the twinkle returned. “Now, shall we change for dinner? I must meet your Adan looking my best. Your formal tunic has been cleaned and repaired just in time, has it not?”

“Oh joy,” murmured Legolas.

“What was that?”

Legolas could not help but smile. “You tease me, Adar, but I shall dress in my formal tunic for the celebration. Mirkwood shall shine this night.”

“As it should, my son, as it should.”

O-o-O-o-O

Estel was beyond excited as he was led into the Hall of Fire for the gala dinner. He was still pale, for the pain in his arm and ribs throbbed, but he would not have complained for the world. He was going to meet a king for the first time in his young life, and that not to be missed. “How long until the king gets here, Rester?” he inquired for the tenth time.

“It will not be long now, Estel. Ah, see, here are your brothers and Legolas,” pointed out the seneschal.

“May I sit by Legolas?” asked the boy, wiggling like a worm on a hook. “He will be close to his Adar won’t he?”

Erestor kept his face carefully neutral. “Yes, Legolas will be seated beside King Thranduil." The seneschal raised an eyebrow. “If I allow you to sit by Legolas, you will not ask the king too many questions will you? Some kings do not like to be asked a lot of questions,” he added before Estel could ask him why. Like the rest of the elves present, Erestor did not know what to expect this night to bring, for Thranduil’s dislike and distrust of humans was legendary. He considered them to be treacherous and wholly without honor.

“I promise, Restor, I won’t ask too many questions,” confirmed Estel eagerly. The excitement of the evening was even worth the bath and fancy clothes he was forced to wear. Erestor had even fashioned a silver sling to encase the ugly cast on his arm, and placed a slim mithril circlet through his riotous curls for the first time ever.

“Very well,” agreed Erestor. He had no doubts that Legolas would shield Estel from any anger emanating from his father. Aye, this was going to be an interesting night. He could easily feel the waves of anticipation in those already gathered.

As his eyes scanned the room, he was gratified to see the warriors from Mirkwood interspersed with those of Imladris. Erestor nodded to Falathar, who was seated by Beling. Erestor was amused to see that the young commander sat at a discreet distance from where the king would be, but close enough to protect him if the need arose. Erestor had no doubt that Falathar’s weapon would be close by…probably underneath the table where he now reclined chatting amiably with the scout.

A soft murmur from the gathered elves drew Erestor’s eyes to the entryway of the hall. The twins and Legolas were entering the room in the formal clothes of their respective kingdoms. Legolas wore the same golden tunic with which he had covered the bloody and battered Estel in the woods, and the twins were dressed in deep blue tunics trimmed in silver. None of the young ones wore robes, but each bore a simple mithril band around his head. Legolas’ was woven like intertwining branches and the twin’s were only slightly more elaborate.

Estel’s eyes shined as he watched his brothers and Legolas walk towards him. He had never seen them so finely dressed and it impressed upon the boy the importance of the evening.

Erestor gave Estel over into the care of his brothers and left to oversee final preparations for the dinner.

“Legolas, Restor said that I may sit by you!” exclaimed the boy. “You don’t mind, do you?” he worriedly asked his brothers, for he would never hurt their feelings.

The twins chuckled and tussled their little brother’s hair. “We don’t mind, Tithen pen,” answered Elrohir for them both. “Legolas is not here often, so you enjoy sitting by him tonight. We get to have you with us every day.”

“You will watch out for him, won’t you, Legolas?” questioned Elladan, his eyes conveying the deeper meaning of his question. Their conversation on the tree was fresh in the twin’s mind and he would not stand silent and see his little brother insulted…by anyone.

Legolas nodded his assurance to the nervous brothers.

The twins sat one place down from where Estel now sat. He would be between his Ada and Legolas with the twins seated on the other side of Elrond and King Thranduil on the other side of the prince.

Estel smiled at Legolas as the prince sat beside him. “Restor put a crown in my hair! It’s almost just like yours!”

“So I see,” acknowledge Legolas. “You look just like a prince tonight, Estel.”

The boy beamed. “Do I really?”

“You do,” affirmed the Prince. “I would not be at all surprised to see you a king one day.”

The twins shared an ominous glance at the prince’s unwittingly accurate comment.

Estel just giggled.

“King Thranduil and Lord Elrond,” announced a herald from the doorway. All in the room rose at the approach of the Lords. They were followed by Glorfindel, whose graceful strength was such a familiar presence in Imladris.

Lord Elrond wore deep blue and grey robes accented in silver. The mithril band adorning his head was elegantly understated and fit his personality perfectly. He gave Estel a small wink as he came to his seat, for the boy was fairly agog at all the splendor he was seeing. Such formality was a rarity at Imladris.

If Lord Elrond impressed the boy, King Thranduil literally stole his breath away. The King wore a silken tunic of seemingly pure gold which shimmered with each step he took. His robes were of a similar material tied by a silken cord of the deepest green. His mithril coronet was inlaid with emeralds, pearls, and adamants, which caught and reflected the flickering torches making his head seem to radiate a bedazzling light.

As the king came to his place beside his son, Legolas and all of the warriors of Mirkwood smoothly took a knee, heads bowed.

His back to the rest, Estel only saw Legolas kneel. Confused, for he had never seen an elf kneel thus, he squatted down next to his friend.

In that loud whisper so favored by children of all times and places, and easily heard by elven ears, Estel inquired of his friend. “What’s the matter, Legolas? Did you drop your spoon?”

Legolas bit his lip to keep from laughing at the endearing innocence, and remained as he was until given leave to rise.

“Ada,” Estel informed his father, “Legolas dropped his spoon!”

Soft sniggers could be heard from the twins, quickly quieted by glance from their Ada. Before he could answer Estel, Thranduil took the situation in hand.

“Here child, take my spoon,” replied the king smoothly, handing his spoon to Legolas, “and do please rise.”

As Legolas and the other warriors came to their feet, Estel frowned, for he had just caught sight of the movement of the Mirkwood warriors.

“Did they all drop their spoons, Ada?”

Elrond hesitated a moment, unwilling to embarrass the child with the explanation of why the Mirkwood elves had bowed.

“My warriors seem to be very clumsy tonight, young one,” replied Thranduil lightly. “Legolas, will you introduce me to your companion?”

“Uh oh,” whispered Elrohir to Elladan, “here it comes.”

All around the room stomachs tightened in dread.

“Sire,” Legolas said evenly, “may I present Estel of Imladris. Estel, this is my Adar, the King of Mirkwood.”

Estel stood, as he had been instructed and executed a perfect, if somewhat awkward because of the cumbersome cast, bow to the king. “You’re beautiful,” breathed the boy, his eyes shining.

Thranduil smiled. “Come child, stand by my side,” he coaxed.

Estel gave a quick glace to his Ada, and receiving a nod of permission, walked over to stand shyly beside the magnificent king, his large eyes round as saucers.

There was a collective intake of breaths in the room as the king fondly brushed back the brown curls to reveal the softly rounded ears of the child.

Legolas resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His father had such a flare for the dramatic and was well aware of the tension in the room. He couldn’t forbear the urge to glance back at the twins, and almost laughed at the identical looks of anxiety on their faces.

Thranduil continued to look kindly at the awed child before him. His mind embraced the sweet and much beloved memory of Legolas at that age, and he gave the boy’s shoulders a soft squeeze of reassurance. “So you are the little Adan who has garnered the friendship of my son. Well met, Estel of Imladris. Great indeed must be your worth, for you have won the allegiance of the Prince of Mirkwood!”

The king was vastly amused by the almost audible exhalations in the room. Oh but he was enjoying himself tonight. He would never have believed that a formal dinner with Elrond could be so entertaining.

Before Thranduil could speak again, there was a tremendous crash and a scream from the edge of the room nearest the terrace. All eyes turned in shock to see the cause. From his place beside Beling, Falathar grabbed his sword and jumped to stand before the king’s table, his heart thudding. Could he not even enjoy a quiet dinner in this accursed place?

Thranduil could not believe his eyes. Two huge white stallions had stuck their heads inside the softly billowing draperies and so startled an elf carrying a huge tureen of soup that he tripped and threw the soup all over the nearest table.

A soft, longsuffering groan of recognition escaped Elrond.

Spying the one they sought, Celos and Celon, followed by a huge brute of a black stallion, bulled their way across the hall towards Estel. A tiny yellow kitten perched contentedly on Celon’s back. Elves and tables flew in every direction and chaos ensued. The normally sedate Hall of Fire was resonating with the racket of a rookery at sunset.

“Celos!” screamed Estel delightedly. He turned a beaming face to the astonished king. “Those are my horses and Fu-Luh-fee,” he enunciated perfectly. “They’re my friends.”

“So I see,” chuckled the king. “And do your friends often attend dinner with you?” he could not help adding for Elrond’s benefit.

As Erestor and several of the warriors determinedly attempted to rein in the horses, who were equally determined to reach Estel, it was hard to tell who was laughing the loudest…Glorfindel or Thranduil.

The Lord of Imladris simply sank to his seat with his head in his hands. He looked up to see Estel and the King surrounded by three huge stallions and one very small kitten and surrendered to the resigned smile that came to his face. Imladris had certainly become an interesting place since Estel had come into their lives. It seemed that no matter how old one grew, there were yet surprises in store when the hope of man was near.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Sixteen

Silent Sentinels

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.  ~From a headstone in Ireland

The Border of Imladris

The commander ran quickly and silently through the dark woods of his home.  His three day mission was drawing to a close, and the elf was going to join his fellow sentry and best friend so that they could travel back to Imladris together once their relief arrived.  Though responsible for all the defenses, Illuin often took his turn on the three day rotation of sentries.  He felt as though it gave him a more thorough understanding of how their defenses were working and he also just loved being out alone with the stars in the forest.

Coarse laughter caused the hair on the back of his neck to bristle, and he stealthily took to the nearest tree.  Creeping through the branches, he followed the raucous sound more curious than alarmed.  It was not unheard of for orcs to blunder within the boundaries of the hidden valley as they made their way back to their foul lairs from whatever malevolent purpose they had been about, but not an occurrence that happened regularly either.  On the rare times that the disgusting creatures did move too far within the boundaries, they never made it back out again to tell the tale, for the elves destroyed them.

Illuin had been commander of the perimeter defenses of the valley for many years, and he had been looking forward to making it back to Imladris tonight to share in the festivities in the Hall of Fire.  It had been a grueling patrol and he was ready to relax and, most of all, see his beautiful wife Belia again.  All thought of that was lost as he drew close enough to see the four beings.  Horror gripped him, nearly stealing his breath, as his eyes beheld the gruesome scene displayed on the forest floor below him. Bile rose in his throat and he forced it down as he struggled to come to terms with what he was seeing.

The orcs had taken their time, it appeared.  The elf, or what was left of him, lay butchered and brutalized on the forest floor at their feet.  Much of him had been eaten, but there was enough remaining to convince Illuin of the identity of the elf.  It was Belan, older brother to his wife and to Beling.  His head had been impaled on a broken branch, the once beautiful features frozen in a mask of pain.

Illuin had his first arrow notched and flying before he even realized what he was doing. Faster than he would have thought possible he fired again and again, surprising the orcs and killing them where they stood. How the vile creatures were able to surprise an elf - particularly an elf of Belan’s experience - would have to be puzzled out later.  Once every last orc had been killed, then Illuin would bury his friend.  There was no way that Belan would have wanted Belia or Beling to view – and remember – him as he was now.  Illuin would do this duty for Belan; he would not let his friend be seen this way by any other.  As it was, the commander would carry the horror of this sight for all his days.

O-o-O-o-O

The Hall of Fire

After the first jolt surprise, the reclining elves - at least those not already splattered by the spilled soup - had quickly removed themselves from the path of the equine visitors.  The Mirkwood warriors stared in amazement at the pandemonium even as the musicians attempted to continue with soothing strains of melody, which only seemed all the more ludicrous given the circumstances.  The flutist, in particular, seemed determined to be heard over the din.

Celos, spying Falathar’s drawn sword, had immediately headed to place himself between Estel and the Silvan elf, who was vainly trying to keep a protective eye on his king and the prince.  Every time Falathar would attempt to move closer to Thranduil and Legolas, he would find himself blocked by the white, hairy backside of the stallion, for Estel was standing between the pair.  Elladan could have told him that putting away his sword would solve the problem, but he could not manage to draw a breath.  His sides hurt and his eyes streamed with tears, and still he could not stop laughing.  The long suffering look on his Ada’s face only added to his amusement.  Elrohir was in no better shape.

It was as though, once all the pent up tension in the room was released, the elves had given themselves over completely to just enjoying the scene playing out before them.  Erestor, his face still partially green from the spilt split pea soup, was pulling on Celon’s tail.  Curúfin and another warrior were doing their best to push on Celon from the other end, to no avail.  Beling, when he could stop laughing, was trying to pet Fluffy and keep from being stepped on as Celos continually moved to block Falathar, who looked ready to pull out his warrior’s braids.  At seventeen hands tall and full of brute strength, no one was even attempting to block Fuinur.   However, the huge black was content to stand by Celon.

The Lord of Imladris still sat…alternately shaking his head and placing it back into his hands.  The twins were rolling on the floor by this time and even Glorfindel looked ready to hold his sides.  In the corner, the musicians were playing ever louder in their hopeless attempt to be heard over the racket.  In the midst of all this, ensconced in a haven of peace, sat the King of Mirkwood and Estel.

Estel’s eyes widened as he spied the new horse.  “Who is that?” he asked in wonder.

“Ah, I see you know good horseflesh when you see it,” replied Thranduil.  “This great beauty is Fuinur, and I have brought him as a gift for Elladan Elrondion.

“What about Elrohir?” Estel asked, his small eyebrows drawn together in a frown. 

Thranduil’s own eyebrows rose as understanding dawned on him.  “You fear that I have slighted Elrohir?”

“What’s sli-ted?”

Before the king could answer, Celos’ huge head nudged Estel in the back, claiming his attention.  The amused king watched the horse nip at the boy’s shirt until Estel pulled it up to allow Celos to lovingly blow on the bared skin.  Estel laughed delightedly, and threw his chubby arms around the horse’s head.  He gave the horse a hug and then moved his hand to gently trace down the healing wound on the Celos’ chest wall.  “I love you, Celos,” he said softly. 

He looked over to Thranduil. “Celos saved me from the boar,” explained the child.

Not to be out done, Celon maneuvered his way around Curúfin to nudge Estel’s back as well.  Estel obligingly turned to pay attention to Celon.  “I’m sorry, Celon,” he smiled, petting the horse between the eyes just where he knew he liked it.  “I love you, too.”

Legolas met his Adar’s eyes over the boy’s head and Thranduil’s breath was nearly taken away by the look of pure joy he beheld in his son’s gaze.  That look, more than anything else, told the tale for the King.  He was fascinated as he watched his son interacting with the child, and he was even more surprised to realize that not once since meeting Estel had he even bothered to think of him as edain.

As Thranduil watched Legolas and Estel interact, the concerns and responsibilities of the prince seemed to drop away and he was once again as carefree as an elfling.  It was bittersweet to the king that it was here and not in his own home that Legolas could find laughter and love far away from the danger and constantly lurking evils of Mirkwood, but he was grateful that he had seen it for himself. 

Legolas’ natural merry nature needed this release.  Thranduil knew that his son would never admit such, for he would see it as less than worthy of a Prince of Mirkwood, but the father in him could see all too clearly the truth of the matter.  He determined then and there to see to it that Legolas spent more time in Imladris, even if he had to invent official errands for him.

Further down the table from where Thranduil sat watching their sons, Elrond heaved a great sigh and turned to Glorfindel.  “Will you…” his voice trailed off as though he just could not find words to convey his opinion of the fracas.  The twinkle in his eyes was unmistakable to the golden warrior however, and Glorfindel knew that Elrond was enjoying this as much as the rest of them.  He just had a certain …dignity…to uphold. 

Glorfindel kicked the twin closest to him – in this case, Elrohir – in the foot.  “Gather your twin and let’s gets these horses out of here.  We’ve had quite enough fun for one night.  I am not sure that Erestor can take much more.”

Into the atmosphere of general hilarity, stepped Helcar, second in command to Glorfindel and the one charged with the defense of the Imladris proper, and Illuin, the latter still careworn and stained from the night’s devastating events.  The pair paused just inside the door, their eyes seeking Glorfindel in the confusion.

Glorfindel was presently attempting, with the aid of the twins, to rein in three massive horses and one very small kitten.  Beling had calmed Falathar, who had finally put away his sword now that he was convinced that the horses meant no harm to his king and no other natural calamity was about to fall upon all their heads.  Erestor was wiping green soup from his face with a towel while Estel and Thranduil happily watched it all.  Erestor’s scowl had evidently convinced the musicians that they were not helping the situation, and they now just sat mutely awaiting some direction.

It was Elrond who noticed the two warriors by the entrance to the Hall of Fire, and from the look on their faces, he knew that they bore grave news.  Illuin, in particular, looked ready to collapse.  Perhaps it was his foresight, but the elf lord knew immediately that the news they bore was connected to the threat which had been growing his mind.  He rose and started towards them.

“Glorfindel.”

The tension in the softly spoken word penetrated the golden warrior’s consciousness with the magnitude of a landslide, and he immediately turned towards Elrond.   Looking past his friend, he saw the two warriors in the doorway.  Their eyes were on him, and Helcar’s gaze told him that he was needed immediately.

Glorfindel reached the conference only a moment after Lord Elrond, whose features paled as he listened to Helcar’s report.  Illuin seemed too shocked to even speak, the unthinkable grief in his eyes haunting.  It was as though a pall fell upon the room as, one by one, the warriors of Imladris beheld the countenance of their Lord and Commander and rose to their feet, silent sentinels of support, loyalty, and commitment.

Falathar first noticed Beling coming to his feet, his eyes fixed over Falathar’s shoulder towards the doorway.  The Mirkwood commander glanced at his king, as though to reassure himself that all was well, and then looked towards the door to see what had caught Beling’s attention.  He saw Lord Elrond and Glorfindel in conference with Helcar and Illuin, both of whom he had met on his previous visit to Imladris.  It was obvious from the looks on their faces that something was amiss and it was then that he noticed the other Imladris warriors realizing the same thing and beginning to stand.

The tension in the Imladris warriors was all the provocation Falathar needed.  He immediately motioned for the Mirkwood warriors to gather nearer the king’s position.  He wanted them ready no matter what might occur.  Were it up to him, he would get his king from this benighted place this very evening.  Give him the evil and giant spiders of Mirkwood any day; at least those were enemies he would know how to fight.

Legolas saw that the twins had managed to get the horses out of the hall of fire and headed back to the stables.  He watched the mirth drain from their faces when they turned and beheld the look on their father’s face and then the difference in those attending the feast.  Both hurried towards Lord Elrond and Glorfindel.  Legolas looked quickly to Estel, relieved that the child had not noticed the sudden charge in the atmosphere, for he was busy showing the king his cast.

“Estel,” he said softly, “why don’t you and I show my Adar your room?  I believe the King would enjoy seeing your indoor Fluffy now that he has met the outdoor Fluffy.”

Estel looked from Legolas to Thranduil, missing the look that shot between them.  “Do I have to go to bed?” Estel asked Legolas suspiciously.

“No, tithen pen,” laughed the prince.  “I will tell you a story or two before bedtime.  Would you like that?”

 “Yes!” agreed Estel, slipping his little hand into the larger one of Legolas.  Not wanting the King to feel “left out,” Estel reached back and took hold of the Thranduil’s hand as well.  The three started towards the entrance followed by Falathar and half a dozen of his guards.

Estel noticed the entourage following them and looked up to Thranduil.  “Do they want to hear a bedtime story too?”

The king glanced back with a delicately arched brow.  “I do believe they may, young one.  Would you mind if they came as well?”

Estel glanced back to take in the number.  “There isn’t room in my bed for all of them, but they can come.  My ada won’t mind if they sleep on the floor.”

As they approached the conference, Thranduil’s laughter tinkled like tiny silver bells, a distinct contrast to the grim looks on the Noldor faces. Glorfindel noticed their approach and signaled for Helcar to stop speaking.

Elrond turned around then and saw Legolas, Estel, and quite surprisingly, Thranduil coming towards them. 

Ever observant, Estel had caught sight of the concern on Elrond face as he turned around.  “Ada?” he asked, suddenly unsure he wanted to leave his father’s side.

“Lord Elrond,” Legolas said smoothly, before Elrond could answer Estel’s unspoken question.  “With your permission, Estel has offered to show King Thranduil his room.  I have volunteered to tell the young one a bedtime story and stay with him.” 

Gratitude and relief were evident in the look that Elrond gave to Legolas and to Thranduil, before he knelt down beside his young son.  “All is well, Estel.  You have quite a treat in store for you, for Prince Legolas tells very good stories.”  He gave the boy a hug and promised to check in on him later.

Elrond stood back up and placed a hand on Legolas’ shoulder.  “Thank you.”

“I will stay with Estel,” he assured the elf Lord.  “He will not be alone at any time.”  He looked down fondly to meet the large silver eyes that were busy taking in all the serious expressions on the faces of those he loved.  “Come, tithen pen, I am anxious to introduce my Adar to your sunshine blankey.”

 TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Seventeen

Grief Delayed for Joy

“There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.” Aeschylus

Legolas and Thranduil, accompanied by a host of Mirkwood guards, followed Estel to his third floor room. When the child hesitated at the door, Legolas knelt down beside Estel, his clear, blue eyes searching the clouded silver ones.

“What is it, Estel?”

Estel seemed almost to draw into himself, ashamed to show his fear before his new friend. “It’s dark,” he reluctantly admitted.

Erestor normally saw to the lighting of sconces on the walls of the third floor hallway and in Estel’s room, but he had been delayed by all the brouhaha in the Hall of Fire, so the floor remained in shadows.

Hearing the child’s softly spoken confession, Thranduil stepped in as only Thranduil could do.

“Falathar!”

Falathar quickly moved forward and took a knee. “Yes, sire?”

“I am the King of Mirkwood. Why am I being forced to walk through darkened halls? You know I don’t like the dark.”

Estel’s eyes widened when he heard the king’s last remark, and he quickly looked into Legolas’ smiling face. “Do kings get afraid of the dark sometimes too?” he whispered.

Legolas’ smile widened as the glanced up to his father and then back down to the child. “It appears they do.”

Falathar had to force the smile from his face as he realized his king’s game. “I shall see to it immediately, Sire.”

Within moments the hallway and Estel’s room danced to the flickering of torches as Estel proudly led the king and Legolas into his room.

The first thing that drew the king’s eye was the massive fireplace that had been added to the child’s room. It seemed incongruous for an elven bedroom to require such a thing, but Thranduil reminded himself that Imladris was often host to many races requiring added warmth. The next thing that attracted the king’s eye was the shelf full of toys near the bed.

The headboard on the bed was a beautifully carved hunting scene that no doubt brought visions of glorious adventures to the mind of its small occupant. There was a scattering of books and toys on the floor, but that only added to the cozy, childlike atmosphere of the room. Thranduil was thoroughly entranced by it all.

The king would only allow Falathar and two other warriors inside the child’s room, so Falathar dispersed the rest to the hallway, the balcony outside and a loose perimeter picket in the trees around the house. He specifically assigned a loose picket so as not to cause offense to Helcar or his guards. Falathar had noticed that the guards on the grounds of Imladris did not stand duty in the trees, so he hoped that his warriors would generally go unnoticed. If not, it could not be helped. He was a warrior, not a diplomat, and the king’s safety was his primary concern.

Estel crawled awkwardly onto the bed, taking care not to jostle his cast. The weight of it in the sling was beginning to irritate the back of his neck and shoulders, and he shrugged irritably at it. Legolas noticed and moved to untie the sling.

“Here, tithen pen, let me undo this. It must be getting heavy.”

Estel obligingly leaned towards Legolas to allow him access to the back of the sling.

“Adar, would you look in the bureau for Estel’s sleeping tunic and leggings?”

“It’s the top drawer,” piped in Estel, stretching his shoulders as he relished the freedom from the sling.

Thranduil could not help but smile as he looked in the drawer for the items of clothing. It had been many centuries since he had handled clothing so small and it brought back treasured memories of Legolas at this size. Estel’s sleeping tunic was a soft, cream colored material onto which someone had lovingly stitched a rabbit. The king could not help but run his finger over the precise stitches as the vision surfaced of his wife sewing small clothes as they waited for the much anticipated birth of their son. Shaking the vision from his mind, he quickly retrieved the warm brown leggings that matched the stitching of the rabbit and carried them back to the bed.

“Allow me,” he said, when Legolas reached for the clothing. “It has been too long since I have dressed one so small.”

Legolas obligingly scooted over and allowed the king access to Estel, who was suddenly shy to find himself the center of attention. He glanced over to Falathar and his warriors who had taken seats on the floor in the corner of the room and were trying to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Thranduil noticed the glance and easily moved himself into position to block Estel’s view of the warriors and make himself the focus of the child. The king unfastened the clasps holding the sleeve over the cast. “This is very ingenious.”

“What’s in-jean-us?” asked Estel. His Ada used big words like that, and he loved to ask about them and learn them.

“It means that it is very smart and makes it much easier to remove your tunic, does it not?” smiled the king.

Thranduil noted the numerous healing cuts, scratches, and bruises that adorned the chest and stomach of Estel and was sobered at the visual reminder of the child’s mortality. A sudden cold hand clutched his heart as he realized the child’s fate and wondered at the wisdom of allowing Legolas to become so attached to one who would inevitably leave him grieving.

As though reading his Adar’s thoughts, Legolas reached out to touch his father’s hand. When the king met his son’s eyes, Legolas nodded and smiled relaying the message that he gladly accepted the later grief for the joy of knowing this one now.

A small shiver ran down Estel’s frame and Thranduil quickly moved to slip the soft creamy top over his head. This one had not been refitted to fit the cast, so it took a bit of maneuvering, much to Legolas’ amusement, to get it on. Once the top was finally in place, both Estel and Thranduil heaved sighs of relief.

“Now for the leggings,” said the king. “Lie back and I’ll pull those off.”

Estel giggled as the king pulled off his leggings, managing to tickle his toes in the process. As he stopped giggling, his stomach growled loudly, bringing a frown to Thranduil and Legolas’ faces.

“What was that?” asked the king, as he slid on Estel’s leggings.

“I don’t know,” replied Legolas, equally puzzled.

As if on cue, Erestor tapped on the door and then opened it. He carried a tray filled with breads, cheeses, a variety of fruit, and some meat. The meat, of course, was for Estel, since Erestor was well aware of the dietary needs of the growing child. There was also a mug of milk for the boy to drink. “I see you are ready for bed, tithen pen.”

“Restor!” beamed Estel. “My tummy is talking to me.”

“Oh,” replied the Seneschal, “and what does it say.”

“That I’m hungry,” answered Estel. “We never got to eat!”

“I know,” said Erestor, “that is why I brought enough for everyone.

“Erestor,” said Legolas urgently, “may I speak with you?”

“Certainly Prince Legolas,” replied Erestor calmly. “Is something amiss?”

“Estel’s torso…it rumbled!"

The seneschal smiled fondly at Estel as his stomach made its request known again. “Ah yes, I have heard that quite often.”

“Then it is not…dangerous?” asked the prince incredulously.

“Not unless the young one is not fed. Then he can become quite irritable.” Erestor handed Estel the mug of milk with orders to drink it, and then looked back to Legolas. “An adan requires much more food than we do. When they are hungry, their stomachs make that noise. You will learn that Estel’s stomach rumbles quite often. I have observed that increases in his appetite often precipitate a growth spurt, which then requires the making of new clothes.”

He glanced again at the child and sighed softly, almost wistfully, “Perhaps I should notify the seamstress in the morning.” He quickly made a meat and cheese sandwich and handed it to Estel on a soft cloth. “Eat this, young one, before you become too sleepy.”

“Legolas is going to tell me a story,” said Estel in between bites, “and Ada said he would come see me before I go to sleep.”

Erestor leaned over the bed to kiss the top of Estel’s head. “Your Ada is very busy at the moment, but he will not forget his promise. Enjoy your story, Estel. I will check on you during the night.”

“I told Lord Elrond that I would stay the night with Estel,” said Legolas. “I promise you he will not be alone.”

Erestor dipped his head. “My thanks, young prince, for I am needed…elsewhere.”

“My warriors and I stand ready to offer assistance,” added Thranduil.

“I do not believe that will be necessary, but I will pass along your offer,” replied Erestor. “For now, please eat and rest. There will be food kept ready in the Hall of Fire should any of your warriors wish to eat more.”

Erestor purposefully kept his voice light, but the tension in the room had become palpable and Estel, ever attentive to the elves around him, sensed the change in atmosphere. His face clouded and the sandwich was forgotten. “Restor, I want Ada.”

“Story time,” said Thranduil quickly. “How would like to hear a story about Legolas as an elfling?”

Estel’s interest in the idea of Legolas as an elfling overcame his momentary concern, and he nodded his agreement to the king.

“Very good,” smiled Thranduil. He reached behind him to pick up the yellow blanket from the foot of the bed. “Is this the famous sunshine blanket?”

Estel nodded tiredly as Legolas took his half eaten sandwich, set it aside, and then helped the child to settle back onto his pillow. Thranduil tucked the blanket around him and started his tale.

“When Legolas was an elfling, even smaller than you, he loved his bath time.”

Estel’s eyes widened and he looked at Legolas. “You liked getting a bath?”

Thranduil cleared his throat good naturedly. “As I was saying…Legolas loved his bath. He hated being dirty and insisted on a hot bubble bath every night. Being the doting father that I am…”

“What’s doting?” asked Estel.

Legolas chuckled, and Thranduil raised an imperial eyebrow. Obviously the child did not realize that one did not interrupt a king.

“Doting means that my Adar is very loving and patient,” explained Legolas. He moved to sit with his back against the head board as he idly worked his fingers through Estel’s hair.

From the corner of the room Falathar snorted softly. “Patient, indeed,” he muttered to himself.

This was definitely not going as Thranduil expected. He was very out of practice in dealing with a child…especially one so inquisitive.

“Being a very…loving and patient…father, I often would give Legolas his bath in the evenings. Of course, he would manage to splash water until I was very nearly as wet as he. I would lift a very slippery….” He stopped and fixed Estel with a look. “You know what slippery means, don’t you?”

Estel obligingly nodded his head.

“Good,” nodded the king. “I would lift a very slippery and wet elfling from the tub and set him down beside me. Before I could reach for a drying cloth, he would flee from the room and run naked through my halls with me in pursuit.”

Legolas groaned and rolled his eyes as soft chuckles were heard from the warriors in the corner.

Estel chuckled too at the image created by the king. He turned his head to look up at Legolas. “You were funny.”

“I did not find it very amusing at the time,” sighed Thranduil, “but now I quite enjoy the memory. I would have those days again,” he added softly as he gazed at his son.

The door opened softly and Elrond entered the room. In the corner the warriors came gracefully to their feet as the Elf Lord walked across the room to see his youngest.

“Ada,” Estel yawned, “Legolas likes baths!”

Elrond graced Thranduil and Legolas with a tired smile. Both noted that the smile did not reach his eyes. Thranduil rose to allow Elrond room to sit on the side of the bed.

“Perhaps that is something you could learn as well,” said Elrond as he sat down and pulled Estel into a hug. He kissed the curly hair and then smoothed it back from the child’s forehead as he settled him back onto his pillow. “Sleep well, Estel. The Prince is going to stay with you, but I will be close by should you need me.”

“I love you, Ada.”

“I love you too, Estel,” replied Lord Elrond. He reached over to retrieve the stuffed fluffy from the floor and handed it to Estel, who immediately snuggled it to him with his good arm, his eyes already drooping closed. Elrond continued to smooth back his son’s hair, easing him into sleep with the rhythmic motion.

When he was sure that Estel as asleep, he rose and motioned to Legolas, who quickly joined the Elf Lord by the door.

“Legolas, should Estel awaken with pain in his arm, send for me, and I will prepare a pain draught for him.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Elrond hesitated a moment longer searching the prince’s eyes. “Do not hesitate to send for me, especially if he becomes fearful.”

Thranduil joined the pair. “Trust us to care for your son, Elrond.”

The Elf Lord nodded, and with a last look at the sleeping child, turned and left the room.

Thranduil looked thoughtfully at Legolas. “What evil befell this child to cause such fearfulness? Perhaps it is time you told me the entire story.”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Eighteen

A Mystery Inside a Puzzle

“The possession of knowledge does not kill the sense of wonder and mystery. There is always more mystery.” Anais Nin

The candles in the ornate candelabra had burned down substantially during the long watch of the night casting the room in ever deepening shadows. Dawn was only a few hours away, but even the slight lighting of the sky was unnoticed by the occupants of the room. Normally the book lined room was considered the most comfortable and comforting in Imladris, but it held no consolation this night.

Elrond, Glorfindel, and Helcar sat around the map table in Elrond’s study. A gently glowing lantern created haven of golden light around the table that was virtually unnoticed by those hovering in its soft embrace. At the moment all three were deep in thought. Illuin had finally been ordered by Lord Elrond to return to his home for some rest. The elf was on the verge of collapse, emotionally if not physically, but had wanted to stay and help in any way he could, driven by the memory of his friend’s death.

Glorfindel offered to deliver the news of Belan’s death to Belia and Beling, but Illuin felt honor bound to bear this task himself. Helcar assigned two warriors to be available for anything the family might need and was going to oversee the outer defenses himself in Illuin’s absence. Erestor had already organized the meals for the family and elves to cover all of their regular duties during their time of grief confinement.

Helcar kept staring at the location on the map where Illuin had indicated the attack took place, willing it to reveal the key to the answers he sought. The location of the attack was well inside the outer boundaries, which was a problem in itself. “I don’t understand how orcs could have gotten so far within our borders undetected,” he said softly, voicing what each had been thinking.

Glorfindel leaned back in his chair, nodding his head. “And more importantly, how did they manage to entrap an elf of Belan’s experience. He was one of the finest scouts with which I have ever worked. Few were the elves that could catch him unaware, let alone a clumsy band of orcs. It is a puzzle.”

“I do not like puzzles that concern Imladris,” Elrond said quietly. His elbows were resting on the table and his long fingers were steepled gracefully before his face. “If orcs were this far inside our borders I should have been aware of it through Vilya. Why I was not is just one more layer to the mystery.”

Helcar’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of the powerful ring of the air and his look was pulled to the hands of the elf lord. The ring was invisible, he knew, but he could not help looking all the same. It was strange to him to think that such power existed and that it was wielded so easily and thoroughly by his Lord. The very thought awed and humbled the warrior.

At Glorfindel’s soft chuckle, Helcar realized his actions had been observed and the younger elf reddened. He was relieved when the door to the study opened softly to admit Erestor with a tray bearing mugs of herbal tea, sliced cheese and fruit. Helcar was not sure that he would be able to hold down food, but the tea was welcome. Erestor had thoughtfully provided a small pot of honey, fresh lemon wedges and cream, as if the tea were not tempting enough.

Erestor pointedly sat the tray onto the table in front of Lord Elrond, drawing a soft snort from Glorfindel.

“Drink this,” ordered the Seneschal. “You all need a break, if only for a few moments. That map has told you all it will tell you tonight. Staring at it will not give you any more answers.”

Elrond bristled slightly at the implied rebuke and then immediately softened to smile tiredly at Erestor. “You are right, my friend, as you always are.”

“Don’t tell him that!” laughed Glorfindel. “He’ll be more insufferable than he already is.”

Elrond ignored the golden one. “Thank you for the refreshments, Erestor.”

“You may thank me by drinking some tea, my lord,” answered the seneschal.

The door to the study opened again to admit Elladan and Elrohir. Still dressed in their formal clothes from the earlier festivities – how long ago they seemed now – the pair had ridden immediately to the area where their defenses had been broached to see for themselves that all was well.

“We found no further indication of recent orc activity,” said Elladan, without preamble, “Though it would seem that orcs have been increasingly probing the border.”

Glorfindel sat up straight at that pronouncement. “What did you see?”

“Tracks,” answered Elrohir, “A lot of them.” The twin picked up a slice of cheese and one of the mugs of tea, offering it to his brother.

Elladan shook his head, refusing the offered tea, so Elrohir downed the cup himself.

Helcar shook his head at the information. “I don’t understand. There have been no reports of such from our scouts. Illuin would have reported it had there been.”

“I know,” said Elladan, “it makes no sense. El and I were on patrol just two weeks ago and we saw nothing like the tracks we found tonight, and yet these tracks appear to be at least that old. It is as though we simply did not see them before.”

“Or could not,” interjected Elrond softly.

“What do you mean, Ada?” asked Elrohir. “How could we not see them?”

“I am interested in the answer to that question myself,” added Glorfindel.

Elrond rose from the table and paced over to the balcony, where he stood with his back to the room for some moments. His hands clasped behind him, the Elf Lord continued to stare into the darkness as though formulating his thoughts. Those in the room knew from experience that he would answer their questions when he felt that he had a suitable answer…one that he himself could comprehend.

Suddenly his head turned to look upwards as soft sounds of distress reached his elven hearing. “Estel!”

Two floors above the Lord of Imladris, the youngest inhabitant of the realm was caught in the throes of the recurring nightmare, which robbed him of his breath and haunted his nights.

Thranduil and Legolas had been sitting on the foot of Estel’s bed talking softly and enjoying each other’s company when the child first began to wheeze.

Immediately Legolas was by Estel’s side watching frantically for signs of the nightmare. Thranduil looked over his son’s shoulder as Falathar and the guards became alert at the unexpected noise. What Thranduil saw turned his stomach.

Estel’s forehead was bathed in sweat as the child thrashed his head back and forth. Suddenly Estel sat straight up in bed, his eyes open, but unseeing. The child was literally scratching at his throat with his good hand while the cast encased arm bucked wildly against the restraint.

“I can’t bweath,” sobbed the child. “Ada, help me.”

The desperate plea tore at the king’s heart. Legolas picked up the panicked child and ran for the balcony, with Thranduil right behind him. “Adar, hold his hand,” urged Legolas, when he saw the damage Estel was inflicting on himself.

Gently, but firmly, Thranduil held Estel’s hand away from his bloody neck. “Easy child,” he crooned.

Legolas sat on the railing with Estel cradled in his lap and began to rub the child’s chest as he had heard Lord Elrond describe. “Breath,” he urged softly. “Feel the air, Estel.”

Estel’s breath caught in his throat as he hiccupped and tried to fight air through his tortured windpipe. His wheezing attempts were only partially successful, and Legolas watched helplessly as his lips became blue tinged.

From inside the bedroom the door opened with a bang as Elrond and the twins hurried into the room.

Falathar, who had drawn his sword at the unexpected entrance, bowed quickly and sheathed the weapon, his heart pounding at the thought that he had nearly attacked the Lord of Imladris.

For his part, Elrond barely spared the guard a glance as his eyes sought his son, but Elrohir, the twin closest to the Mirkwood elves, had immediately moved himself between his father and the drawn sword. Elladan glared at Falathar as Elrond quickly made his way to the balcony where Estel gasped frantically for breath.

Legolas stood and would have handed Estel to Elrond, but the elf motioned the prince to keep holding the child. Elrond placed the hand bearing Vilya on Estel’s chest. The other he placed on his son’s forehead. Elladan and Elrohir each stood with a supporting hand on their Adar’s shoulders as Thranduil and Legolas silently lent their support. Elrond closed his eyes and poured all his effort into imparting tranquility to Estel’s mind and chest. Gradually the child stilled his frantic efforts and relaxed in Legolas’ arms. The rise and fall of his chest began to mirror that of Elrond’s as the Elf Lord slowly and methodically breathed in and out.

Legolas found himself holding his breath as he watched the color of Estel’s lips losing the blue hue and begin to return to their normal shade. Relief shown in the eyes he turned to his father, who met his glance with understanding and support.

As Estel began to awaken, Elrond gently took him from Legolas’ arms and walked back into the bedroom to sit on the side of the bed. The twins followed him, but Thranduil and Legolas – more shaken than they cared to admit - remained on the balcony to allow the family a few moments of privacy.

“If Quenthar were not already dead, I would like to kill him myself,” growled Thranduil. “That an elf could act so barbarously towards an innocent is unthinkable.”

Legolas shuddered. “Had Quenthar been able to kill me, as he planned, Estel most likely would have perished alone, buried in that box. He came so close to succeeding that it sickens me to even think of it. Had Elladan not appeared when he did…” His voice trailed off as he remembered the scene.

Thranduil himself shuddered at hearing his son speak so matter-of-factly of his near death. The king found his eyes drifting into the room to rest on the elder twin, who was currently speaking softly with his father.

“Ada, what can I do?” asked Elladan.

Elrond met his son’s eyes and saw his need to help. “Elladan, bring me a comfrey mixture and bandages to treat these scratches on Estel’s neck. Elrohir, prepare some tea with a poppy extract to relieve his pain. I’m afraid that he has stressed his arm during the nightmare.”

The twins left to gather the needed supplies as Elrond continued to comfort Estel as he recovered from the night terror. The elf lord rocked back and forth with his shivering son, speaking reassuringly to him of how much he was loved.

“Keep breathing slowly, Estel,” soothed Elrond. “Wake, child,” he said softly.

Estel blinked his eyes several times as he attempted to focus. “Ada?”

“Yes, Estel, I am here,” said Elrond. “Are you in pain?”

Estel nodded his head. “My arm hurts and my neck hurts.” A sob caught in his throat as the fear returned. “I was in the box again, Ada. The bad elf came back, didn’t he? I heard the voice again.”

“No Estel,” assured Elrond, kissing his forehead and holding him close, “the bad elf did not come back. It was a night terror. King Thranduil and Legolas were here. They would not have let the bad elf come.”

“Legolas?” asked Estel, confused.

“Yes,” answered Elrond. “Do you remember now? Legolas was going to tell you a story.”

“I remember,” said Estel groggily. “Legolas likes to take baths.”

“That’s right,” smiled Elrond, hugging the boy to him again. “Legolas likes baths.”

Elrond longed to ask Estel about the mysterious voice, but now was not the time. His son was still too traumatized by the experience, and Elrond did not want him thinking of it now.

"Sleep now, Estel. I will stay with you." Elrond settled himself on the bed with his back against the head board. He cradled Estel to him and prepared to wait out what was left of the night.

O-o-O-o-O

The brown robed arm withdrew from the palantir as Saruman entered the room.

“Still attempting to find the lost line of Elendil?” he asked smoothly.

“Yes,” replied Radagast. “I am close; I can feel that I am close. I found the child again, but before I could get him to talk to me I was blocked.”

“Blocked?” questioned Saruman. “Blocked by what?”

“I do not know,” sighed the wizard. “It is good that I seek the heir of Elendil, is it not, master?”

“Yes, of course,” smiled Saruman. “I doubted you at first, I’ll admit. But you are becoming quite adept in the use of the palantir.”

Radagast beamed, pleased at the praise from the leader of his order. “The orcs are getting closer too our objective, but they are too often willful and disobedient.”

“Yes, they are mindless brutes, ruled by their lust for blood, but I am working on a solution for that problem,” Saruman replied. “We need orcs that are loyal to us; orcs that we can control.”

“If the child is in Imladris, as I believe, I fear that the orcs will not be the ones to find him. I have succeeded in masking their movements to some extent, but my powers are not sufficient to control them and hide their movements from the elves indefinitely.”

Saruman nodded. “The elves are a dangerous foe, much more astute than the second born. Do not underestimate them, my friend. There are still three rings of power somewhere in their keeping. Ah, if I could get my hands on even one of them, the things I could achieve,” he sighed wistfully.

Radagast brightened as a thought entered him mind. “Gandalf the Grey is a friend of the elves. Could not we use him to investigate for us?”

Saruman smiled silkily at the wizard, clouding the mind of the lesser Istari. “Gandalf cannot be trusted with the higher goals of our order, Radagast. He is too much under the spell of the elves and the Halfling’s weed. For now we must keep our plans to ourselves.”

Radagast frowned, but nodded. He felt as though his mind was being controlled, but had not the power to understand its source. He gave up trying to understand and simply ceased to worry about it. “I trust you, my master.”

Saruman smiled and patted the brown wizard on the shoulder. “You are my greatest pupil, Radagast. Continue your work with the palantir. Find me a ring of power, my friend, and you shall be greatly rewarded.”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Nineteen

The Ordering of Arda

“Concentrate on what you can control, not on what you can’t.” Bryan Davis, Olympic Swimmer

Elladan and Elrohir returned within moments to find their father sitting on the bed holding Estel. The child was much recovered from the nightmare, but still obviously shaken from the ordeal.  The telling sign for Elladan was the fact that Estel was holding the thumb on his broken arm with his good hand.  Elrond took the mug of poppy tea from Elrohir and held it for Estel to drink.

The room was deeply shadowed now, except for the sconces burning softly on each side of the bed.  A breeze blew in from the terrace freshening the room and helping to dispel the memory of the airless box from the child’s mind.

“Here son, this is for your pain,” said Elrond, sitting up and straightening Estel slightly.   “Elrohir has prepared it just the way you like it.”

With his father’s aid, Estel drank the tea without so much as a grimace, which caused the twins to share a knowing glance.  After he had drained the cup, he nestled back against Elrond’s chest, seeking the warmth and security of his father’s embrace. 

Elladan knelt by the bed.  “Estel, I am going to smooth some salve onto your neck and apply a bandage.  It will not hurt you, little love; I promise.”    Estel blinked slowly as though not completely comprehending what his brother was saying.  Elrond met Elladan’s concerned look.

“He is still not completely recovered.  This nightmare was one of the worst ones yet,” Elrond explained softly.  “Estel heard the voice again.”

Elladan paused in his ministrations to Estel’s neck, his motions frozen by his father’s chilling words.  “The voice again,” he hissed.  “Will we ever be free from the evil of that night?”

Elrohir squeezed Elladan’s shoulder supportively.  “We will not allow the evil to touch our brother any more.  As he learns to feel safe again, the night terrors will fade.”

A small hand touched the side of Elladan’s face, causing the twin to look back to the object of the discussion. Estel had leaned towards his brother, worry written on his features.  “Don’t worry, Dan.  I’m not afraid any more; I promise.  Please don’t be sad.”

Elrohir knelt down beside his brother, smiling at Estel.  “Welcome back, little one.”

Estel smiled wanly from the safety of his Ada’s lap.  “I didn’t go away. How could I come back?”

“I guess you couldn’t,” conceded Elrohir.  “It is still late.  Why don’t you go back to sleep for a while longer?”

Estel looked up to Elrond. 

“I will be here with you,” he assured the boy, even as a huge yawn overtook the child. 

Estel nodded and snuggled back against his Ada’s chest, he ear over the Elf Lord’s beating heart.

Elrohir tucked the sunshine blankey around the child and kissed his father’s hair.  “Rest, Ada.  Lay aside the worries of the evening.  El and I will go out again at first light.  This mystery will not long elude us.”

The twin stood and slapped Elladan lightly on the top of his head.  “Come on, El, we have an unfinished matter with which to deal,” he prompted, glancing meaningfully at the Mirkwood guards in the corner of the room.

Elladan followed his twin’s glance, his eyes narrowing as they fell on Falathar.  “I’ll say we do.”

The pair moved with purpose across the room, stopping in front of the trio of Silvan elves. 

“Falathar,” said Elladan, “we would like to speak with you outside.”

Falathar looked at the determined pair before him and sighed with resignation.  He nodded to the two guards with him and followed the twins into the hall.  He had hoped to put off this conversation until later, but he supposed it was better to get it over with and meet the consequences of his actions head on.  He had drawn his sword on the Lord of Imladris and there was no way around it.  He followed the twins out the door.

From the balcony, Legolas was watching the scene.  He looked at Thranduil.  “Should we intervene?”

The king raised an eyebrow and looked toward the twins.  “No, I do not think that would be wise.”

“But Adar, Falathar was just protecting you,” argued Legolas.

“Greenleaf,” responded Thranduil, “put yourself in their position.  Had Helcar drawn a sword on me in my own hall, what would have been the outcome?”

Legolas sighed deeply, considering his father’s words.  “He most likely would not have lived to tell the tale.  At the very least he would be spending time in the dungeons.”

“Exactly,” confirmed the King of Mirkwood.  “Falathar committed a serious breech of protocol, however well meaning.  He is young, but as chief of my guard, he is not allowed the luxury to make such mistakes.  His every action reflects on me and on our kingdom.”

Legolas nodded.  “I don’t suppose the twins will be too hard on him.”

Thranduil chuckled softly.  “How would you react, my son, had one of them drawn a sword against me?”

Legolas grinned at his father.  “Exactly as the twins are now.”  He shook his head ruefully, “Poor Falathar.”

Elladan and Elrohir led Falathar to the end of the hall so that they were away from Estel’s door and out of his hearing. 

Falathar stared into two identical sets of very angry eyes.   “I apologize for…”

“Don’t even start, Falathar,” interrupted Elladan, his fury growing with each moment.

“You were allowed to bring your sword into the Hall of Fire, even though weapons are never brought there, but this is too much.”

Falathar’s own temper began to rise.  “No offense, Elrohir, but bad things happen here.”

“This is our home!”

“I know that, Elladan,” shot back Falathar, “but Erestor was stabbed in the back here, and your brother was taken from your Adar’s own room.”

Fire exploded behind Elladan’s eyes and he grabbed the Silvan elf by the front of his shirt.  “How dare you speak of that?  You weren’t even here then.”

Elrohir put a calming hand on his brother’s arm.  “El, let him go.”

Elladan continued to stare nose to nose with Falathar, who, by this time, was just as angry as the twin. 

The twins were still grappling with the effects that horrible night had caused and had worked hard to put it from their minds.  Now to have it thrown into their faces, especially with the death of Belan still a fresh wound on their hearts and the looming mystery threatening, was just one insult too much.

“El,” appealed Elrohir once more.  “Let him go.  It isn’t Falathar that is the true object of your anger.”

The softly spoken words acted like a bucket of cold water to Elladan’s face, and hot tears of frustration burned his eyes.  He willed them away as quickly as they threatened to fall and forced himself to release Falathar.  His breathing still ragged, he moved even closer to the Mirkwood guard.  “Know this.  If you draw your sword again in my home, be prepared for it to meet my own.”  With that promise hanging in the air, he turned and stalked off, descending the stairs at a rapid pace.

Falathar was shaken by the exchange and simply stared after the twin, finally forcing his eyes to meet Elrohir’s steady gaze. 

“He means it,” the twin said simply, “and if his sword is not present, mine will be.”  With that he turned to join his brother.  They were planning to leave at first light to scout the border looking for clues as to how many times orcs might have penetrated their defenses, and more importantly, how they were able to do so without detection.

Falathar took a few moments to still his breathing and regain his equilibrium.  Just how grievous his insult to the house of Elrond had been was becoming painfully clear to him, and he knew that he must also apologize to Lord Elrond and seek his pardon.

Elrohir did not even stop at his father’s library, for he instinctively knew exactly where Elladan would be found.  He left the house and walked to the stables.  As he knew he would be, his twin was there.

Elladan was standing by Celos, he head resting against the stallion’s neck as he gently probed the healing wound to his mount’s chest.  The soothing rhythmic motions calmed the twin as much as it did the stallion.  Celon looked longingly over his stall as though jealous of the attention being lavished on Celos.

Elrohir smiled as he took in the scene.  Fuinur, the beautiful black gift from Thranduil, was stabled in the stall on the opposite side of Celos than Celon.  He too was carefully observing the attention being given to Celos.

“My brave beauty,” crooned Elladan, finding comfort in the presence of his stallion.  Under normal circumstances, the high-strung Celos would be agitated by the frustrated state of his master, but the horse seemed to understand that his master needed him to be strong and calm.

“I have missed you, Celos,” continued Elladan, “but I cannot fault your loyalty to Estel.  It was that loyalty that saved his life and nearly cost you your own.  For that you have earned my eternal gratitude.”

Celon whinnied when he sensed his master’s presence.

Elrohir laughed softly and entered Celon’s stall.  “All right, my love, I shall give you attention as well.  You are going with me on patrol.  Will you like that?”

The great white shook his head back in forth in excitement and then began to sniff Elrohir’s pockets. 

The twin laughed and pulled out wedges of apple.  He passed a few to Elladan and fed the rest to Celon.

Elladan sighed as he stood straight and met his brother’s gaze, before taking the proffered apple.  “You were right.  It was not all Falathar’s actions that have me so frustrated.  But,” he hastened to add, “He deserved what I said to him.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Elrohir.

Elladan turned a stricken face to his twin.  “It’s Estel.  He will face so much difficulty and danger in his short life, can he not, at least, have a happy childhood now…one free from fear?”

Elrohir met his gaze. “Stop torturing yourself, El.  We will see that he has a happy childhood.  As for the rest, the ordering of Arda is not in our hands.  We cannot change what will be.”  He held up his hand to halt Elladan’s objection.  “But, we can be beside Estel to help him bear any burden that seeks to find him, can we not?”

The twin nodded.  “We can, and we will.”   Elladan offered an apple wedge to Celos, who sniffed it appreciatively before chomping down on it.  Giving the stallion a final pat of affection, he went over to Fuinur’s stall.

“Here, Dark one,” he soothed.  “Here is a treat for you as well.  It is time we got to know one another.”

Celos was watching Elladan closely, not entirely sure he approved of his master being in another horse’s stall.   When it became obvious that the twin was preparing to take the horse out, Celos began to buck and rear in earnest.  Elladan was his master and he was not about to watch Celon and this interloper leave together with the twins while he was left behind.

“Easy now,” soothed Elladan, coming right back to Celos’ stall.  “You must stay, mighty one.  You are not healed enough for patrol, and besides, Estel has had a difficult night.  He may need your comforting presence today.”

Celos stopped bucking, but whinnied his displeasure while stamping his great hoof, causing the mother cat to rear protectively over her kittens.

“Now see there,” scolded Elladan playfully, “you’ve set off the mother cat.  Here,” he offered the last bit of apple to the stallion.  “Stay for Estel, Celos, for Estel.” 

At the name of Estel, the white settled down, much to the mother cat’s relief, as she settled back over Fluffy and his siblings.

Celos finished off the apple and nuzzled Elladan’s hand one last time before settling completely down. 

“That’s my boy,” praised Elladan, as he went back to Fuinur’s stall and began leading the black stallion out.

Aradol, stable master of Imladris, entered the stables to find Elrohir already seated on Celon, and Elladan leading Fuinur from his stall.  “Ah, I thought I heard voices out here.   It is quite early, my lords, is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, thank you,” answered Elrohir.  “We are just getting an early start for patrol.”

Aradol gave Celon a pat on the neck as he watched Elladan leading Fuinur forward.  “Celon will be excited to be going out with you again, Elrohir.”

Celos gave a snort from his stall, as though in answer to the stable master’s pronouncement.

Aradol smiled.  “You are healing nicely, great one, but you are not yet ready to be out and around.  I’m sure master Estel will be coming to visit you today with his usual treat of carrots.”

Elladan stopped beside the stable master.  “Aradol, there will many more patrols than normal for a while.  You may want to take extra steps to insure that the horses are well rested and prepared.”

Aradol met the twin’s serious gaze.  “I will, my lord.  All will be ready.”

“Thank you,” nodded Elladan as he leapt onto Fuinur back.  “Let’s ride, brother!”

The twins raced from the stables leaving a fume of dust in their wake.

Aradol watched after them for a moment and then turned to his stable, his mind already working on the steps he would be taking to insure that fresh mounts were ready for all patrols.

Upstairs, in Estel’s Room

Once Estel was sleeping soundly, Elrond motioned for Thranduil and Legolas to join him.  He laid the child onto the bed beside him, but kept his hand on Estel’s chest so that his son could feel his bond.

Elrond indicated that the king and prince should sit on the foot of the bed so that they could talk quietly.  Quickly he filled them in on all that had transpired while they had been staying with Estel.

Thranduil frown deepened as he listened to the report and the mysterious circumstances of Belan’s death.  His mind was whirling as he considered the ramifications of what he was being told.  “My warriors stand ready to aid you, Elrond.  You have but to say the word.  They are all excellent scouts and well used to holding back evil; you know this.  I mean no disrespect to your warriors, for I know that Glorfindel has them well trained, but desperate times call for desperate measures.  The more scouts you have the quicker you may have answers.”

Elrond nodded his head slowly.  “Your words have merit.  Long have your warriors held back the darkness assaulting your kingdom, and they have earned the respect of all the elves of Arda.  I thank you for your offer and accept it gladly.  However, there must be no division of authority or I foresee …difficulties.”

“Uh oh,” thought Legolas, “that won’t set well.”  The prince was absolutely astounded to hear his father agree.

“I place my warriors under the authority of Lord Glorfindel as a sign of good faith between us.  You and your sons have done much for my Greenleaf, Elrond, and that is a debt I shall begin to repay here and now.”

Elrond smiled at Legolas.  “The Prince of Mirkwood is always welcome in Imladris, as are all our woodland brothers.”

“Good,” agreed the king.  “Then let’s solve this mystery together.  Shall we?”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Twenty

The Needs of the Many

“You sleep safe in your beds because rough men stand ready in the night to visit violence on those who would do you harm.” George Orwell

A chastened Falathar quietly opened the door to Estel’s room.  The Mirkwood chief of guards was dismayed to see King Thranduil and the Prince sitting on the bed talking with Lord Elrond.  He had rather hoped to be able to make his apology to the Elf Lord privately and then to seek his king’s pardon, but such was not to be. 

With a resigned sigh, Falathar walked over to stand between where Thranduil and Elrond were seated on the bed.  Gracefully he took a knee, his head bowed. 

“My liege, my Lord,” he address the pair.  “I have grievously offended this house and brought dishonor to my people, and for that I do humbly beg your pardon.”

Both Elrond and Thranduil were fighting hard to keep the twinkle from their eyes, for both had been warriors for many centuries and the young one before them was just so earnest in his abject misery that they could not help but take pity on him.

Thranduil cleared his throat softly.  “Falathar, as my Chief of Guards, your every action reflects on me.”

“Yes, my liege.”  If anything the young guard’s shoulders slumped even further, causing Thranduil to quickly turn his head to hide the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

Elrond caught the motion and smoothly picked up the conversation.  “Imladris is a place of peace and refuge. I do not normally allow the wearing of weapons inside my home, young one.  However, given the circumstances of your last visit,” he paused to glance down at Estel and give a reassuring pat to his son’s chest – as much for himself as for Estel, “I have not asked for your weapons to be left outside.”

Thranduil leaned forward to place a hand on Falathar’s shoulder, causing the young guard to look up at him.  “An elf has been brutally slain this night, Falathar.  Orcs appear to be penetrating the outer defenses of the valley.  I have offered Lord Elrond the services of our warriors until this situation is resolved.”

“We shall be proud to serve along side our Noldor brothers,” Falathar responded immediately, his shoulders squared.

“I have agreed to transfer all authority to Glorfindel.  You and your guards will serve at his discretion,” stated the king.

Falathar frowned thinking through the order.  He did not like the idea of his king’s guard being under another’s command.

“There is nothing to think over, Falathar,” commanded Thranduil, when the guard hesitated.

“Of course, my liege,” responded Falathar bowing his head again.  “I shall report to Lord Glorfindel immediately.”

“Your king will be safe in my home,” consoled Elrond.  “You have my word on that.”

Legolas, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, came to his feet.  “Come on, Falathar, let’s go find Lord Glorfindel and get to work.  We have some orcs to hunt!”

“By you leave, my lords?” asked Falathar.

“Leave is granted,” said Thranduil.

As the two young elves left the room, Estel stirred from his sleep.

“Ada?”

“I am here, Estel,” replied Elrond, pulling the boy back onto his lap and smoothing the hair back from his forehead to bestow a kiss.  Satisfied that Estel did not feel feverish, he next carefully felt down the length of cast on the child’s arm.  It was there that he encountered the problem.

“Is your arm painful, Estel?”

“Yes, Ada,” the boy replied.  “But not bad enough for me to need your tea,” he quickly added.

Elrond smiled even as he arched an eyebrow.  “There is some mild swelling in your fingers.  It will require that you keep your arm elevated until the swelling recedes.”

Estel cocked his head to one side as he thought about his Ada’s words.  “Does that mean I have to stay in bed?”

“I’m afraid it does.  You may stay here or in the healing wing.”

“Here!” Estel responded immediately.  “Sariboril is nice, but she always kisses on me and treats me like a baby.”

“Then here it is,” smiled Elrond.  He stood up and laid Estel back on the bed, propping a couple of pillows underneath the cast, so that it was elevated at just the right angle.  Next he wrapped the sunshine blankey snugly around the boy and made sure that fluffy was within reach.

“Will Dan and Ro stay with me?” asked Estel hopefully.

“The twins are on patrol,” answered Elrond, “but Erestor and I will take turns staying with you. Would you like that?”

Estel nodded his head, relieved that he would not be alone and that he was not required to admit that fear in front of King Thranduil.

“I still have several stories of when Legolas was an elfling as well,” volunteered the king.

“You do?” asked Estel brightening at the thought.  “Will you tell me?”

“I will, if your Adar does not object to my staying with you.”

Elrond dipped his head gracefully.  “Thank you.  It sounds as though Estel will have no shortage of company, which is good, for there is nothing quite so energetic as a four year old who is confined to his bed!.”

Thranduil watched as Elrond suddenly slumped. “What is it? Elrond?”

The Elf Lord raised tortured eyes to the king. “My sons…”

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel was in Elrond’s study pouring over a map of the valley with Helcar and Curúfin.  The location of all current scouts was marked and grids were being developed to aid in the deployment of more warriors.  The golden one had just come from alerting Sariboril to the possibility of injured warriors and was content that the healer would have the healing wing prepared for any contingency.

He had also met with each of his commanders and restructured all assignments to better cover the outer defenses.  Aradol assured him that the stable masters were on alert and that the availability of fresh mounts would be their top priority.  The armorer had also reported that the armory was well stocked with weapons and arrows.  Erestor had seen to it that hot soup and fresh bread would be available at all hours in the hall of fire to accommodate the hectic new schedules.

With a myriad of details running through his mind, Glorfindel had returned to the library to once again study the map, willing it to reveal to him what he was missing.  The comment Elrond had made about them not being able to see the orcs niggled at the back of Glorfindel’s mind, but he knew better than to push the Elf Lord for details at this time.  Elrond would come to him when he understood the situation better himself.  Until then, it was up to Glorfindel and his warriors to secure the valley.  They had fought off siege before, and they were certainly capable of doing so again.

 Legolas and Falathar entered the room.   “Lord Glorfindel,” announced the Prince.  “Lord Elrond has accepted my Adar’s offer of the assistance of our warriors.  We await your command.”

Glorfindel looked back and forth between the two young warriors for a moment, quite frankly surprised at the development.  “I most gratefully accept the King’s offer,” he responded.  “We have much ground to cover and many unanswered questions.”

He gestured for the pair to join them around the table.  “Here,” he pointed to the location where Belan had been ambushed, “is where Belan was slain.  However,” he moved his hand to a location several miles away, “this is where the twins found the most signs of orc penetration.”

“Is that area not routinely scouted?” asked Falathar studying the map intently as he tried to memorize the details.

Helcar bristled slightly at the implication, but Glorfindel’s small shake of the head stopped him from making any comment.

Legolas rolled his eyes.  He was going to have to have a talk with Falathar about actually thinking before he blurted out the first thing to cross his mind.  At the rate he was going, he would offend every inhabitant of Imladris before he was finished.

“Yes,” Glorfindel answered, “the area is well scouted.  What we have encountered is finding orc tracks that appear to be several days old when we know that the area was scouted and the tracks not seen.”

“How is that possible?” asked Legolas.

“That is what I would like to know,” replied Glorfindel.  “With the addition of your guards we will be able to cover more ground and, hopefully, find the answer to our riddle.”

“Are you able to discern how far into the valley the orcs have penetrated?” asked Falathar, still somewhat nervous about leaving King Thranduil unguarded.

“At this point, all signs point to the penetration remaining near our outer defenses,” answered Helcar.

“The elf that was slain,” asked Legolas, “was he inexperienced?”

“No!” broke in a voice from the doorway.  “He was one of our most knowledgeable scouts.”

All eyes turned to see who had entered the room.

“Beling,” said Glorfindel. He quickly took in the haggard look of the young warrior.  Beling was only just back from a long, hazardous scouting mission himself.   “You should be with your family now.”

“No, my lord,” he said firmly. “I want to help find the ones who butchered my brother.”  He walked over to the table and stared at the map.  “I know these orcs.  I shadowed them for weeks, and though they never entered our borders they showed an uncanny amount of organization and order.  The fact that I was never able to find their lair is another aspect that marks them as unusual.  There is more to this band than is normal.  Someone or something is aiding them.”

Legolas placed his hand on Beling’s shoulder.  “My condolences on the loss of your brother, my friend,” said the prince.   “Mirkwood stands ready to avenge him.”

“And that we will,” confirmed Falathar. 

“Are you sure you want to do this now?” asked Glorfindel.  “No shame will be assigned to you if you do not feel able to continue.”

Beling’s hand fell onto the area on the map where his brother had been killed.  “This is the place?”

Glorfindel nodded.

“This area is very near the trail most often used by the orcs to attack the settlements.  It is also where I first encountered King Thranduil’s party.”

Falathar paled slightly at Beling’s words.  Had they been close to an ambush themselves?

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan and Elrohir reached the border land near the area where Belan was killed just after first light.  The pair had ridden hard, burning off anger and frustration after their encounter with Falathar.

Elladan leapt from Fuinur’s back.   He knelt down, his hand carefully feeling the outline of the new tracks.  “Look at this, El,” he called.  “These are fresh.”

Elrohir had dismounted from Celon and walked over to where his brother was examining the ground.  He frowned as he studied the tracks.  They led deeper into the sanctuary.  “We’re much closer in than we were last night,” he observed.  “I don’t like this, El,” he said, shaking his head.  “Orcs have should never have made it this far into the valley, especially with us more on alert.”

Elladan rose to his feet, staring into the forest around them.  His instincts were screaming, but his eyes could detect nothing. 

Elrohir picked up on his twin’s feeling and drew his bow.  “I see nothing,” he said softly.

Elladan nodded his head towards Celon, and Elrohir followed his line of sight.  The stallion was standing stock still, his head high, his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air.  Fuinur pranced nervously beside him.

“They feel it too,” said Elladan.  “Perhaps we should not trust our eyes.” 

Before Elrohir could puzzle out what his twin meant, Elladan drew his own bow, notched an arrow and closed his eyes.  Elladan reached out with all the instincts that a son of Elrond possessed, slowly turning to face in towards the inner valley.

Elrohir jumped as suddenly Elladan gave a roar and released his arrow.  Immediately the forest seemed to come alive with vile creatures as orcs charged them from three directions. 

The twins fired arrow after arrow with deadly accuracy until the orcs were too close, and then the pair drew their swords and prepared to meet the charge.   If the orcs thought to make quick work of two lone elves, they were in for a bitter surprise.   These two had long ago perfected the art of orc hunting and were as deadly in their art as any alive.

The pair fell immediately into the back to back formation they had always used.  Their twin bond allowed them to anticipate the actions of the other, which made them as precise a fighting machine as was possible.

Long and hard against the overwhelming odds they fought, frustrating every charge the orcs threw against them.  Celon and Fuinur aided the pair where they could, landing deadly accurate blows with their heavy hooves and helping to even the odds.  But numbers will tell, and even the mightiest swordsman may be felled by a single arrow.

From seemingly out of nowhere a thick black arrow flew straight and true, striking Elladan in the back with a sickening thud of impact.  The twin jerked forward from the blow, landing on his knees before pitching over onto his side.

“El,” screamed Elrohir, as all around him the panting orcs hesitated, drawing back for a moment as though anticipating the feast they were finally about to enjoy. 

“Celon, go!” he commanded, and the blood splattered white stallion bolted for Imladris with Fuinur trailing after him.  Elrohir would not see his faithful horse fall to these foul creatures.

Deliberately the younger twin moved to stand over his fallen brother, a look of fierce determination written in every line on his fair face.  “You will not have him,” he said slowly and deliberately.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Twenty One

Do Not Go Gentle

“Do not go gentle into that good night.  Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.” Dylan Thomas

Estel bottom lip quivered.  “Is my Ada sick?”

Thranduil quickly looked at the child, who must have awakened to see his Adar’s distress. All alone with him and feeling vastly uncomfortable, the king called upon all his fatherly memories.  He smiled reassuringly at the boy.  “No, child, elves do not get sick.  I believe your Adar is merely…” ah here was the dilemma…to prevaricate or not to prevaricate…“fatigued.”  The king knew he had, perhaps, taken the coward’s way out, but one simply did not explain to an overwrought four-year-old that his father had foresight of terrible doom befalling his brothers.

The king hastily ran through his repertoire of ideas and decided upon diversion.  Bending over, Thranduil picked up a carved wooden horse from the floor by the side of the bed wondering how he had managed not to step on the thing in all the confusion of the night terrors.  “I recognize this horse.  It is Asfaloth, is it not?”

Estel reluctantly pulled his eyes from the door and glanced at the horse.  “Um hum, Glorbindel made it for me.”

“I see,” observed the king, trying desperately to keep the conversation going and Estel’s mind off of Elrond’s...spell.  “He is a magnificent animal, but not so fine as Fuinur.”  No comment followed.  Time for something else, Thranduil decided.  He reached to pick up the cloth feline.  “And who is this?”

“That’s Blubby,” replied a shaky, small voice, once more on the verge of tears.

This was definitely not going well.  Lacking any new revelations, Thranduil did the only thing he could think of…the one thing common to all fathers.  He pulled the boy into this his arms, settling him on his lap.  Resting his cheek on Estel’s downy, dark curls, the king began to rock back and forth while singing a lullaby that Legolas had loved as an elfling.

As the melody floated through the room, enveloping him in a cocoon of tranquility, Estel began to relax in Thranduil’s arms.  Legolas’ Adar had strong arms, just like his Ada, and Estel felt safe.  All thoughts and concerns became harder to hold on to and finally faded as slowly his eyes drifted closed and sleep claimed him once more.

As he continued to sing, Thranduil felt a small tug and looked down to see that the child had taken hold of his thumb.  At a loss as to the reason why, he simply allowed the gesture thinking that perhaps it was something common to the edain.  The king made a mental note to ask Elrond for an explanation later. 

The king chuckled to himself as he rocked the child.  “Sleep well, little one, for you rest in the arms of a vastly cruel king who guts edain and eats them for dinner…or so they say.”

Erestor closed the door unseen.  “Vastly cruel, you say?” he murmured as he hurried down the hall.  He would be able to assure Elrond that Estel, at least, was well cared for.”

O-o-O-o-O

The main healing room of Imladris was long and narrow, lined with beds on each side.  At intervals there were pantries and store rooms opening from the main area.  At the far end of the span was a separate space which served as the surgery.  Rarely used these days, except for the odd training accident, the room was built when the Last Homely House was erected in the first age, when the valley under siege.  There were a great many injuries in those days and this room had been a hive of activity as the many healers worked to repair the wounds of the defenders of Rivendell.  Now the room appeared shadowed and empty.

Sariboril sighed as she rummaged through a jumbled mass of healing supplies and herbs in her apothecary pantry.  The U-shaped room, lined with shelves and cubbyholes on three sides was her domain, the place where she reigned supreme and even Lord Elrond - though often bemused by the complete chaos of the room - dared not move anything in there, for Sariboril knew where every thing was and could lay her hands on whatever she needed in an instant.  How she did it, no one knew, but she did, and that was all that mattered.

The healer had just come from Illuin and Belia’s home, where she had administered a sleeping draught to the sister of Belan.  She would have insisted upon Illuin taking one as well except that the warrior had finally surrendered to his grief and exhaustion, literally falling asleep while sitting at the table in the home’s cozy dining nook.  Sariboril had lain a soft woven coverlet over his shoulders and left him there, afraid that he would rouse and insist on returning to duty if she attempted to have him moved to his bed chamber.

Aye, she sighed, too many warriors had she witnessed take their last breath this side of Mandos’ halls.  She had hoped that these times would not come again for many millennia, and yet Glorfindel himself had called upon her to warn her of the probability of casualties coming into the healing wing again.  That was why she was presently in her apothecary.  Orcs had begun the practice of poisoning their spears and arrows with more and more obscure concoctions.  The healer wanted every weapon in her own arsenal of antidotes should the wounded begin to pour in.

She had issued a call for her apprentice healers and come here immediately to begin preparations.  Not that there was much to do, for she kept everything in a virtual state of readiness.  With Elladan and Elrohir around, you never knew what would happen next, so it paid to be prepared.  Even though the twins and Estel were almost always cared for in the family surgery located on the third floor near Lord Elrond’s bed chamber, Sariboril would not have it said that she was not ready when and if the need arose.

Sariboril pulled irritably at the shimmering sleeve of her formal gown, idly thinking that she would need to go change into something more suitable for work.  A stain on the sleeve caught her eye and she ran her finger over it realizing that it was split pea soup from the fracas in the Hall of Fire earlier.  The healer smiled at the memory of the horses tromping through the room, of the look on Erestor’s face when the tureen of soup had been thrown over two tables of elves, and how magnificent King Thranduil had looked as he relished the scene.  Had that really only been a few hours ago?

O-o-O-o-O

As still as a statue, Elrond stood on the terrace off of his study.  His eyes should have been relishing the magnificent dawn turning the cascading Bruinen into a kaleidoscope of pinks and scarlets, but he saw none of the beauty.  Nor did he hear the normally soothing sounds of the rushing water.  His every effort was focused on sensing his sons…on clarifying the awful vision that had been visited upon him earlier.  The elf lord’s hands gripped the rail until his knuckles were white, such was his effort.

Erestor slipped almost silently into the room carrying a tray with a fresh pot of hot mulled wine.  He sighed as he beheld his friend of so many centuries.  Pain, grief and fear were evident in every aspect of Elrond’s stature as he stood there pale and looking so alone.  He sat the tray down onto the table and crossed the room.  Gently, but firmly, he took Elrond by the elbows and led him back to the table.  “Sit, Elrond, before you collapse, and I have to explain to your youngest why you have not come to see him.”

“Estel,” breathed Elrond as he sank gracefully into the chair. 

“You must rest and refresh yourself,” insisted the seneschal.

“I cannot,” groaned Elrond.  “The anxiety is too great within me.”

Erestor had seen it before, of course, though only one other time this bad: the sudden, unforeseen flash of a vision that left Elrond shaken and slightly disoriented.  Normally Elrond controlled his foresight, but in times of extreme duress to his family the visions could come to him unbidden.

“Drink this,” ordered Erestor, forcing the warm mug into overly cold hands.  “Your skills may be needed, and you will do your sons no good in this shape.”

The firm words penetrated the distress of the elf lord.  “Wallowing in pool of misery, you mean?”

Erestor merely raised an eyebrow in his best Elrond imitation.

“Your words, as always, are wise, my friend.  What would I do without your presence in my life?”

“Let us hope we never have to find that out,” teased Erestor gently, before sobering.  “You, Elrond, healed the hole of grief in my heart at the loss of Eregion.  My life now belongs to the house of Elrond.  You have made me a part of your family and I am content here.”

Elrond knew the effort it took for Erestor to utter those words.  He reached out to lay a comforting hand over that of the younger elf.  “You have given back more to me than I could ever have imparted, Erestor.  I depend your counsel.  Now, as you have so succinctly pointed out, I must master my emotions and be prepared to do what must be done.”  Elrond drained the cup and held it out for more.  “She senses no more either,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“The Lady of Lorien?” queried the seneschal as he refilled the cup.

Elrond dipped his head.  “Yes, Galadriel saw the vision as well, but like me, is unable to ascertain the outcome or clarify the details through the haze of nebulous images and feelings.”

Erestor nodded thoughtfully.  Visions and foresight were the province of the Elf Lords; his was the details of running this home and caring for this family.  “Good, the color is returning to your face.”

“Estel?”

Erestor sat down across from Elrond.  “I looked in on Estel before I heated the wine.  He is sleeping peacefully in Thranduil’s lap.”

Elrond’s eyebrow rose a fraction, and Erestor chuckled in response.

O-o-O-o-O

The younger twin moved to stand over his fallen brother, a look of fierce determination written in every line of his fair face.  “You will not have him,” he said slowly and deliberately.

Time seemed to stand still. As the orcs still hesitated to press the attack, seemingly countless thoughts flashed through Elrohir’s mind.  Some of these orcs looked different than the orcs he had fought before, and they had attacked after the break of dawn.  Would their beautiful swords, gifted to them by their grandparents, become trophies for these vile creatures, or would they be discarded and trampled upon in the upcoming melee?  If they were discarded, would his Ada find them and realize the fate of his sons?  He would miss seeing Estel grow to manhood! Why didn’t they just finish it? 

As a low moan emanated from the fallen twin at his feet, Elrohir’s heart soared momentarily, before his mind suggested that it would be better for Elladan to never feel what was coming. The resolve to protect his brother chased the forlorn thoughts from Elrohir.  The odds might not be good at the moment – who was he kidding, the twin chided himself, it was downright hopeless – but these two had beaten the odds before.

Now that he was not immediately engaged in the life or death battle, pain raged through Elrohir’s chest from a sword slash to his ribs.  His tunic was wet – but whether from blood or sweat he had neither the time nor the inclination to notice.  He raised his sword into the ready position.  Foul, black orc blood dripped down the hilt making his hands slippery, but he simply tightened his grip and forced himself ignored it.  The deafening silence seemed to pound in his ears until all he could hear was his own labored breathing.

“Come on,” he raged at the beasts.  “Finish it!” 

A huge being – different than any orc he had ever seen - stepped forward.  “Son of Elrond.”  The deep voice reverberated in the clearing.

Elrohir literally felt his mouth fall open.  How did this spawn of evil know who he was?  And what was he?  Elrohir noted that there were five more like this massive perversion scattered in the midst of the other orcs.  Glorfindel would need to be warned of this new enemy.

“Quiet!” the being growled to the orc band.  The ones not like him were fidgeting.  The gray mist of predawn had evaporated in the warming sun, and the creatures were obviously ill at ease. 

The creature fixed him with a deadly glare. “Know this before you die, son of Elrond.  I have stalked your home.  I have stalked you.”  He stopped with an evil laugh at the look of shock on the twin’s face.

Quick fear for his home and family flashed through his mind, and he mentally assigned their safety to Glorfindel.  Elrohir raised his chin in defiance. “Imladris will not go down without a fight, and neither will I!”

The beast simply laughed again.  Then his head jerked suddenly to the side and he appeared to hear something.  “My master calls.”  He turned to the five like him.  “We leave.”  Looking back to Elrohir he spat at the twin.  “It shall be as you say.  Finish them!” he ordered the orcs, before turning to sprint off.

Elrohir prepared for the attack.   The orcs hesitated only a moment, ready to feast on elf flesh and get back to their lair in the face of the sunlight.  They charged en mass. 

The twin could not hope to hold off such an onslaught.  He seemed to disappear beneath a black tide of evil.

Suddenly arrows filled the air, dropping the orcs as they rushed forward.  From all around a bellow of rage could be heard as Glorfindel led his warriors in attack.  When he had seen Elrohir overcome, the heart of the golden warrior had nearly stopped.

As soon as Elrond had reported his vision, Glorfindel, Beling, Legolas and Falathar had bolted from the library.  It had only taken moments for the alert to be sounded and rescue mounted.  They had ridden wildly, desperate to reach the twins and prevent another tragedy such as had befallen Belan.

Arriving at the scene, Legolas and Falathar led the wood elves into the trees to cover the ground assault while Glorfindel and Beling led their warriors to circle the attacking orcs. 

Legolas had seen a small group of much larger orcs running away from the area, but he dismissed them as being an immediate threat to the twins.  Once he could see the orcs rushing Elrohir – he could not tell whether Elladan lived or not – his thoughts had been completely concentrated on the accuracy of his shots.

It took only moments to finish off the orcs.  Glorfindel waded through their foul bodies tossing them aside to reach the twins. 

Legolas led the wood elves in quickly constructing litters for the wounded pair.  They were made in such a way that they could be carried between two riders.  When they reached the more narrow passes closer to Imladris, they would have to be transferred to two elves on foot, but these would allow them to ride much of the way.

Glorfindel tossed the last body from his young charges.  “Elrohir!”  He pulled the twin into his arms and breathed a sigh of relief to feel Elrohir’s breath on his cheek.  “He lives!”  He assessed the twin’s injuries as rapidly as he could finding numerous cuts and abrasions, the worst of which was a deep gash running the length of his ribcage.  There was also swelling from a blow to his temple.  Glorfindel lifted the twin and passed him to Beling’s waiting arms.  He took a deep breath and turned his attention to Elladan.  The twin had made no move that he had been able to detect.  A thick shaft protruded from his back, but the movement of his chest testified that the twin still clung – however tenuously – to life.

“Elladan, stay with me,” urged the warrior.  Glorfindel used brute strength to snap off the shaft so that it only extended a few inches from Elladan’s back.  “Let’s get them back to Imladris.  Legolas, ride ahead to alert the healers!”

Elbereth be with us, Glorfindel breathed. It was going to be close.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Twenty Two

Thranduil

"Choice of attention - to pay attention to this and ignore that - is to the inner life what choice of action is to the outer. In both cases, a man is responsible for his choice and must accept the consequences, whatever they may be." W. H. Auden

Thranduil had sat through the long watches of the night holding the now peacefully sleeping child. The sky outside had drifted from ebony to faintest pink to the fiery dawn, and now only soft, warm sunlight crept across the floor towards him. Still he sat immobile, lost in thought as he contemplated his small charge, inevitably comparing him to his son.

“Last of the line of kings,” he whispered into the pale morning light. “I know the weight you will carry, young one.”

The surroundings faded as Thranduil once again found himself making the long, sad journey back to Greenwood from the disastrous assault upon Mordor. Oropher’s closest ally, Malgalad of Lórien had been slain along with half of his followers in the great battle of the Dagorlad, the battle plain, after they had been cut off from the main host and driven into the Dead Marshes. In battle on the Cirith Gorgor side of the plain, Oropher and Thranduil had fought valiantly, but alas vainly, to reach the beleaguered elven warriors, only to be forced into retreat by overwhelming and repeated onslaught.

As though yesterday, the king recalled the rocky ground which endeavored to confound the footing of the surest warrior, the grit and dust blown into his face, the screeching of vultures fighting over carrion, and the omnipresent stench of the dead. How he hated that place so far from their beautiful Greenwood!

Alone in the royal tent he sat with Oropher the night they lost Malgalad. Grief stricken, Oropher had sent away all his advisors and railed endlessly to his son against the delay of Gil-galad to order a counter charge that, futile though his tactical mind told him it would have been, might have saved at least some of the doomed elves.

Bone weary, exhausted beyond belief, Thranduil closed his eyes and attempted to find some corner of quiet in his mind, far away from this place of dust and death. Valar, how he hated this place…so different than his own home. Would the long years of fighting never end? He was so sick of the blood and death and filth and most of all, of what it was doing to his father as day by day he became more and more frustrated and embittered by their failure to draw this war to a close.

Oropher was no fool. He knew that his Silvans were courageous, but they were also not so well equipped with armor and weapons as the forces from Lindon. The Silvan elves were also arrogant and independent, not easily led by Gil-galad. The Silvan king was every bit as proud as his warriors, and every day that they held back the final assault on Barad-dúr cost him more friends.

The following morning Oropher had commanded his troop to attack and rushed forward before Gil-Galad had given the signal for the advance. He was slain, along with many warriors. Before the war was over, Gil-galad and Elendil had also fallen, and Thranduil, young king of Greenwood, led home barely a third of the warriors who had ventured forth under Greenwood’s banner. Oropher had wanted nothing more than to remain home in peace, but he was wise enough to know that no lasting peace would ever be found unless Sauron was defeated. Thranduil now wondered whether or not his father could ever have realized the terrible cost to them all.

A small tug to his thumb brought Thranduil back to the present, to a third floor bedroom nestled in a peaceful valley. Estel dark eyelashes fluttered slightly as he sighed deeply and settled more securely in Thranduil’s embrace.

“The hope of man,” sighed Thranduil. “That is a heavy burden for such a small child.” How fragile the boy seemed in his arms…how vulnerable and innocent. Even the hope of man has but one life to give. How was this one to survive the evils of this world?

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond rose from his seat so quickly that his wine spilt onto the jostled table.

“What is it?” asked Erestor, alarmed at the pallor on his lord’s face.

“A rider approaches. Come, Erestor, let’s go see what news he bears.”

Elrond and Erestor were just making the front steps when Legolas rode into the yard. The young elf jumped from his mount and ran to the elf lord.

“The twins live,” he said without preamble, knowing that would be the first thing that Elrond would want to know. “They are both wounded and being borne home.”

“Wounded?” asked Erestor.

Legolas nodded. “They were attacked by many orcs.”

Elrond, who had remained silent to this point, visibly paled. The frown between his eyebrows was deep and pensive. What could be happening that would allow so many orcs within the valley without his sensing it, and how did they overtake the twins? He pulled himself from his reverie.

“Erestor, is all in readiness?”

“Yes, my lord,” nodded the seneschal.

“Ada?”

Erestor and Elrond spun around to see Estel and Thranduil framed in the doorway. The child held tightly onto the king’s hand. The sight brought a smile to Legolas’ face.

“Is everything all right?” asked the boy.

Elrond walked over to kneel before his son. His anxiety lent a harshness to his words that would normally not have been there. “I thought you were going to stay in bed to keep that arm elevated? The swelling will not go down unless you do.”

At the quivering lip of Estel, Elrond gathered the child into his embrace, soothing him with soft murmurs.

“The fault is mine, Elrond,” offered Thranduil. “Estel awakened last night when you left the room. He has been uneasy ever since. I thought seeing you would allay his fears.”

Elrond nodded, still hugging Estel to him. “You did right, and I thank you…for many things.”

“Why don’t I take Estel to his room and stay with him while he eats breakfast,” suggested Erestor. “I will send to the kitchens now, and after breakfast Estel will stay in bed while I tell him stories.”

“Thank you, my friend,” said Elrond. “I am sure that the king would like some time to refresh himself after his long night.”

Thranduil inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“I will have break of fast for you and your son brought to your room,” offered Erestor.

Legolas started to protest, wanting to be here when the twins arrived, but quickly acquiesced when he saw the look on his father’s face. He realized that Thranduil would, of course, want to know what had happened. “Thank you, Erestor.”

Erestor could hear the approach of the elves and quickly took Estel’s hand to lead him back inside before he saw a distressing sight. “Come along, Estel. Cook has made something special for you this morning.”

The pair went back inside followed by Thranduil and a very reluctant Legolas.

Elrond too had heard the approach of the elves bearing his sons and, unable to resist the urge, rose and started walking across the yard to meet them. His chest tightened as he saw their too pale faces on the litters.

Glorfindel walked before the litter bearers, his face grim.

Elrond met him, one hand falling upon the golden warrior’s shoulder even as the other one sought to caress the face of the twin on the first litter, in this case, Elrohir. “Thank you for bringing them back to me,” he said simply. “What is their condition?” He turned to look quickly at Elladan, being born on the next litter.

“Elrohir has lost a great quantity of blood from the wound to his rib cage. He appears to have taken a severe blow to the head as well. Elladan has an arrow through the back of his right shoulder.”

“What injuries to the warriors?” asked Elrond as he fell into step beside the bearers.

“No injuries were taken by the woodland warriors. Three of our warriors received slight sword injuries. I will have them report to the healers after the twins have been attended.”

Elrond shook his head. “The swords may have been poisoned, Glorfindel. Unless I am mistaken, Sariboril will have ample healers available to care for all the wounded. I would not have the treatment to our warriors delayed.”

As they reached the steps, Elrond directed the litters to be taken to the family healing rooms on the third floor. He had already determined that Elrohir required immediate attention to stop the blood loss. The arrow in Elladan’s back was working as a “stopper” to staunch the flow of blood from his wound. Had Glorfindel pulled the arrow from the twin’s back, he might well have bled to death before they returned home. If the arrow was poisoned then they would face a different set of problems. Elrond was also concerned by the swelling over Elrohir’s eye.

Sariboril was waiting for them in the family surgery as the twins were rushed inside. “All right, all right,” she fussed as they were transferred to the waiting beds, “you warriors out of here, now. I know every one of you and you’ll be wanting to be with your friends, but you can’t help in here.”

Glorfindel ushered the anxious warriors from the outer room as well. This room was slightly larger than the surgery and held four beds, two on each side of the room. The golden one paced the aisle between them as he pondered the events of the morning. Beling was still at the site of the ambush, disposing of orc bodies and looking for clues as to how a troop so large could have penetrated their defenses.

“Lord Glorfindel?”

The warrior looked up to see Legolas standing in the doorway. “Come in, young prince. I have not thanked you for the aid you and your warriors rendered.”

Legolas brushed aside the thanks. “No thanks are necessary, my lord. You would have done as much for any of us. We are brothers, are we not?”

Glorfindel dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“I just remembered something that you should know,” added Legolas.

Glorfindel motioned for Legolas to sit on one of the beds. He sat across from the younger elf. “Tell me, Legolas.”

“As we took to the trees at the ambush site, I saw several large orcs fleeing the area. They were not the immediate threat so I dismissed them from my mind to concentrate on the attack.”

Glorfindel nodded slowly. “Beling is scrutinizing the area now. It is a mystery how such a large force could find their way into the valley.” The golden one did not mention that it was also highly unlikely such a company could penetrate the defenses of Vilya without being without being known to its wearer.

The warrior continued his musings until Legolas’ description entered his thoughts. “Large orcs? What do you mean?”

Legolas frowned as he sought a better way to describe what he had seen. “I am not sure; I got only a fleeting look at them, but they were much bigger than any of the orcs attacking the twins. I’m sorry I cannot tell you more.”

“Perhaps Beling will find some sign of these orcs. In the mean time I am sending more warriors to the vicinity. That will weaken us in other areas. This could all be a feint to weaken our defenses, so I would like to supplement those areas with Mirkwood warriors. Do you foresee a problem with this plan?”

“No,” Legolas said thoughtfully, “we have been pledged to work under your command.”

Glorfindel nodded towards the surgery door. “I have been here many times. It will be many hours before we know anything. Aren’t you supposed to be breaking fast with your Adar?”

Legolas grinned sheepishly. “Yes, but I really did feel that you needed to know what I had seen.” His eyes traveled longingly towards the firmly closed door.

“Go on, Legolas,” urged Glorfindel. “I will send for you as soon as we know something.”

O-o-O-o-O

High above the Last Homely House in a giant elm, Legolas sat perfectly still relishing the play of the silvery moon light dancing through the gently blowing leaves. Sighing deeply, he began to sing softly. It was a song that was slightly sad and haunting to him, for it spoke of the timelessness of Arda and of better times past.

As cool as wine the wind is sighing

Through silent mountain pine

The evening light is slowly dying

As silvery stars do shine.

So many songs, so many stories

The ancient hills recall…

He stopped abruptly as he sensed the presence of another.

“Don’t stop, Legolas; it was beautiful.” Thranduil deftly navigated the tree limb to sit easily beside his son.

“Adar!”

The king chuckled softly. “Do not look so surprised. Think you that a king does not seek the solace of the trees?”

Legolas stared at his father. “I have never seen you in a tree, Adar.”

Thranduil thought about his son’s words. “No, I suppose you have not. A king’s responsibilities leave little time for such…”

“Frivolity?”

“Do not presume to speak for me, Greenleaf. It is unbecoming.” The king purposefully softened his rebuke by the use of the term Greenleaf. His son was troubled by the events of the day, and he wished only to offer support.

“I am sorry, Adar,” Legolas apologized. “I seem to be unable to find peace this night and it is vexing me.”

“Elrond’s sons have the best of care. Only Ilúvatar knows the end of all things, but what can be done is being done.”

Legolas slowly nodded his head. “The injuries of the twins are grievous, but that is not all that is weighing on my mind. It is seeing Imladris so harried from without.” He paused, momentarily unable to express all that he was feeling.

“I think I understand,” said Thranduil. “Imladris has always been a place of refuge for you, a place from which to escape the constant violence of your home.”

Legolas turned a stricken face to his father. “What a coward I must seem - and how ungrateful! I leave my home and my responsibilities to find peace while you are left to continue the fight alone. Forgive me, Ada!”

Thranduil placed a comforting arm over his son’s shoulders. “I could never believe you to be a coward, Legolas. You have proven your courage countless times in the defense of our kingdom. I want you to be able to seek times away.”

“But you cannot,” responded the prince.

“I am the king. The responsibilities of ruling are with me wherever I go. From that first dreadful day on the battle plain I have carried the weight of my people. Think you that is what I want for my son?”

Legolas did not know how to respond. In truth he had rarely even considered the thought of ever replacing his Adar.

Thranduil easily read the emotions on his son’s face. “When we marched from Greenwood to help defeat Sauron, I had no idea that I would return a king…that our warriors would be decimated and our people dispirited. The shadow began to fall upon our lands and we retreated before it as it spread ever northward because we had not the warriors left to mount a proper defense. Finally we determined we would retreat no more and delved into the hills to create our fortress, like Thingol of old in Doriath. Oh, our halls are not to be compared with Menegroth, for we had not the artisans, nor the wealth, nor even the dwarves, but they are beautiful to me for what they represent to our people.”

Legolas, who had rarely heard his father speak of the old days, was fascinated. His eyes softened and a gentle smile graced his face as he listened.

Thranduil was looking at the stars now, speaking almost to himself. “I know that it is said that Thranduil is greedy, that Thranduil is arrogant, that Thranduil accumulates riches for himself, but the same ones who say that do not have the weight of a kingdom resting upon their shoulders.” The king laughed quietly. “How piteous I sound!”

Legolas was nearly at a loss for words. “Adar…I”

“No Greenleaf,” interrupted the king. “I have said too much. My mind journeyed down a dusty road of memory last night, and I was drawn onto paths that I rarely travel…for obvious reasons.”

“I am glad that you have spoken thus to me, Ada.”

Thranduil chuckled again. “Perhaps there is a good reason I do not take to the trees. The air up here seems to have dampened my natural ebullience more than overindulging in miruvor. Sing again, Legolas; it soothes my heart.”

As cool as wine the wind is sighing

Through silent mountain pine…

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Twenty Three

Why Now?

“Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear – not absence of fear.” Mark Twain

Legolas continued to sit on the tree limb long after Thranduil had retired to his rooms for the remainder of the night. The young elf smiled to himself as he thought about the king’s remark that he wanted to “look in” on Estel before retiring. How long ago it seemed that he had worried over his Adar’s reaction to Estel. The child’s winsome way had entranced the King of Mirkwood as it had everyone else that met him.

The smile soon faded, however, as he recalled his father’s words.

When we marched from Greenwood to help defeat Sauron, I had no idea that I would return a king…that our warriors would be decimated and our people dispirited. The shadow began to fall upon our lands and we retreated before it as it spread ever northward because we had not the warriors left to mount a proper defense. Finally we determined we would retreat no more and delved into the hills to create our fortress, like Thingol of old in Doriath. Oh, our halls are not to be compared with Menegroth, for we had not the artisans, nor the wealth, nor even the dwarves, but they are beautiful to me for what they represent to our people.”

From the time that Legolas was old enough to have memories, his Ada was the majestic, self assured King that he knew now. How difficult it must have been for such a proud and accomplished warrior as his father to be forced into continually retreating rather than standing to fight! But how could he have? Legolas frowned as he tried to visualize what it must have been like for his Adar then with most of his warriors dead, his people to protect and yet the shadow continuing to come upon them. And all the while grieving for Oropher and trying to learn what it meant to be a king!

The sun was just rising above the eastern cliffs and the morning light spread slowly across the landscape like a wash of watercolor, turning the gray stone to silver-gold, the pale river to sparkling blue, the dull-green fields to vivid emerald.

In the distance Legolas could see Beling and Falathar making their way over the arched bridge spanning the Bruinen. He hastened down, anxious to hear what they might have discovered of the mysterious intruders.

The weary pair was just entering the yard as the prince approached.

Beling dipped his head respectfully. “Prince Legolas.”

Falathar inclined his head as well, aware that how he greeted his Prince, albeit his friend, in public would be observed and commented upon. Falathar was, after all, the chief of the guard for the King of Mirkwood, as well as a lifelong friend of Legolas.

Legolas usually hated protocol and all things official, but he understood Falathar’s actions and after the earlier conversation with his father was particularly sensitive to his position. He responded appropriately by acknowledging both greetings before asking his question.

“Did you find signs?”

Falathar opened his mouth to respond, but was stopped by Beling’s hand on his arm.

“Respectfully, Prince Legolas, I should report our findings first to Lord Glorfindel,” said Beling.

“Of course,” answered Legolas immediately. This being under the command of another was going to take some getting used to. As a prince, Legolas was used to being rather independent. “Of course, Beling. I meant to disrespect. I am simply anxious to find the source of this evil harassing your home and responsible for the injuries to my friends.” Belatedly he remembered that this evil was also responsible for the death of Beling’s brother.

Beling smiled sadly. “Thank you for understanding. I, too, am anxious for answers.”

Legolas put his hand on the elf’s shoulder. “Beling, forgive me! I am truly grieved for your loss.”

“I did not take offense, Prince Legolas. We are all anxious for answers. Falathar and I found some interesting signs. Why don’t you come with us to Lord Glorfindel?”

“Thank you. I would like that,” nodded the prince.

The trio went together to the third floor when Glorfindel sat keeping watch on one of the empty beds. Two beds were occupied by Elladan and Elrohir. Lord Elrond dozed in the rock-ing chair that Glorfindel had specially crafted when Estel was just two, while Sariboril rested on the fourth bed.

Glorfindel saw Beling pause in the doorway and rose quickly, holding his finger to his lips and nodding his head towards the Lord of Imladris. Uneasy about leaving, Glorfindel placed his hand on Sariboril’s foot. The healer immediately roused.

“Elrond still sleeps. I am stepping out in the hall way for a bit.”

Sariboril was already rising. “Do not worry. I will watch over the twin’s condition while their father naps.”

Glorfindel stepped out of the healing room and led the young warriors to Lord Elrond’s library on the first floor. He motioned them to sit at the same table holding the maps of the valley.

“How are the twins?” asked Legolas. He had spent a significant amount of time during the night watching the light filtering from the window of the surgery and wondering about his friends.

“Elrohir has lost a significant amount of blood, but that has been stopped and he is in no longer in danger from that source. The blow to his head is a worry until he regains consciousness and it can be determined whether or not there will be complications from that quarter. Elladan’s life is secure, however there is a possibility that he will have permanent damage to his sword arm.”

“Permanent,” repeated Legolas, sickened at the thought of how a warrior like Elladan would be impacted by that news.

Glorfindel rubbed his brow tiredly. “That is only a possibility, young prince.” He fixed the three young warriors with a piercing stare. “I have said too much. Information about the twins should come from their father.”

“What you have told us will not leave this room, my lord,” said Falathar. “I give you my word on that.”

The other two nodded their agreement.

“I mean no insult to any of you,” said Glorfindel after a moment. He sighed, placing the worry from his thoughts – though not from his mind. Straightening his back, the golden warrior once again became the commander of all the defense of Imladris. “Report Beling.”

Beling glanced quickly at Falathar and then launched into his report. “We searched the immediate area of the attack and then branched outward. I fear we have found more questions than answers.”

“Just tell me what you can tell me, Beling. If you cannot answer the questions we have, then tell me what information you have determined.”

Beling sighed. What he actually knew was very little and that fact frustrated the elf more than he cared to admit. “We know that a large band of orcs entered the valley and attacked the twins. Those orcs, or most of them, were killed. We also found tracks that would indicate iron shod boots on at least five orcs…or some beings. The tracks were similar to those that would be left by dwarves, though much larger.

“Dwarves?” asked Leoglas, all too aware of the past wars his people had waged against the dwarves.

“Iron shod?” said Glorfindel at the same time.

“They were much too large to belong to dwarves, my lord,”

Glorfindel’s mind was processing all that he was hearing. “Those tracks must belong to the larger orcs that Legolas saw leaving the area. But why did they leave? And why only the larger ones? It is not like orcs to give up on the chance to torment or kill elves.”

“Larger orcs?” asked Beling.

“I saw some large orc-like creatures leaving the area of the attack on the twins. There was not time to see more than a glance, I’m afraid,” explained Legolas.

A healer appeared at the door, interrupting any further discussion for the moment. “Lord Glorfindel. Lord Elrond asks that you return to the healing rooms. Elrohir is agitated and insists upon speaking to you.”

“I will come immediately. Thank you.” Glorfindel waited until the healer had turned to go back upstairs. “Beling, you should be with your family now. Illuin is preparing to go back to the border with more warriors. Falathar, Helcar has the assignments for all the warriors. You will continue to serve as commander of the Mirkwood forces. I have decided to ask you and your warriors to take up the responsibility for the security of Imladris proper and the area immediately surrounding the inner valley.”

Falathar was immensely relieved, for this would place the king’s security directly into the hands of his own warriors. “Thank you, my lord. I will see to it now.”

Glorfindel nodded. “Legolas, come with me, please. Perhaps Elrohir can shed some light onto our mystery.”

O-o-O-o-O

Erestor sighed as once again Estel inquired about his father and brothers. Estel had not seen his father since yesterday morning when Thranduil brought him down to reassure him that his Ada was well. The child had been as patient as a four year old was capable during the day. Once during the day Erestor had needed to prepare the child a mild pain draught as the swelling in his hand increased. The seneschal had made sure that the arm stayed elevated all day and throughout the night, and the swelling had finally responded to the treatment and subsided. Thankfully there was no repeat of the night terrors that had caused the swelling in the first place.

“Are they mad at me, Restor?”

The pair was just finishing blueberry hotcakes, which cook had sent up to the child’s bedroom. It was well known in the kitchens that Estel adored anything flavored with blueberries!

“No,” Erestor said patiently as he took his napkin and wiped a bit of berry from Estel’s lip. He had, of course, been kept apprised of the twin’s condition and reasoned that perhaps it was time for Estel to learn the truth.

“Restor?” Estel was watching the play of emotions on the elf’s face.

Erestor could not help but smile at the boy. “You don’t miss a thing, do you Estel?” He took a deep breath and began. “Your brothers were injured while on patrol and your father has been caring for them in the healing rooms down the hall.”

Estel frowned. “Will they have to drink Ada’s tea?”

Erestor fought the smile tickling the corner of his mouth, for the child was asking a serious question and he would not have Estel believe that he had said something that would elicit ridicule. He knew that the child could not comprehend his brothers being anything but strong. How to explain it… “In all likelihood, yes, your brothers will require pain or sleeping draughts, and they may be sleeping. Can you be very quiet if they are?”

Large silver eyes widened as the boy nodded solemnly. “I won’t even jump on them to wake them up.”

“That is good, Estel.”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond was not pleased with his son’s agitation. “Elrohir, you must lie back or your stitches could tear.”

“El?” Elladan stirred on his bed, straining to see his brother.

With one hand firmly against Elrohir’s shoulder, Elrond smiled at his elder son. “Welcome back, Elladan. How are you feeling?”

“Not bad, Ada. How is El?” Elladan tried to sit up, but Sariboril, on the side of the bed, placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, much like Elrond was presently doing to Elrohir.

“Stay down, young one,” she said. “You are not that long out of surgery. Give yourself time.”

“Ada, I must speak to Glorfindel!” insisted Elrohir.

“I am here, young one,” responded Glorfindel, walking through the doorway with Legolas. “What is it that has you so concerned?”

“Elrohir, if you do not lie back this second, I will sedate you!” warned Elrond. “You may speak to Glorfindel from a prone position, or I will ask him to leave. Is that understood?”

Elrohir knew that tone of his father’s voice and knew that he was deadly serious. He sighed, and nodded weakly. “Yes, Ada.”

Glorfindel sat on the side of Elrohir’s bed and smoothed back the braid that had fallen across his forehead. “What is it that you need to tell me, Elrohir?”

“The orcs…” Elrohir had to stop to swallow. His panting was evidence enough of his weakened condition.

Glorfindel reached over to the table to pick up a glass of water. Elrond propped Elrohir’s shoulders up so that he could more easily take a sip of the water.

“Relax, Elrohir,” Elrond said. “Let me bear your weight. You just take small sips.”

Elrohir could only manage two drinks of the water before tiring, and Elrond lowered him back carefully.

The twin swallowed again and started over, his face slick with sweat and his face as pale as a winter moon. “The orcs that attacked us were led by some different, larger creatures.”

Glorfindel shared a look with Legolas, who had moved just inside the doorway.

“Legolas caught a glimpse of them as they left the area.”

“Glorfindel, the leader…the leader knew me.”

That news brought a frown to Glorfindel as well as Elrond. “He knew you?”

“Yes,” Elrohir said weakly. “He said that he had stalked El and me…and that he had stalked our home.” He had to stop to regain his breath for a moment.

Legolas had edged his way over to where he was standing beside Glorfindel. “Do you think he meant the inner valley itself?”

“Impossible!” said Glorfindel.

“No,” said Elrohir. “We…El and I…could, could not see them. We could sense them after a fashion, but only see them when they charged us.”

Glorfindel looked at Elrond. “Could the blow to his head have affected his memory?”

“No!” Elrohir was becoming agitated again. “Glorfindel, you have to believe me. El will tell you too.”

“It’s true,” said Elladan softly. “We could not see them until they were nearly on top of us. It’s possible they could have gotten closer into the valley without us even knowing it.”

Elrond had been listening to the exchange in silence. Now the elf lord walked over to the terrace entrance and stared out into the morning sunshine. Absentmindedly he fingered Vilya, deep in thought, his face a study in downward curves. “If orcs are penetrating the valley and hidden from us, then there is more at work here than we know.”

“The dark one has been gathering power for some time, but why the great push now? Could the one ring have been found?”

Elrond slowly shook his head. “I do not know. I must concentrate more effort on sensing through…” He let his voice trail off, aware that Legolas was in the room. “I have been distracted of late.”

“But we have not had orcs penetrating the valley since the great siege. How? Why now?”

“How indeed,” said Elrond. “I fear that there may be wizard magic involved.”

“Ada?”

All eyes turned towards the doorway where Erestor stood with Estel. The child smiled upon all, his face alight with joy at seeing his family.

“As to the why now…” Elrond did not need to finish the sentence. All in the room, save one small human, knew what he was thinking.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Twenty Four

The Hands of a Healer

“Wishing is good.  It allows us to explore our imagination, it can offer us hope for the future, and best of all, it can remind us of the importance of the magic of childhood.”  Mattie Stepanek

Rated F…for Fluff Alert!

A soft breeze infused the healing rooms with a sweet scent from Celebrían’s garden.  Elrond could not remember the name of the plant; it was not indigenous to Imladris.   Celebrían had brought the unnamed plant from Lindon, and it flourished here, forming a tapestry of green and vivid pink.  The flowers were small but profuse and the aroma delightfully light and sweet.

The breeze caused the curtains to billow softly. Many rooms in the last homely house did not even employ covering on the widows or terrace openings, but the healing wings both did so that heavy draperies might be drawn to lend added warmth to a wounded elf or to affect a dimmer atmosphere to aid in a healing sleep.  This morning the curtains were opened, allowing the warmth of Anor to kiss the room with golden rays, but those rays paled in comparison to the joyful smile on Estel’s face.

Care seemed to fall away from the elf lord as he basked in the glow of that innocent smile.  Pure love shone through the gaze and it heartened Elrond as no elixir ever could.  Estel might be the hope of man, but he had also proven to be a ray of badly needed hope for this family, bringing closure to the gaping wound in the twins and easing them to a place of peace that Elrond had almost dared not expect to see again.

Estel bit his bottom lip as he stood by Erestor in the doorway, and Elrond quickly crossed the distance between them, kneeling down to enfold the boy in a comforting embrace - one needed by himself probably more than by Estel.  He kissed the unruly curls, breathing in the scent of his child and noting idly that he smelled faintly of blueberries.  Standing, he took Estel by the hand to lead him over to stand between the beds holding the twins.

“Have a care, Estel,” Elrond cautioned, “the twins are still weak.”

“I know, Ada.  Rester said I must be gentle!”  Estel’s expressive eyes clouded as he gazed from one brother to the next. 

“Hello, little love,” said Elladan faintly. 

Elrohir started to speak, but the sight of Estel’s face stopped him.  The rounded chin was quivering and his eyes were luminous with tears.  When one crystal drop overflowed the soft silvery depths and slid down his cheek, the twin reached out with his good arm to draw the boy to his bedside.  “Avo osto, pen-nîn tithen, non mae…non mae.”  Do not worry, my little one, I am well… I am well.

Estel had witnessed his brothers have the odd accident or two, but never had he seen them look so fragile and weak, and that frightened him for them.  The child’s heart sought only to make them better.  Reaching out his little hand, Estel placed it against Elrohir’s cheek.  “I will take care of you Ro.”  He carefully and ever so gently traced the outline of the swollen and discolored area over Elrohir’s eye.  “Does it hurt much?”

Elrohir’s lip curved into a small smile.  “It is better now that you are here.”

Estel next turned to walk the few steps over to Elladan’s bed.  “I will take care of you too, Dan.”

Elladan felt tears in his own eyes as the chubby hand caressed his cheek and gently patted the wounded shoulder.  An unbidden thought flashed through the twin’s mind. He glanced up at his father and saw that Elrond shared his thoughts as well…the hands of the king are the hands of a healer.

“I’ll be right back!” said Estel suddenly.  He turned and walked as quickly as his little legs would carry him from the room. 

“I wonder what that’s about?” said Glorfindel.

“Should I follow him?” asked Legolas.

“No,” said Elrond.  “Estel is safe in the house.”  But even as the words left his mouth he was struck by the horrible memory of the night Estel was taken from this house….from the elf lord’s very own bedroom.

The look on his face was easily read, particularly in light of the revelation of the twins that orcs or some hitherto unknown creature had been wandering the hills of Imladris unseen by the ever vigilant elven guards.

“I will go with Estel,” offered Legolas suddenly.  He left, turning left towards the direction of Estel’s bedroom, where the boy had obviously headed.

“I believe I will confer with Falathar and Helcar,” said Glorfindel.  “Now that we are aware of the creature’s ability to …to hide themselves…we will be better prepared.  My lord,” he addressed Elrond, “when the twins are more recovered, I would like to speak with them further.  There may be more details they can remember that will shed some light on these beings.”

Elrond nodded his head sagely.  “It is a puzzle.  The twins should be able to speak with you later this afternoon.  I will send for you.”

Glorfindel nodded his head and left, his mind already whirling with defensive measures.

Erestor and Sariboril had been quietly and unobtrusively tidying up the room and straightening the bed covers of the twins.  Elladan in particular had been restlessly moving in his bed and the covers were tangled around his legs.  That done, Erestor sent for tea, toast and broth to be brought upstairs.  He intended to see that Elrond and Sariboril had something nourishing.  It had not escaped the seneschal’s attention that the pair had been in attendance all through the night without rest or refreshment. 

Legolas and Estel were only gone a few minutes before returning with an arm load of supplies.  The sunshine blankey was carefully – with the help of Legolas – wrapped over Elrohir, for he was the weakest.  The stuffed Fluffy went to lie beside Elladan – on his left side, of course, for the right was heavily bandaged and in a sling.  Estel was particularly interested in the sling for it was on the same side as his.  The intricately carved Asfaloth sat on the table between the brothers so that they might look at him.

Next, Estel directed Legolas – using please and thank you, as a properly mannered young man should – to move the rock-ing chair in between the twin’s beds.  From there, Estel would be able to tell stories to his brothers when they tired of being abed.  An extra blanket and the pillow from his bed had been brought, Estel informed them, so that he could sleep here keeping watch over the twins. Careful not to bump his cast, for he certainly did not want to be consigned to his bed again for swelling, Estel climbed into the chair. 

The child heaved a great sigh, as though the weight of the world had just been lifted from his shoulders.  He drew up his knees into the chair, snuggled the mossy green blanket and prepared to wait.

Elrond raised an eyebrow at his youngest.  “Estel, it was very thoughtful of you to bring these …comforting…items to the twins, but they may be here for several days.  Do you not think you will tire of staying in that chair?”

“Oh no, Ada,” smiled the boy. “Dan and Ro always stay with me when I’m sick.  I will even help you give them a bath!”

“Well, the bath can wait for now,” smiled Elrond, noticing that Elrohir was asleep and that Elladan’s eyes were drooping heavily.  “The twins need to sleep.  Why don’t you come with me for a while until they are ready to be awake and you can tell them a story then?

“You’re not going to give me a bath, are you?” he inquired in the voice of one who hopes for a negative answer but does not really expect it.

Elrond laughed softly.  “No, pen-nîn tithen, no bath.  I thought, perhaps, we could take a walk in the garden.  I happen to know a spot where Fluffy and his siblings enjoy playing.”

“Fa-luh-fee?” asked Estel excitedly.  “Can Legolas come with us? He tells good stories, Ada!”

Elrond glanced at Legolas, and receiving a smiling nod, answered Estel.  “Of course Legolas may accompany us.  I am sure that he would enjoy some sunshine as well.”

“Not before you have had something to eat,” insisted Erestor, his own eyebrow hitched to an impressive level.

“I ate all the blueberry hotcakes already, but cook said that she had some blueberry muffins made,” said Estel.  “Would you like some of those, Ada?”

“I will have blueberry muffins and tea sent to the garden,” said Erestor before Elrond could even respond.

“All right,” conceded the elf lord, “I can see when I am outnumbered.  Come along Estel, Legolas…”

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel paced the room like a caged wild cat.  Like the feline species, his senses were alerted and his claws were bared, so to speak, for the Golden Warrior, once chief of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin was angry; he was very angry.  Not since the battle of Fornost, when he had fought the armies of the Witch King Angmar on the shores of Lake Evindem, had he felt such rage.

Not only had evil creatures penetrated his defenses, they had attacked and nearly killed the sons of Elrond, whose line he had sworn to protect.  Since their first breath, Glorfindel had loved and protected the twins.  He had taught them to ride their first ponies and given them their first sword drills.  He had wiped their tears and bandaged their skinned knees.  He had laughed with them, cried with them, and grieved for them when their rage had led them onto dark paths.  He loved them as he would his own sons, had the Valar blessed him with such.

Glorfindel spun as Helcar and Falathar raced into the room, having been summoned post haste to Elrond’s Library.  Their eyes widened as they beheld the commander in full battle stance, his sword drawn and gleaming, a feral look in his eye.  Both young warriors skidded almost comically to a halt.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Glorfindel relaxed his stance sheathed his sword.  “Forgive me, young ones. I allowed myself to become distracted.”

“I have never seen you armed inside the house before, my lord,” breathed Helcar, still somewhat mystified by the sight.

“That changes now,” replied Glorfindel.  “I have new information that creatures are not only penetrating our defenses, but they are also invisible to us, at least until they charge.  Not much more is known about them other than the facts you ascertained in your scouting…they are large and they wear iron shod boots and possibly armor.  I will try to find out more when the twins are able to speak more.”

“Invisible?” the Noldo and Silvan elves replied at once, their eyes meeting, alarm on their faces as their minds quickly ran through the possible scenarios of facing an invisible enemy.

Glorfindel nodded, his normally calm countenance now severe.  “I want every warrior armed at all times, and that includes inside the house.  Assign guards to Elrond, Thranduil and Estel.”  He held his up hands before either Helcar or Falathar could voice their concern.  “And if either Elrond or Thranduil has a problem with that they can see me, but the guards stay!”

The younger pair simply nodded, awed by the vision of Lord Glorfindel in full warrior mode, a sight rarely seen.

“Put Curúfin on Elrond,” continued Glorfindel.  “He became used to Elrond’s arguments the last time.”

“And I have just the warrior in mind for the king,” added Falathar.

“Legolas?” questioned Glorfindel approvingly.

“Absolutely,” confirmed Falathar.  “That way I can be sure they will both be together and more easily protected.”

O-o-O-o-O

Estel giggled delightedly as Fluffy scuffled and played with his siblings.  The child was lying on his tummy playing with the kittens while Elrond and Legolas sat on a nearby marble bench.  A trellis of roses formed a canopy overhead that provided shade against the afternoon rays of Anor.  The shadows lay like pools of cool, dark water against the brightly lit areas of the garden creating a mottled look.

The kittens were rolling around in the grass in mock battle; one of them let out a squeak of protest and Estel immediately separated them, holding the victim away from the more aggressive Fluffy.  “Ouch,” cried Estel.  “You scratched me, Fa-luf-fee!”

Legolas was instantly beside Estel, examining the scratch and soothing the child.  “You must always beware when attempting to separate fighting animals, Estel, for they will often turn their attack upon you.”

Elrond chuckled softly, enjoying the sight of the prince sitting serenely in the grass, his golden tresses falling over Estel’s shoulder as the boy sat in his lap.  “You will learn, Legolas, that the normal behavior of a young boy - particularly this one, it seems - involves a considerable quantity of dirt and a complete disregard for his own safety.”

“Does that mean I don’t like to get baths, Ada?”

“Yes, Estel, it does.”

“Legolas likes to get baths; his Ada told me,” proclaimed Estel, still slightly amazed to hear that his friend actually liked getting bathed!  “And then he would run umph…”

Legolas clamped a hand over Estel’s mouth.  “That’s enough, Estel,” he said quickly, a slight blush tinting his smooth cheeks.  “I don’t believe Lord Elrond would like to hear more.”

Elrond just smiled benignly, having already heard the story of the prince’s exposed post bath adventures several times from a most impressed Estel.  Thankfully, the twins had not as yet heard the tale.

O-o-O-o-O

Erestor silently entered the library and paused, aware that he had caught Glorfindel in a rare unguarded moment.  The warrior was sitting with his head bowed, resting his eyes while his fingers massaged aching temples.  “It is not your fault, you know.”

Glorfindel’s head shot up.  “Erestor!  I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Obviously,” responded the seneschal drolly.  “I have brought you some tea, and you will take a few moments to share a cup with me.  This has been a trying day, and as I said, you could not have foreseen any of it, so don’t go blaming yourself.”

“My dear friend,” smiled the warrior, “It is like you to be concerned, but quite unnecessary, I assure you.  When have you ever known me to suffer from a deficiency of self-assurance?”

Erestor sniffed amusedly, “Never, of course, but there is always a first time.”  He sat the tray of tea and small cucumber sandwiches onto the table and took a seat across from the golden one.  “We have been through this before, and we knew that it would happen again.”

“Yes,” agreed the warrior with an uncharacteristic sigh, “though I had hoped it would not be for a long, long time to come.  It seems the darkness will never remain at rest; it ever seeks to encroach upon all that is good and light in the world.  And this time it has attacked my home and the ones I love.”  Fire smoldered behind his eyes.  “I swear to you that Imladris will not fall so long as there is breath in my body!”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 25

Decisions

“No trumpets sound when important decisions of our life are made. Destiny is made known silently.” Agnes de Mille

As the shadows of late afternoon stretched from the surrounding peaks, threatening to steal away the remaining warmth of the day, Estel shifted in Legolas’ lap and opened his eyes. The child had fallen asleep while listening to a story being told by the prince, and Legolas and Elrond had been perfectly content to remain in the garden enjoying the soft breeze and sweet scents while he napped. Intermittently Legolas would sing softly, an entrancing melody of childhood and cherished memories.

“That was a good story, Legolas,” yawned Estel, completely unaware he had been asleep for nearly two hours. Lazily he stretched his arms, a smile warming his face as he played with the strands of the prince’s hair, wrapping them round his fingers and giggling as the silky locks worked loose. Fluffy and his siblings lay snoozing nearby in a contented tangle of fur and limbs, having worn themselves out with their mock battles and succumbed to the tempting warmth of Anor.

“Thank you,” chuckled the prince. “It is always nice to have an appreciative audience.”

“Why do you wear your hair like this?” asked the child, sitting up to examine the intricate braids adorning the prince’s head.

“These braids are the warrior’s braids I earned when I reached my majority,” explained Legolas. “As an elfling I did not wear braids.”

“Nor clothes, it seems,” teased Elrond, who could not resist the gentle jibe, much to Legolas’ surprise. The elf lord rose gracefully from the marble bench where he had been lost in thoughts of the many enjoyable hours he had spent here with Celebrían. “I think it is time to go back inside, Estel. Would you care to visit your brothers with me?”

“Yes, Ada!” Estel smiled. “Hi, Curúfin! Why are you wearing your sword? Are you going to practice? Can I watch?”

The elven guard grimaced and stepped from behind the giant elm, where he had been attempting to be discreet. The prince and his lord, of course, would have known of his presence, but he had hoped to elude Estel. The last thing he wanted was to alarm the child. Apparently that was not to be a problem.

“So many questions, Estel,” he smiled, -or what was taken as a smile from the normally taciturn elf - trying hard not to notice the frown on his lord’s face. “No, I am not going to practice just now. I believe I will come with you to visit your brothers,” he finished lamely, aware that Lord Elrond’s frown was deepening the more he talked!

Thankfully, Estel seemed unaware of the added security, accepting that the elves around Imladris would have very logical reasons for their actions. Curúfin was grateful when Falathar interrupted the scene asking to speak to Prince Legolas. Shorter and more thickly muscled than was typical of Elves, Curúfin was built like a bull. His perpetual scowl completed the picture. He assumed that Falathar would now be explaining to the prince that he was being assigned to guard his father, King Thranduil.

Elrond took Estel’s hand and, with a meaningful glance at Curúfin, started walking towards the house. He knew without looking that Curúfin would be following. The elf lord hated the very thought that his home was once again under siege, but that was effectively what was happening. He knew Glorfindel well enough to know that he would have every possible protection in place for Estel and for Imladris.

O-o-O-o-O

“The road goes ever on and on, down from the door where it begins.”

The Maia rattled along in his cart singing softly to himself. Content with all around him at the moment, the wizard puffed his pipe and anticipated his visit to Imladris. It had been at least six years since he had last entered the Hidden Valley, and he very much looked forward to the outstanding hospitality of his long time friend, Elrond.

Mithrandir or grey wanderer, as he was known to the elves and the men of the south, was an enigmatic figure for many reasons. Unlike other Maia, he preferred to wander Middle Earth, never calling one particular place home. He was known by many different monikers by many different peoples…Incánus or greymantle he was known to the men of Harad; Olórin or Dreams he was known when he walked with Manwë and Varda; Gandalf or Wand Elf, he was to men and Hobbits, though he was not an elf; and Tharkûn he was called by the dwarves, not to mention also being known by such titles as Grey Pilgrim and Stormcrow.

Since coming to Middle Earth towards the end of the first millennium of the third age, Mithrandir had wandered Arda, always seeking to defeat evil and help the elves and the second born. He was not the acknowledged head of his order, that honor went to Saruman, but the wily shipwright, Cirdan, had seen and recognized the Grey Pilgrim’s worth from the very beginning. It was to Mithrandir, not Saruman, that Cirdan entrusted Varya, the Red Ring of fire, and the knowledge of the bearers of the other two rings of power, Vilya and Nenya.

Yes, Mithrandir was looking forward to his visit with Elrond, and most especially looking forward to some miruvor and good conversation. He had most recently been in the Shire, where the merry beings kept him entertained and certainly well fed, but also where conversation was often a one way affair. Elrond was the kind of host who seemed to know instinctively when his friend needed solitude and silence and when he might prefer conversation and diversion. Ah, and then there was Elrond’s library! The finest in all Middle Earth, the Maia loved to pass the hours there.

The only negative aspect that Mithrandir could see to being in Imladris was the fact that Elrond would not tolerate pipe weed being smoked in his presence or his home. Other than that, mused the gray one, Elrond was a perfect host.

Yes, Mithrandir would be at the Last Homely House by evening and able to enjoy a fine, starlit night in the hall of fire. Some good food, good wine, and good companionship were fine things, he reasoned, even if he couldn’t have his pipe.

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond had left Estel rocking in his chair telling his brothers the tale of Legolas’ after-bath exploits. The elf lord smiled to himself as he thought about the reaction that would elicit from the prince once he discovered the twins knew of his elfling misadventures.

He found Glorfindel in the library, as he expected, and joined the commander of his defenses as the warrior was studying the map.

“Surely that map has revealed all its secrets to you by now.”

Glorfindel looked up to see Elrond, followed closely by Curúfin, entering the library. “Humpf,” he inarticulately replied, satisfied to see that Curúfin was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Glorfindel had already interviewed the twins and questioned them about every last scrap of information he could think of in regards to the mysterious beings and particularly their ability to cloak themselves. He was especially interested in the fact that the twins had been addressed as “sons of Elrond.” Even now his warriors were scouring the surrounding hills looking for signs as to just how closely the beings has been to Imladris. While they could apparently mask their presence, they could not hide – or at least made no effort to hide – their boot prints. And, like all orcs, they cared little for how much plant life they destroyed as they traveled.

“How are the twins?” questioned the warrior.

“They are being told a story by Estel,” replied Elrond. His soft grey eyes warmed as he recalled the sight. “He is so proud to be the caregiver for a change, and he is taking his responsibility very seriously.”

“Were he not destined to be a king, he would make a fine healer. He has the heart for it,” observed Glorfindel.

“He will be both,” replied Elrond softly, almost sadly, for sometimes foresight was not a good thing.

Illuin appeared in the doorway. “My lord, Mithrandir has been sighted drawing near to the valley.”

“Mithrandir…here?” said Elrond.

“Yes, my lord. He should arrive by nightfall.”

“Thank you, Illuin,” replied Elrond. “Please send a guard to escort him and see that he wants for nothing.”

“Yes, my lord,” bowed the guard.

After Illuin left the room Elrond walked over to the terrace, his preferred place for deep thought. He stood silhouetted, his hands clasped behind his back. “Mithrandir has not visited since before Estel came to live here.”

Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed as he beheld the elf lord. “Surely you don’t suspect that Mithrandir is somehow complicit in what is happening now? I know that you said there was wizard’s power involved, but…”

Elrond turned, his countenance troubled and his frustration evident enough to Glorfindel. “I have formed no conclusions; I have not the evidence sufficient to do so. However, I cannot afford to take chances when one I love and the line of kings hangs in the balance.” He took a deep breath, as though waging an inner battle. “Glorfindel, ask Thranduil to join me here and then wait for me in the healing room with the twins. Ask Erestor to wait there as well, and I will meet you shortly to discuss this further.”

Glorfindel suspected there was more going on here than he would like, but nodded his acquiescence and left to do as Elrond had bid him.

A while later Elrond and Thranduil appeared at the doorway of the third flood healing rooms. The faces in the room turned expectantly at their arrival.

In the center of the room, ensconced in his rock-ing chair sat Estel. Like a king of old holding court, he was the center of attention and apparently loving every moment of it. He dearly loved all those present and liked nothing more than to share their company.

Elrond enjoyed the scene for just a moment. “Estel, King Thranduil would like to take you downstairs with him to meet Legolas. Would you go with him, please?”

Estel was delighted. He loved both Thranduil and Legolas – for love flowed freely from this little one - and would enjoy being with them. “Yes, Ada.” He turned to his brothers after crawling from the chair. “Now stay in bed and don’t get cold,” he said in his most authoritative voice, turning from one to the other and wagging his finger in an unconscious imitation of Sariboril. “I’ll be right back.”

“Come Estel,” said Thranduil, holding out his hand to the boy. “I believe Legolas is rounding up some cakes for us to eat.”

Once Estel and Thranduil were safely down the stairs, Elrond turned back to the expectant group knowing what was to come. “Estel is going to Mirkwood; he leaves within the hour.”

The resultant cacophony of protest was like being attended by a flock of magpies.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 26

Such Sweet Sorrow

“I often find myself thinking about the good times we’ve spent together…and it always gives me a happy feeling.  Because no matter how long we’re apart, or how far away you are, a very special part of you goes with me everywhere…So, instead of feeling sad about being apart, I’ll say I’m thinking of you and holding you in my heart where you belong.”  Ellen Brennaman

Elrond allowed the storm of protest to continue for some moments before raising his hands for quiet.  When the dissent did not die down, he silenced the gathering with a freezing look of disapproval. Even Glorfindel’s normally enigmatic countenance betrayed astonishment verging on awe.  “I have not made this decision lightly, but I have made it.”

There, he thought to himself, I have made myself clear to them.  This proved to be a somewhat optimistic assessment.  The chastened elves remained subdued for only a moment before the dam burst once more.

“But Ada, he’s never been away from home,” implored Elrohir.

“What if he has another night terror?” appealed Elladan.

“I would protect him with my life,” vowed Glorfindel.

Erestor looked downright pitiful.  “He will miss us!”  

Elrond listened to one and all, his heart echoing their pleas.  His soft grey eyes were warm with affection.  “I am not unsympathetic to your fears, but I believe I am acting in Estel’s best interest.” 

Erestor’s brow knotted as his mind raced. “A growing edain has specific nutritional requirements. They won’t know what to feed him!”  The seneschal was all but wringing his hands.  “I must prepare enough food to last him the entire …” he broke off, his questioning gaze seeking Elrond’s.  “How long will he be gone from us?”  He suddenly paled as a horrible thought struck him.  “What if he gets sick?”

At another time Elrond would have found humor in Erestor’s desperation, but as it was, his own heart was too careworn to find humor in anything just now.  He took a deep breath.  “Calm yourself, Erestor.  You and Sariboril are going with Estel.” 

Elrond stopped once more as the expected storm of objections broke upon his shoulders like a tempest driven tide breaks upon the shore.

“Ada, I am well enough to go with Estel,” claimed Elrohir, sitting up too quickly and promptly becoming so dizzy that he had to seek his pillow.  He was unable to stifle the slight groan the action elicited.

“I should be the one to protect Estel,” protested Glorfindel.  “After all, it is my failure that has allowed this impossible scenario to be necessary.”

“No, Glorfindel,” objected Elladan, “this is not your fault.  And besides, I am Estel’s eldest brother. I should be with him.” 

The twin was attempting to swing his legs out of the bed as Elrond’s hand landed firmly on his shoulder.   “Elladan, you will not leave that bed!  Enough of this!”

The elf lord’s patience had clearly reached its limits.  The others were still too shocked by the thought of Estel leaving to see the toll the decision was taking on Elrond.  “Erestor, make haste.  You must be well away by the west passage before Mithrandir approaches the Bruinen.”

Wide eyed, Erestor immediately started towards the door, murmuring to himself the entire way. “I will see that Estel’s things are packed as well.”

“The west passage, you say…”  Glorfindel’s attention was certainly gained by that pronouncement.

“Mithrandir?” questioned the twins as one.

“Yes, my friend, the west passage,” Elrond answered, turning first to Glorfindel.  “Since all of Thranduil’s warriors will not have had time to return from their guard duties, I would like for you and a company of riders to escort the Mirkwood contingent past the borders. I would have them well protected from any unseen enemy that might be lurking.”

“I will make preparations,” Glorfindel immediately responded, relieved to have some action he could take.  The mystery of the past few days was taking a toll on all of them as they grappled with the few facts they had concerning this new and unknown threat.

Now that he was alone with his sons, Elrond found himself very fatigued.  Picking up the green blanket, he sat down in Estel’s specially made rock-ing chair and found his heart seared anew as he breathed in the scent of his youngest still present in the soft cloth.  Forcing down his feelings, for much still remained to be done, Elrond graced his son’s with a tender look.  He turned from one son to the other.

“Elrohir, how is your head?”  He stood up and placed the palm of his hand against the scratched cheek, gauging for himself the amount of pain within Elrohir’s head.  “You should not have tried to rise,” he scolded gently.  He surrounded his son’s feä with his own, imparting healing and strength to the younger twin.  He would have preferred to send them both into a restful sleep but he knew that their hearts desired answers.

“Elladan,” he said, turning towards the troubled older twin.  “You must remain in bed with your shoulder immobile.  There was much damage done internally and undue movement will only delay your recovery.”  Again, he placed his palm to the side of a son’s cheek, sending as much comfort as he could, accepting into himself the myriad of conflicting emotions boiling within his oldest.

Elladan relaxed under the touch of his father, content for just a brief moment, to lay aside the worries and pains of the last few days and relish the feelings of love and comfort washing over him.  Quick hot tears burned his eyes, and he felt like an elfling who wanted only to run to his father and have it all made better.  Sensing the struggle within his son, Elrond withdrew his feä and bestowed a kiss to Elladan’s forehead before sitting back down in the rocker.

Giving his oldest time to recover himself, Elrond turned the rocker so that he could see both twins at once.  Elrohir shivered slightly, bringing a frown to the elf lord’s face.  He rose gracefully and tucked Estel’s blanket around the twin’s shoulders.  “After we have spoken, I will prepare tea for you both.”

For once, neither twin pretended to gag at the thought of their Ada’s tea, which would be liberally laced with a sleeping herb.  Elrohir’s large grey eyes blinked questioningly.  “Ada?  You said Mithrandir was coming?”

Elrond sat down and rocked for a moment, nodding his head - seemingly lost in thought.  Finally he roused himself.  “Mithrandir will be here before nightfall.” 

Neither twin said a word, but Elrond could easily sense their confusion, and he could not blame them.  Mithrandir was always received as an honored and welcomed guest at Imladris.  Bearer of Narya, the Ring of Fire, the beloved Maia was ever a friend and ally to the Eldar.  How could Elrond explain something that he himself did not fully understand? 

The silence grew tense as the twins eyes met.  They were beginning to see the strain etched in their father’s face.  Elrohir spoke first.

“There is no need to explain, Ada.”

“We failed to protect the valley, and Estel will be safer in Mirkwood,” choked Elladan.

Elrond smiled gently at his sons…Elrohir the peacemaker and Elladan the protector.  “Estel is not leaving because of any failure of yours or of Glorfindel’s,” he said firmly.  “Until I better understand this new threat, I feel it best to have Estel away.  For many lives of men we have protected and succored the line of kings in Imladris,” he finished, almost to himself.

“Estel is more than just a king,” whispered Elladan.

“Yes, he is,” responded Elrond.  “He is my son in every sense of the word.”

Elrohir looked from one to the other.  Concern marred his countenance. “Is it because Mithrandir has not been here since before Estel was born?” asked Elrohir.

Elrond hesitated.  “The timing of Mithrandir’s visit did raise a question in my mind, I will admit.  Coming, as it does, just after the realization that our enemy is being aided by a wizard’s power, it seems only prudent to remove Estel until I know for sure that this is truly Mithrandir and that he has not fallen into darkness.”

The twins were clearly shocked.

“Could Mithrandir be seduced by the evil one?” asked Elrohir incredulously.

Realizing how ridiculous it must sound, Elrond could only shake his head.  “It is not something that I have foreseen,” he said simply.  Yet some doubt lingered in his mind…a shadow that would not be dispelled.  He had to speak directly with Mithrandir himself to be sure.

O-o-O-o-O

 In King Thranduil’s sitting room, one floor below the healing room, Estel sat with the king and Legolas.   Cook had sent up tea, milk, strawberries and the delicate seed cakes of which Estel was so fond for the trio to share.  While Estel munched contentedly, Thranduil met his son’s eyes.

Legolas cleared his throat slightly.  “Estel, how would you like to come to Mirkwood with me?  I can show you many wonderful things in our home.”

Estel stopped chewing, not sure he had heard correctly.  Go to Mirkwood with Legolas?  It sounded like a great adventure. 

Legolas could have kicked himself.  Surely he was going about this all wrong, but he simply lacked experience with one so young.  He could not know that Estel was beside himself with excitement at the prospect of going on a real trip like his brothers.  “You would have a very good time with us, Estel,” he said hesitantly.

Estel beamed, his eyes dancing with excitement.  “I can really come…all the way to Mirkwood?  Where is Mirkwood?  Is it out of the valley?”

“It is across the mountains, young one,” said Thranduil gently.

Estel’s mouth hung open for a moment.  He had never even been out of the valley that he could remember and here he was about to go ‘across the mountains,’ wherever that was.

“Close your mouth, young one, or you might find it home to an insect,” chuckled Thranduil.

Estel quickly closed his mouth and gulped and then giggled his excitement.  “When are we going?”

“Immediately,” responded Legolas, relieved to see the child excited. 

A soft knock on the door interrupted further conversation. 

“Enter,” said Thranduil, and Erestor came into the room.  “All preparations are complete, my lord, with the exception of your things in this room.”

“Restor,” Estel exclaimed.  “We’re going to Mirkwood!” 

“I know, tithen pen,” smiled the seneschal.  “I have packed all your things.  Now we must hurry to get you changed and ready.”

A short while later all were gathered in the front hallway.  Emitting little yelps of excitement like a dog nosing out a rabbit burrow, Estel was practically dancing with anticipation as Elrond descended the stairs.  Seeing his Ada coming down the stairs in his robes brought Estel to a halt.   In his exhilaration over the proposed trip, he had not even considered that his Ada would not be coming with him. He began to realize that his brothers must surely be unable to accompany them as well.  His face fell as anxiety gripped his heart and suddenly this “adventure” did not seem quite so enticing.

Elrond, of course, noticed the change in his son’s demeanor.  Steeling himself to soothe and encourage the child, he smiled softly into the overly large, solemn eyes now looking at him.

“Ada,” Estel hesitated. “Are you not coming with me?” 

“I cannot accompany you on this adventure, Estel.”  Elrond kneeled by the boy, ostensibly straightening his travel jacket, but in reality allowing himself the joy of a few tactile moments with his youngest. “However Erestor and Sariboril are coming with you.  You will have many wonderful stories to tell us when you return.”  He continued to fuss over Estel’s clothes and hair until the boy began to squirm, as the elf lord knew he would and had counted on.  Estel hated being fussed over and this distracted him from his welling emotions, at least momentarily.

“Can I say good bye to Dan and Ro?”  A slight quiver shook his voice.

Elrond rose and took Estel’s hand.  “We must hurry, but yes, you may certainly say goodbye to your brothers.”

In the healing room on the third floor the atmosphere was somber.  Glorfindel would have said it was downright morbid as the twins lay waiting for Estel’s goodbye.  Elrond had warned them to be upbeat so as not to make the child’s departure any harder on him than it was likely to be once the fact that his father and brothers would not be with him became reality.

Legolas had already been up to assure the twins that he would remain with Estel at all times.  He had received long and detailed instructions from them on everything from Estel’s favorite games to the bedtime ritual they had with him.  Legolas would have laughed at the over-protectiveness of the pair had they not looked so pitiful. 

As Estel and Elrond entered the room, both twins forced bright smiles.  Elrond held his son’s hand a bit tighter when the child would have let loose and thrown himself into the arms of the nearest twin, in this case Elrohir.  “Remember you must be gentle, Estel.  The twins are still injured,” Elrond admonished softly.

Estel nodded gravely.  When Elrond released his hand, Estel walked slowly over to Elrohir’s bed.

“Here, pen-nîn tithen,” said Elrohir, holding out the yellow blanket, “you may need your sunshine blankey.”

Estel shook his head and eased the blanket back onto Elrohir’s chest.  “No Ro, you keep it.  It will keep you warm while I’m gone.”

“Thank you, Estel,” Elrohir managed to say.  “I will keep it with me until you return.”

Estel smiled sadly at Elrohir and then walked around his bed to reach Elladan’s.  Elladan held out the stuffed Fluffy.  “Surely you will want Fluffy to sleep with while you are away.”

Again, Estel shook his head.  “No Dan, Flu-luh-fee will sleep with you and keep you company while I’m gone.”

Elladan couldn’t take much more.  With his good arm he pulled Estel into a hug.  “Good bye, little love!”   The twin kissed the soft curls and hurriedly blinked back the tears threatening to fall.  Forcing himself to let go, he manipulated a lightness into his voice.  “You must remember everything you see and do, for El and I will want to hear it all.”

Estel smiled.  “I will.”  He brightened slightly as a thought came into his mind.   “Legolas said that they have giant spiders in Mirkwood.  Do you want me to catch one for you?”

“No!”  The room echoed as the three elves answered at once.

When he was able to gather his aplomb, Elrond cleared his throat.  “Come Estel, your brothers have some of my special tea to drink, and it is time for you to be away.”

“Have fun, Estel,” Elrohir smiled.

“Promise me you won’t go near any spiders,” Elladan called.

“I won’t” said Estel, as Elrond was leading him towards the door.  His little hand grabbed the door jam as they went out and his head popped back into the doorway.  “I love you!”

The twins lay there staring at the empty door for some moments before Elrohir turned back to Elladan.  “Have you noticed that Estel never trips over Legolas’ name?”

Elladan frowned.  “I think I’m going to kill that elf.”

Elrohir smiled to himself.  At least he still knew how to get under El’s skin.  “Don’t worry brother.  Legolas could never replace you in Estel’s affections.”

“Hrumph,” was the unintelligible sound from Elladan’s bed.  After a few moments Elladan looked over at Elrohir.  “Or you either, El.”

“Drink you tea, El.”

“I will if you will,” Elladan responded.  “At least when we’re asleep we won’t feel like this.”

Downstairs the troop was mounted and ready when Elrond led Estel outside. The afternoon shadows were reaching from the mountains towards them with lazy fingers. Thranduil, Legolas, and Erestor all offered Estel a hand up, and then eyed each other warily.  Elrond cleared his throat and moved towards Erestor.  Estel would better weather the immediate separation in the arms of one he already considered family. 

After lifting Estel to sit in front of Erestor, Elrond held his hand on the boy’s leg.  “By the time you come home, you will have been able to remove the cast.  Sariboril will tell you when the time has come.”  He paused, unconsciously delaying the dreaded parting.  “Have a wonderful time Estel, and be a good boy for me.”

“I will, Ada.”  Estel’s red rimmed eyes blinked furiously as he tried to be his Ada’s big boy.

Understanding and sharing the difficulty of the moment, Glorfindel took matters into his own hands.  “Come, Estel, ride Asfaloth for a while.”  Before Erestor could protest, Glorfindel had ridden up, swept the child into his lap, and kept going.  Better to make the break quickly and cleanly he figured.  The situation was hard enough for Estel and Elrond without prolonging the moment.  The golden elf laughed when he heard Erestor sputtering his indignation.  The merry tinkling of the bells on Asfaloth’s bridle also lightened the child’s mood.  Glorfindel could hear the rest of the troop fall into formation behind him.

When Estel tried to look back at his Ada, Glorfindel tightened his hold and prevented the motion.      The golden warrior had made the mistake of glancing back, and the look of naked misery on Elrond’s face had nearly been his undoing.  “No, little one, a warrior never looks back.”

 TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 27

There Be Monsters Here

“In peace there is nothing so becomes a man as modest stillness and humility.  But when the blast of war blows in our ears, then imitate the action of the tiger: stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood.”  William Shakespeare,  King Henry V, Act 3 Scene 1

Mithrandir rounded the last corner separating him from Imladris.  The sun was setting in a dusty haze, as across the Bruinen the torches of Imladris twinkled in the twilight.  A soft sigh of anticipation escaped the lips of the Maia as his wagon rattled over the bridge.  Behind him he could hear the hooves of his elven escort clattering on the stone.  Never before had he received an escorting guard, and his curiosity was aroused.

Elrond walked out onto the front terrace of the Last Homely House to greet the wizard as the wagon rattled to a stop in front of him.  “Mae govannen, Mithrandir, well met.  May peace be upon you.  I am sure that you are ready for a filling meal and some soothing wine after your travels.”

“Greetings, my old friend,” smiled Mithrandir.  “How is it that you always know exactly what I need?”

Elrond inclined his head and spread his arms in welcome.  “Ever have you been welcome in my home.”

The eyes of the wily Maia narrowed, as unease washed over him, but he smiled easily and descended from the wagon. “Ah,” he groaned softly, stretching his back, “would that the Valar had chosen a younger vessel for me to inhabit!  I find that the days of travel become more and more wearisome.”

The elf lord laughed softly.  “You will be roaming Middle Earth until the ending of this age.”

“Perhaps so,” agreed Mithrandir with a chuckle, “perhaps so.” 

Elrond led his guest into the hall of fire where several elves were arranging platters of food and flagons of wine. Mithrandir took the offered seat of honor sinking sank gratefully onto the soft cushions.  He noted the absence of his customary miruvor that Erestor always had waiting for him.  “Where is your seneschal?”

Elrond’s reply was delayed by just the briefest moment.  Only one who knew him well would have noticed the hesitation.  “Erestor is… away.”

“Away, you say?” drawled the wizard.  “And my old friend, Glorfindel? 

“On patrol,” answered Elrond.  The equivocation rested uneasily on his shoulders, for Elrond's preferred method of approach was always one of straightforwardness.

 The golden flower on patrol at this time of night?” asked Mithrandir, using his pet name for Glorfindel.  He is always here to meet me, if for no other reason than to argue with your seneschal and thus disturb my peace. 

“Please, Mithrandir,” said Elrond, seeking to divert his attention, “You are weary and tonight is for rest and entertainment.  Refresh yourself.  I might even be persuaded to allow you to smoke your pipe, on the terrace of course.”

That was it, the proverbial final straw, for never would Elrond allow pipe weed to foul the air of his home.  The Maia stood up and pulled himself to his full height, darkening as a storm cloud. “Sit down, Elrond,” he commanded. 

Around the hall of fire, all activity halted as startled elves stared in surprise at the wizard and their lord.  Recovering quickly, the elves quietly left the hall to grant the pair privacy.

With a quirked eyebrow, Elrond sat, feeling a bit like the twins must have felt on occasion. 

With a satisfied “hurmph,” the wizard resumed his normal hue.  Seating himself, he looked deeply into his host’s eyes.  “Are you going to tell me now what it is that is so wrong.  I have felt it since I entered the valley, and nothing I have seen or heard here this evening has alleviated my suspicion.”

Relief flooded through Elrond, for in the moment that he and Mithrandir’s eyes met, the elf lord saw all he needed to see.  This was, indeed, the friend he had known for so long. No evil dwelt in Mithrandir.  Elrond dipped his head.  Taking a deep breath, he began the tale.

Mithrandir nodded as he listened to the story beginning with the death of Belan and the orc incursions.  The Maia frowned as he learned of the attack upon the twins.  “And you sensed none of this through Vilya?”

“None,” confirmed Elrond, unconsciously fingering the ring on his finger.  “Mithrandir, the twins reported that the orcs were invisible to their eyes until they were almost upon them.”

Shock and surprise were clearly written on the wizard’s face as the implications became clear to him.

“I am ashamed to say that I doubted you,” Elrond confessed.  “Forgive me.”

Mithrandir nodded his head sagely as he considered all he had heard. Finally he fixed Elrond with a look of understanding. “I am not insulted that you showed caution under these circumstances.  Indeed, I would have expected no less.  A wise man should seek to acquire the best possible knowledge.  It is never safe for one to assume that all circumstances have remained constant.  There are times, especially now my friend, when we must release our certainties and embrace the unknown.” 

“I am grateful for your council, old friend, but there is one more thing I must tell you.”

The Maia paused for a moment, staring off into the night as though pondering the events some more as he absentmindedly stroked the gray beard resting upon his chest. Perhaps, thought Elrond, he sought to commune with the Valar, much as Elrond occasionally sought knowledge of Galadriel.  Presently the Maia spoke again, turning to Elrond with urgency.”

“Before I hear more, I must question the twins about these invisible orcs,” insisted the wizard.

“Then come,” said Elrond.  “We will see if they are awake.”

O-o-O-o-O

Estel had been transferred back to Erestor’s mount as dusk engulfed the travelers.  The darkness was not a hindrance to elven eyesight, though the guards remained on heightened alert because, after all, night was province of the orcs.  Glorfindel rode at the head of the column followed by three of his warriors.  King Thranduil and Legolas rode side by side, followed by Falathar.  Erestor and Sariboril were next, followed by the remaining six of Falathar’s troop.  Three more of the Noldor guards brought up the rear.

Falathar was anxious to be past the borders and well on the way home to Mirkwood.  He was more than ready to face the foes he was used to fighting.  He kept a wary eye on Thranduil while they rode, so he reacted immediately when the king pulled up on his reins and turned back towards him.  Falathar’s sword was drawn even as he scanned the surroundings frantically.

“Relax young one,” teased the king.  “I was only hoping that Lord Erestor would allow Estel to ride with me for a while.”

Estel’s sad eyes lit up a bit at the king’s suggestion.  “May I, Restor?”

Falathar relaxed his guard, chagrined to have over-reacted.  “I am becoming as jumpy as a novice,” he muttered, while Estel was transferred to Thranduil’s lap.  The troop continued as Legolas sang softly and Thranduil told stories to the homesick boy.  They had all taken turns attempting to buoy Estel’s spirits.

“Ada says I may not catch a spider.”

“What did you say?” asked the king, unsure he had heard correctly.

“Ada says I may not catch a spider,” Estel repeated. “I offered to bring one home.”

Thranduil chuckled.  “Mirkwood spiders are a bit larger than those of Imladris.”

Estel’s eyes grew wide, for he was curious about all living things.  “They are?”

“They are,” added Falathar.  “And they are large enough to swallow you whole, so I would not choose to venture around one.”

Estel shuddered.  “I think I want to go home.”

Legolas rolled his eyes at the chief of guards.  “You are frightening our guest,” he said, inclining his head towards the child.

“Oh?  Oh!”  Falathar finally caught on and hastened to reassure Estel. “But my warriors keep the spiders far away from our fortress, Estel.  I would never allow one near my king, or you.   I give you my word on that.” 

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond and Mithrandir walked into the healing room. The soft thumping of the wizard’s staff on the floor was all that could be heard, so silent was their approach.  The only illumination was provided by a small lamp situated on a table between the beds where the twins slept.  The draperies had been drawn back to allow the cool scents of night to refresh the air.  Soft shadows were cast by the flickering of the flame as a gentle breeze stole across the room.

Elrond could not help but smile at the sight of his son’s peaceful repose.  Even now, they still slept with the same habits they had as elflings.  Elrohir slept with nary a movement, his face serene and his covers unruffled, as though he had just retired.  Elladan, on the other hand, continually tossed and turned, wrapping his blankets around his legs.  His tangled hair fanned out across the pillow in all directions.

Completely different details were noticed by Mithrandir.  Elrohir was encased in a yellow blanket, far heavier than would normally be required, or even desired, by an elf.  And, most unexpectedly of all, Elladan slept with a stuffed animal of some kind!  There was a bizarre looking chair situated between the beds holding another blanket and a pillow.  A very small sock lay on the floor nearby.  The Maia’s eyebrows were fairly climbing his forehead as he beheld the unusual sight.

A young healer came out of the adjoining surgery, interrupting the thoughts of Elf Lord and Maia.  “My lords,” she nodded, speaking softly, so as not to disturb her sleeping patients.  “Sariboril asked me to help you attend the twins in her absence.”

Elrond’s own eyebrow hitched at the audacity of Sariboril, but he nodded pleasantly to the younger healer.  “Thank you. Since you have things well in hand, Mithrandir and I will be in the library.  Please notify us when the twins have awakened.”

The healer nodded her head and smiled.  “I will, my lord.”

“Sariboril is away too?” questioned the wizard.  “I have never known Erestor or Sariboril to leave Imladris.  Perhaps it is time you told me what else you are keeping hidden.”

“It is not a what, but rather who,” responded Elrond, stepping aside to allow the Maia to precede him from the room.   “I will have tea brought to the library and we will talk there.”

O-o-O-o-O

The inky blackness cloaked the night as the troop reached a particularly dense section of the route.  The west passage was rarely used because of its more difficult terrain.  Glorfindel trusted Asfaloth’s sure footing as he led the way.  The others horses would follow the lead of Glorfindel’s magnificent mount.

Asfaloth shook his great head and stopped.  His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air.  Alerted by his horse’s reaction, Glorfindel searched the surrounding forest for so much as a hint that anything was amiss. He could see nothing. Behind him, the riders all halted, curious as to the delay.

Estel was dozing, held securely in Thranduil’s arms.  The emotional separation from his father and brothers combined with the excitement of his first trip had exhausted the child. 

As soon as Asfaloth had paused, Falathar covertly moved his steed closer to that of Thranduil.  His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, even as his senses searched the forest sounds.  He did not like how the entourage was strung out along this steep incline.   Apparently the others guards felt the same way, for they edged their way up forming back into a more defensible position.

Not since the great battles of the second age had Thranduil felt such a prickling at the base of his neck.  He glanced down at the sleeping child in his care and pulled his cloak around to cover the boy.

The movement of the elf caught the eye of the large leader of this orc band, still hidden by magic of the wizard.  ‘A man child!  It must be the one my master has been seeking!’  A growl of pleasure rattled deep in the beast’s throat.  He would present the prize to his master himself.  Lifting his massive arm, he signaled the attack.

Even as he opened his mouth to shout the alert, Glorfindel saw the orcs burst from the forest from both sides.   “Imladris defend!” he shouted.   Striking down an orc attempting to spear him, Glorfindel wheeled Asfaloth.  “Falathar, lead your group away!”

Falathar kicked at an orc who wanted to take down his mount, and sliced off the arm of another attempting to kill Thranduil, who was busy trying to control his mount and hold onto Estel.  The king’s mount was war horse and expected to be leading the attack.  Finding himself held back was confusing the great steed so that he was, in essence, fighting with the king.

The Mirkwood guard reacted quickly to Glorfindel’s command, surrounding Thranduil and, with Falathar in the lead, led the king away from the fray.  Erestor and Sariboril were left isolated for a moment as the Imladris guards, having jumped from their horses, attempted to form a defensive perimeter. 

Legolas swung his mount around and started firing arrows at the advancing orcs.  When he had depleted all he had, he pulled his knives and started to dismount.

“No, Legolas!” shouted Glorfindel.  “Protect Estel!”

Legolas hesitated only a moment.  With a grim nod, he swung his leg back over and followed the Mirkwood guards.  It went against all his instincts to run from the fight, but he had given his word to the twins that he would not leave their brother.  He also had to consider that this might be a ruse to separate the two groups.  For all he knew there could be orcs ahead of them waiting to attack his father’s guard.

Erestor dismounted, giving his horse the freedom to fight the attackers with his hooves as trained.   The seneschal fluidly drew his sword.  Dressed for travel, in breeches and tunic rather than his customary robes, he was much better able to fight.   He turned even as three orcs rushed his position.  A swing of his sword connected with the first as he sliced downward and turned to decapitate the second. 

The third orc, however, got through his defenses and cut down Sariboril before the healer could secure her mount and retrieve some means of defense.  Sariboril’s cry alerted Erestor in time for him to dispatch the orc before he could finish off the healer. 

The Imladris guards succeeded in surrounding Erestor’s position even as Glorfindel was fighting his way in the same direction.  Dropping his sword, Erestor caught Sariboril in his arms. 

Glorfindel’s heart lurched as the caught sight of Erestor sinking to his knees.  He redoubled his efforts to reach his friend’s side. 

The huge orc leader, the hybrid experiment, growled as the man child was whisked away.  He broke off his own attack.  He had failed to bring back the child, but his master would want to know that the child had been found and was now with the light haired elves.  He would leave the orcs under his command to finish off this lot and return to Orthanc.

Legolas reached the Mirkwood guard as they broke from the forest into the large meadow marking the boundary of Imladris.  The peaceful scene of the meadow stood in sharp contrast to the scene of horror taking place in the woods behind.

Thranduil pulled on the reins, turning his horse and coming to a stop.  “Falathar, take some warriors back and help those elves!”

“My Lord!” Falathar protested.  “Your safety is my primary concern.”

Thranduil’s eyes blazed with sapphirine fire and the authority of millennia spent in command steeled his voice.  “Obey me!”

Duly chastened, Falathar chose his two best archers to accompany him back.  They could take to the trees and fire down at the orcs. 

Estel had not made a sound when awakened by the horrific screeches of the orcs.  The child now had a fist full of Thranduil’s tunic and had buried his head against the king’s chest.  The king could feel him shaking.

“Peace, little one,” he soothed, “we are safe here.”

Estel’s breathing hitched as he tried not to cry.  “Were those monsters?” he asked softly.

Thranduil frowned as he thought how best to reassure his small charge.  In many ways, Estel was blessed. He had spent most of his young life in the safety and security of Imladris surrounded by those who loved him and been spared the horrors of the life in the wild that his kinsmen lived. His innocent faith in all things good was the result.  Thranduil fervently hoped that Estel would never lose that streak of faith and at the same time wished that his Greenleaf could have been spared the harsh realities of his early life. 

The king smiled wistfully at the child.  How did one explain the concept of orcs, beings who had once been elves and now existed for the soul purpose of destruction, to one so innocent?  He supposed they really were monsters.  A phrase from a story his father used to tell him as an elfling came to his mind. ‘There be monsters here.’

Legolas watched the play of emotion on his father’s face with interest.  He made a mental note to ask his father later what he had been thinking.  He brought his horse closer.  “Estel, my adar and I will not let anything hurt you!” he promised, reaching out to pat the child’s leg.  “My adar is a mighty warrior and the best swordsman I know.”

Estel peeked out at Legolas.  “He is?”

Legolas smiled and nodded his head.  “He is!”

Thranduil met his son’s eyes and the moment shared by the two was one that would long be cherished by both of them.

In the distance the howl of a warg could be heard echoing across the meadow and Thranduil made a decision.  They could not wait here in what could be another ambush site.  He handed Estel to Legolas and drew his great golden sword to signal the remaining four of his guard.  “We ride for Mirkwood!”

 TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 28

The Littlest Lord of Imladris

“The values by which we are to survive are not rules for just and unjust conduct, but are those deeper illuminations in whose light justice and injustice, good and evil, means and ends are seen in fearful sharpness of outline.”  Jacob Bronowski

The landscape was awash in the silvery light of Ithil, lending it an air of peace which was belied by the menacing howls emanating eerily from the dark.  Hideous yowls testified that the number of wargs was increasing.

“Surround Legolas and Estel,” Thranduil commanded.  The king immediately took the lead position while the remaining four guards made a box around the prince and his small charge.

Legolas quickly turned Estel so that the child’s face was pressed against his chest.  “Wrap your arms and legs around me, tithen pen, and hold tight.  We ride hard.” 

Even as he said it, the prince realized that Estel could not wrap both arms around him because of the sling on his arm.  He wrapped an arm protectively around the boy.  Once Estel was secure, the group began to move. Already warmed from the race to escape the orc attack, the horses soon reached full speed, their hooves thundering across the meadow as the baying of the pursuing wargs drew ever closer.

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel fought his way to where Erestor cradled Sariboril’s body.  The Imladris warriors had formed a protective wall around the pair as they fought off the orcs.  Glorfindel dispatched two orcs with one mighty swing of his sword and dropped to a knee beside Erestor.

“How fare you, Erestor?”

Erestor looked up from Sariboril.  Blood trickled down his face from a nasty cut above his eye.  “I am not injured.  It is Sariboril who is badly hurt.”

Before Glorfindel could answer he heard the swish of an arrow.  “Arrows!” he called in warning to his warriors.  But the arrows were not aimed at the elves.  Glorfindel was cheered to see that the arrows were flying swift and true into the attacking orcs.  He gazed the tree line until he could spot the Mirkwood archers.  Finding Falathar’s eye, the golden one saluted. 

Glorfindel quickly selected four of his warriors to protect the wounded while the rest followed him.  With the aid of the archers, the tide of evil was quickly turned back and defeated.  Glorfindel himself dispatched the last orc to the foul abyss.

He hurried back to Erestor’s side even as his warriors and those of Mirkwood formed a defensive perimeter around the area and made sure that none of the orcs were feigning death.

Glorfindel grasped Erestor’s shoulder, lending as much support as he could.  “How is Sariboril?”

Erestor looked up with sad eyes and shook his head slightly. “She is badly wounded.  We must get her back to Elrond if she is to have any chance at all.”

Glorfindel nodded.  He unbound his belt and tunic. “Here, bind her wounds the best you can with this while we make a litter.”

Falathar approached followed by his two fellow archers.  “Lord Glorfindel, how may we help?”

Two Imladris warriors continued the making of the litter as Glorfindel turned and offered his right arm to Falathar for a warrior’s clasp.  “You have helped us greatly already, and I offer you my thanks.” 

Falathar frowned when he caught sight of the wound on the healer.  Erestor had torn Glorfindel’s tunic into long strips and was binding a vicious slash that ran from her right shoulder blade across her back to her left hip.  “My king will be grieved to learn of the healer’s injuries.”

He hesitated when he looked back to the golden warrior and beheld Glorfindel’s conflicted countenance.   “My Lord?”

Glorfindel was torn, needing to assure himself that Thranduil had reached safety with Estel, yet clearly being needed here to see that the wounded could be safely transported back to Imladris and medical care. He struggled to know upon which path his duty was bound.  He stepped away from the elves…separating himself so that he might search his heart.

After a moment, the golden warrior walked back over to stand before Falathar. “One more thing I would ask of you, young one.  I would have you return to your king and protect the littlest Lord of Imladris.”

But for the seriousness of this one’s plea, Falathar would have smiled at the sentiment of the statement.  It was only too clear how dear the child was to all who dwelt within the hidden valley.  “Lord Estel will be well protected, my Lord. I give you my word as a warrior of Mirkwood.” 

The two warriors behind Falathar nodded their confirmation as well.  All three young elves were honored to pledge this oath to the legend standing before them.

Glorfindel looked deeply into each set of eyes and slowly dipped his head.  These warriors would protect Estel with their lives, of that he had no doubt.  “Then go swiftly.  I will carry your assurances to my Lord that his son is well protected.”

With salutes, the three Mirkwood archers withdrew.

Glorfindel surveyed the scene.  “Beling, take Sariboril.”  

Erestor reluctantly handed over care of the healer to the warrior and glanced questioningly at Glorfindel, who had knelt beside him.

Glorfindel picked up one of the remaining strips of his tunic.  “Here, stubborn one, give me your arm.” 

Erestor looked down at his forearm.  Blood poured from a wound he was not sure he even realized that he had, so numb was he from the suddenness of the attack and the resulting battle.  He held out his arm and winced as pain began to manifest itself in the site.

Tenderly but firmly, Glorfindel began to wrap the strip around the gash, binding the wound and stemming the blood flow.   Already the edges had begun to turn black and swell.  “The blade that struck this wound was poisoned.  We must get you back to Imladris quickly.”

O-o-O-o-O

Instead of stopping in the library as originally planned, Elrond opted to lead Mithrandir out to the gazebo adjoining the terrace.  The flames flickered as the hanging lamps swayed gently in the night breeze, and shadows gathered, as if darkness were hungry for the light. 

Elrond stood at the carved wooden rail looking out into the night, his thoughts with the troop leaving the valley. 

Mithrandir’s eyebrows knotted as he stood watching the Elf Lord’s back.  For Elrond to be this concerned, the news must be grave.  “Why don’t you just tell me your news, Elrond?”

Elrond turned back to the Maia.  “Arathorn is dead.”

Mithrandir sat down, his shoulders sagging.  “So the line of kings has ended.  This is grave news, indeed.”

“The line has not ended,” said Elrond softly.  He walked over to sit beside the wizard as an elleth walked through the library door with a tray bearing a two cups and a decanter of miruvor.  The Elf Lord lifted an eyebrow at the substitution, but nodded to the elleth and asked her to thank cook.

Elrond gave Mithrandir a wry look.  “Perhaps this is a better choice than the tea after all.”

“I can certainly use it,” remarked Mithrandir, fingering the empty pipe carried deep within a pocket of his robe.  “And you were going to tell me about the line of Elendil.” 

Elrond picked up the two cups and handed one to Mithrandir.  “Arathorn’s wife and young son were brought here to live.  Sadly, Gilraen died soon afterwards.”

“And the boy?” asked Mithrandir, unconsciously holding his breath.

“I have adopted him as my own,” said Elrond.  “We call him Estel.”

“Estel,” breathed Mithrandir, “Estel…how very appropriate.”  The wizard chuckled softly.  “That explains the blanket and stuffed animal I saw in the healing wing.”

Elrond smiled gently, his eyes far away.  “Estel brought items dear to his heart to comfort his brothers.” 

“Speaking of the twins,” coughed Mithrandir, “I have not heard tales of their legendary orc hunts of late.  The ‘duo of death’ I believe the young Silvans call them?”

Elrond regarded the Istari with amusement in his eyes. “That is because they had not felt the need for their legendary orc hunts…of late.”

“I see,” responded Mithrandir, not really seeing at all, so he changed the subject back the one most pressing.  “You have succored many of the line of kings here in Imladris, yet never before has one been claimed as a son of Elrond.  Why this one?”

Elrond stared into his cup for a moment before raising his eyes.  “This one is special.”

“Oh? And when might I meet this special hope?”

“He is not here,” said Elrond evenly.  “When I learned of your approach, I sent him to Mirkwood in the company of King Thranduil and Prince Legolas.”

“I…see,” said Mithrandir thoughtfully.  “Better to send the child away until you could ascertain my allegiance?”  

“Mithrandir…”

The wizard held up his hand forestalling any further apology.  “The important thing now is for us to protect this child.  Perhaps I should ride to Orthanc to confer with Saruman.”

Elrond could not suppress the shiver that seemed to begin at Vilya, running up his arm and down his spine.  “For now, let us keep our own council, my friend.” 

Almost simultaneously, Mithrandir glanced down at Narya, a slight frown on his face. The Maia took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. He did not completely understand the feeling of caution that suddenly descended upon him, but he accepted its validity.  “Very well,” he nodded.  “We must look for answers without revealing the location of Elendil’s heir.”

“More than that, Mithrandir,” Elrond insisted.  “I feel very strongly that Estel’s very existence should remain known to as few as possible.  Even Thranduil and Prince Legolas do not know his true identity.”

A thrill of concern raced through the Maia’s veins.  “They do not know the importance of who they protect?  That is troubling.”

“They know they protect my son,” said Elrond.  “Had I not confidence in their ability to see that no harm befalls him, I would never have allowed Estel to go.”

“Thranduil has ever been rash,” pressed the wizard.  “And his dislike of the edain is widely known.”

“Thanduil is not so rash as he allows others to think,” said Elrond.  “And so far as his dislike of edain goes,” the elf could not suppress a small smile, “that was before he fell under the spell of the hope of man.”

“I am anxious to meet the adan who could charm Thranduil. Why not go after him?” suggested Mithrandir.  “Now that you know I am not in league with the enemy, you could catch him before the Mirkwood party reaches the mountain passes.”

 Elrond came to his feet, pacing the small gazebo, speaking almost to himself.  “The season is late.  The passes will close soon and I will be away from my youngest until the spring.  I could send Glorfindel back out to see that Estel, Erestor and Sariboril return, but the question of the orcs and how they are invisible remains unanswered.”

“Yes, it does,” nodded Mithrandir.  “We must know by what power the orcs are cloaked.”

Elrond stopped his pacing to look at the Istari.  “Mithrandir, what of the Ithryn Luin…the Blue Wizards…could they be involved?”   

“Alatar and Pallando?”  The Maia unconsciously stroked his beard, deep in thought.  “No word has come of them since they traveled to the east.  My heart tells me no, but I cannot rule out the possibility. Whatever the case, the orcs are not cloaking themselves, and that is a certainty.”  He sighed deeply.  “There is more a play here than we know.  We must proceed with caution.”

Elrond nodded.  “And so Estel must be safely away.  If the dark one suspects that the heir of Elendil is here, then let us keep his eye fixed on Imladris and away from Mirkwood.”

“I fear there is evil enough to reach all the elven kingdoms,” said Gandalf.

O-o-O-o-O

The incessant baying of the wargs drawing ever closer bore witness that outrunning the beasts would be impossible.  Gauging the distance to the edge of the meadow, Thranduil sought a means of defense.  They were too few to face wargs on their own territory, and even had he been inclined to do so, he would not take such risks with Estel.  He had to find a way to negate the advantage of the wargs.

As they raced into the forest, Thranduil pulled up on his horse.  He chose the largest oak and pointed.  “To the trees!”

Legolas pulled up beside his father.  “Here, Adar, take Estel!” 

Thranduil took the boy into his arms as Legolas stood up on his horse’s back and gracefully leapt onto the lowest tree limb where he turned and reached back.  Thranduil easily lifted Estel up towards his son.  “Be careful of his broken arm, Legolas.”

Legolas pulled Estel into his arms and carried him further up the tree and out of the way of his Adar and the other four warriors.  “You’re not afraid to be this high, are you, tithen pen?”

The wargs burst from the clearing and were enraged to find their prey above them.  The elven horses were now well out of range, so the beasts circled the great tree, their deafening howls piercing the night.

Thranduil was amazed to see that nearly thirty of the animals had been in pursuit.  They literally fell all over themselves jumping up and trying to snare their meal, their huge jaws snapping with thunderous force. A particularly large male growled at the king, the deep rumble in his chest fairly shaking the leaves. “You shall not have me this night!” laughed the king, pulling an arrow from his quiver.

Estel had said not a word for so long that Legolas feared the shock of all that had befallen them in such a short time was beginning to adversely affect the child.

Legolas propped himself against the trunk of the tree so that he could shift Estel to look into his face.  “Estel,” he said gently.  “I will not let you fall and the wargs will not get to you here.”

Estel’s eyes spoke volumes as a soft whimper escaped him.  He laid his head against Legolas’ chest and his good arm wrapped around the prince’s neck.  “Make them go away, Legolas”

The prince breathed a sigh of relief to hear the child speak.  “We will, little one, I promise!”

Even as the prince spoke, King Thranduil and the Mirkwood archers were raining down death upon the wargs.  Some of the beasts, maddened by the scent of blood, began ripping at the bodies of the wargs already fallen under the lethal flow of arrows. 

“Disgusting creatures,” sniffed Thranduil as he dispatched another.  “Curious,” he observed to no one in particular.  “Warg packs do not normally grow so large.” 

Warg packs normally consisted of a dominant male, five or six females and their various cubs.  A male cub, upon reaching maturity, could either challenge the pack leader or, as was more often the case, find himself driven off to gather up his own brood of females. Territories were strictly guarded to retain sufficient food sources for the pack.

Finally the last of the wargs was killed, leaving a huge pile of stinking carcasses underneath the tree.  Thranduil placed his hand against the ancient oak, seeking out the life force within.  He apologized to the tree for leaving such a reeking mess to befoul the air, but he dared not delay their departure.  The king whistled for his horse, who he knew would be close enough to hear.

“Come,” said Thranduil.  “We must be well away from this place before the stench of blood draws more enemies down upon us.”

“What of our warriors, my king?” asked one of the archers, whose brother had been one chosen to accompany Falathar.

“They will follow,” replied Thranduil.  “Falathar knows we will stop ahead to wait for them.  The horses will need water and the child will need rest.  Besides, we needs find a defensible place to camp until the rest of our warriors from Imladris join us.  I would not risk taking Estel through the mountain passage without a sufficient force.

“Legolas,” Thranduil called softly up the tree.  “How is Estel?”

“He will be better when we are away from this place,” said Legolas, shifting his grip on Estel so that he could climb down to join his adar. 

Thranduil reached out to pat Estel on the back.  “Quite an adventure you are having, young one!”

Estel looked from Thranduil to Legolas.  “Can we go home now?”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 29

Of Kings and Elf Lords

“In the end, the shadow is only a small and passing thing; there is light and high beauty forever beyond its reach.” J.R.R. Tolkien

“Can we go home now?”

Legolas looked from Estel to his father, quite unsure of what to say to the child.  All around them was the stench of blood and death.  Outside the protected valley the air was decidedly cooler and the breeze singing through the trees brought a chill to the child.

“Give him to me, Greenleaf,” said Thranduil, holding out his arms. 

Legolas handed over the precious bundle to his Adar and then pulled off his cloak to wrap around Estel for added warmth.  Surely this was a time that a father’s wisdom was needed.  The prince felt decidedly out of his element.  He had, of course, spent a good deal of time with Estel, especially on this trip, but he was still woefully unprepared for all of the emotions of a four year old and the nurturing of such. 

“Do not look, Estel,” Thranduil cautioned the boy as he stepped around a particularly grisly carcass.  “We will be away from here soon.”

“Are we going home?”  The excitement in Estel’s voice was evident, even muffled as it was against the king’s shoulder, where the child had hidden his eyes.

“No, we are not.”  Thranduil felt the boy tighten up, and he automatically began to rub small, soothing circles on his back.   After a moment he stopped.  “Estel, look at me.”

Estel pulled away from the king’s shoulder where he had taken refuge from the scary sight of the dead things.  His eyes automatically drifted towards the carnage.

“No,” commanded the king softly.  “Look at me, not the wargs.”

Wargs…so that is what they were called.  His bottom lip quivered as he struggled not to cry, for he felt sure that his brothers would want him not to cry.  He concentrated on blinking his eyes to keep any of the tell tale moisture from escaping.

Thranduil wanted to hug Estel tight and cosset him until the fear left, but there was not time.  “You are being very brave, Estel…as brave as any of my warriors.  Do not falter now.”

“Do warriors ever get scared?” Estel murmured.

“Yes, child,” smiled the king.  “Even the bravest warrior can know fear.  Now, I must ask you to have courage a bit longer.  Can you do that for me?”  His compelling voice was melodious, even for an elf.

Estel nodded his head solemnly.  Legolas’ Adar was strong…almost as strong as his Ada, and the child instinctively knew he could trust him.  Estel wanted to make his Ada and brothers proud, but he sure wished Glorfy and Restor were here.  

“Good,” replied the king.  “Now put your head back down and close your eyes until we are away from this drear place.”  He pulled the cloak up to cover Estel’s face, lest temptation overtake him once again, and walked back over to where Legolas was talking with the others. 

Legolas led his father a few steps away from the four warriors and spoke softly, but urgently.  “Adar, how can we leave these wargs like this?”

Thranduil knew that stubborn look in his son’s eye.  Elves were loath to leave the dead – of any variety - unattended, Legolas especially so, but there were times it was just not feasible to do otherwise.   

“What do you suggest we do with them, Legolas?”  Thranduil kept his voice mild for Estel’s sake, but the monarch was beginning to become irritated.  The informality of Imladris had infiltrated his warriors and his son, and he was not pleased.  Elrond could run his realm in whatever manner seemed best to him, but Thranduil knew only one way to hold his people together, and that was by the force of his will.

“Can we not burn them?” asked Legolas.  “Foul beings will be attracted to this carrion.  Falathar, Túrelio and Alma will follow and be caught unawares.”

“That is a valid argument, but we cannot burn them here under the trees, and there are too few of us to drag them away.  Each of these wargs weighs as much as your stallion!”  Thranduil was as grieved as anyone to leave without cleaning up the foul, stinking bodies, but their options were few, and time was their enemy this night. A regal lift of the king’s chin cut off any argument Legolas might have considered making. 

“Forgive me, Adar,” Legolas immediately apologized, berating himself mentally.  They were in a dangerous position and in possession of a child to protect.

His son’s bowed head softened his heart.  “Greenleaf, think you that I desire to leave these ancients so defiled? Feel the wind; this scent will be carried far.  If we remain here we could find ourselves encompassed by a new enemy.”  Thranduil glanced up to the tree that had sheltered them and sighed deeply.  Looking past Legolas’ shoulder, he called to the nearest warrior.  “Táron, as soon as we have found a defensible place to camp, you will ride back to meet your brother and the warriors with him.  Lead them well around this place for it will be dangerous.”

Táron could not hide the relief reflected upon his face. “Aye, my king, it shall be as you say.”

The elven horses were hesitant to venture too close to the warg bodies, but a sharp whistle from Thranduil brought his steed to his side, and the others obediently, if reluctantly, followed.  The king waited for his son to mount, and then handed Estel up to him.

“We have tarried here too long,” announced Thranduil. “We ride now.”

O-o-O-o-O

It was barely two hours before the dawn, the time of night when the world seemed to still itself as though gathering strength to embark upon a new day.  The only sound was the whisper of the wind through the leaves.

Elrond and Mithrandir still sat in the gazebo, the empty decanter between them. For hours they had discussed and studied the situation from every conceivable angle, but were as yet unable to draw any conclusions.  Now they had grown quiet and contemplative, each lost in his own thoughts.

The clatter of horses crossing the bridge interrupted their reflection.

Elrond idly watched as the contingent rode into the yard, stopping not at the stables as expected, but coming straight towards the house led by Glorfindel.  That did not bode well.  The Elf Lord’s heart gave a lurch as he spied Erestor, who was supposed to be on his way to Mirkwood.  Quickly, he scanned the group…half relieved and half disappointed not to see Estel.

Glorfindel jumped from his horse as Elrond and the Maia were making their way to greet the warriors.  He reached Beling’s side, and the young guard handed down the healer to his commander.  Erestor had wanted to carry Sariboril himself so that he could monitor her condition, but Glorfindel insisted that Beling carry her.

“Beling, help Lord Erestor to the healing wing,” commanded Glorfindel, as he turned and started towards the front steps with Sariboril.

The seneschal’s arm was unbearably painful now…red, swollen, and throbbing beneath the wrapping Glorfindel had applied.  Though he had not said anything about it, Erestor’s vision was compromised as well.  He went from blurred to tunnel vision and back to almost normal again with alarming frequency.  A few times he swayed precariously on his mount, but Glorfindel had always been there to steady him.

Elrond, Mithrandir, and Glorfindel reached the front steps at the same time.

“Ambushed,” Glorfindel glowered. “Estel was riding with King Thranduil.  We held them off while the Mirkwood warriors surrounded the king and rode to safety.

“Are you sure they cleared the valley?”  Elrond pressed as they walked.

“Yes,” nodded Glorfindel.  “Thranduil sent back archers to relieve us.  Sariboril and Erestor were wounded early in the attack and unable to leave with the Mirkwood warriors.  Her injuries are bad, though the wound does not appear to have been made by a poisoned blade, unlike the one to Erestor.”

Elrond followed Glorfindel into the house, stopping only long enough to summon more healers.  “Take them both to the healing wing. I will attend them there.” 

Mithrandir intercepted Beling, who was assisting Erestor towards the house.  “I will take him.”

Beling hesitated only a moment before bowing to the Maia.

 Holding the seneschal’s arm to steady him as well as to keep the wound elevated, Mithrandir supported Erestor as they navigated the steps.  “I am very happy to see you again, old friend, but not under these circumstances.”

“Mithrandir…when, how?”  A fine sheen covered the seneschal’s waxy face and he stumbled slightly, leaning more heavily into the Maia’s side. 

“Steady,” soothed Mithrandir. “Just lean on me, Erestor, we are almost there.”

Glorfindel placed Sariboril face down on an examining bed while Elrond washed his hands and donned a healer’s smock.  The golden warrior began to cut the bandages from the healer, exposing the vicious cut running across her back.  While dirty and raw, it showed no signs of orc poisoning.

“What shall I do with this one?” asked Mithrandir, leading the increasingly wobbly Erestor into the room.

“Put him on the closest bed,” responded Elrond.  “He looks ready to drop.”

By this time the other healers were making their way into the room.  Merileth, Sariboril’s chief apprentice, assumed command with a coolness that would have pleased her mentor.  “If you please, Lord Elrond, see to the seneschal and I will attend Mistress Sariboril.  I will summon you when the surgery is prepared.”

His eyebrow twitched at the dismissal, but Elrond was relieved and grateful for such competent assistance, which would allow him the opportunity to more closely assess Erestor, whose condition appeared to be deteriorating.  He only hoped that the young healer could find what she needed in that pit of Udûn that Sariboril called an apothecary.  “Very well, Merileth, I will be ready.”

Turning back towards Erestor, Elrond frowned at the fevered look on the seneschal’s face.  “Glorfindel, take him upstairs to my rooms. I will need my own apothecary to deal with this.” 

As Mithrandir helped Erestor to stand, Glorfindel swooped the weakly protesting elf into his arms and strode from the room.

“I can walk,” Erestor insisted.

“Stubborn elf,” grumbled Glorfindel.

The Maia could not help but chuckle as he followed along in their wake shaking his head.  They were like an old married couple, these two.  Oh, but this was turning into an interesting visit.

Hot water was being carried into the healing room from the kitchens.  Elrond stopped one of the elves carrying out this duty and requested some for the family surgery.

“Cook has already orderedthe water delivered to your healing wing, my lord,” said the elf.  He could not help but smile.  “Any time there is an injury in Imladris she has water sent to the third floor.  Cooks says, ‘with the twins around it is always best to be prepared.’”

Elrond inclined his head in thanks.  “Give cook my compliments, please.”  He hurried to follow Glorfindel and Erestor; mentally estimating the time it would take to tend Erestor and return here for the surgery to Sariboril.  If need be, Glorfindel could tend Erestor once Elrond had prepared the proper herbal treatment to counteract the poison.  

Glorfindel ascended the steps in record time.  As he carried Erestor into the family healing wing, the activity roused the twins from their herb induced sleep.  Elrohir blinked his eyes several times as though trying to clear them.  Elladan, on the other hand, looked murderous when he beheld the wounded seneschal.

Glorfindel walked past the beds and into the smaller surgery.  Lord Elrond’s apothecary was in a smaller area accessible from either room.

Even as Elladan was swinging his legs from the bed, intent upon donning his clothes and going after Estel, Lord Elrond swept into the room.

“Elladan, back into bed!”

“I must go after Estel!” slurred the twin, still heavily drugged.

Elrond stepped over to the bed to reassure his sons.  “Estel is safe with King Thranduil and Legolas.”  He put one hand on Elladan’s shoulder and caressed his son’s cheek with the other.  Not above using a father’s tools at need, he surrounded his son’s feä with his own and gently urged him into sleep.  “Lie back now. Rest . All is well.”

As Elladan drifted into sleep, the Elf Lord turned to Elrohir, who was still furiously blinking his eyes in a futile attempt to clear both them and his thoughts.  Stroking the younger twin’s forehead he repeated the process, taking the time to gently probe and assess the swelling over Elrohir’s eye.  “Sleep, my son.”

Assured the twins were once more in a healing sleep, Elrond walked quickly into his apothecary. Though smaller, it was identical in shape to Sariboril’s on the first floor.  However, it was as neat and tidy as Sariboril’s was messy.  Elrond was nothing if not a creature of meticulous calculation and order.  Were he blindfolded; he could still place his hands unerringly on any herb or potion he needed.  Ironically, Sariboril would stubbornly claim the same.

As Elrond methodically mixed the poultice his mind was on the first floor with his healer.  She had been a resident of Imladris since the earliest days and had worked side by side with Elrond during the dark days of siege.  Her skill was without question, and his command had placed her in peril.

While Elrond mixed the herbs, Glorfindel bathed Erestor’s wounds.  A veteran of countless battles, the golden one was well versed in administering battlefield dressings.  He efficiently bandaged the cut above Erestor’s eye. Working on the more grievous wound to his arm would have to wait until after he had been eased into sleep by Elrond’s potion. 

Mithrandir did what he could to help Glorfindel, adding comments and calming Erestor.  The seneschal was beside himself with guilt over Estel now being well on his way to Mirkwood with no one from his home to accompany him. 

“If I know Thranduil,” soothed the Maia, “he will outdo himself in seeing that Estel is well cared for, if for no other reason than to out shine Elrond.”

Erestor, who was sitting on the surgery table clad only in his leggings, closed his eyes as another wave of dizziness overcame him.  He rested his head on Glorfindel’s shoulder in a futile attempt to restore his equilibrium. 

“Enough,” growled Glorfindel.  “You will lie back…now.”

Still fighting the dizziness, Erestor allowed himself to be lowered onto his back.

O-o-O-o-O

Illuin had ridden through the night to reach the furthest southern point of the valley.  This was the area he and his scouts were to monitor.  Illuin had been commander of the border defenses for many years, and he knew every step of it.  When the mystery of the “invisible” orcs had become evident, he remapped every single patrol utilizing the Mirkwood warriors to keep guard over the inner valley while his own were freed to branch out closer to the outer border.

When King Thranduil left so precipitously, Illuin sent runners to summon all the Mirkwood warriors toImladris.  They would be required to work through the night in order to prepare for departure at first light.  By riding hard they should be able to overtake the king’s contingent by afternoon.  The elf did not like to contemplate the hazards that would face too small a party attempting the mountain passage to the High Pass, and on to the Old Forest Road leading through Mirkwood.  He shivered at the thought of Estel being carried so far away and into such a dark land, but he had faith in Lord Elrond’s wisdom.

The commander knelt on the foamy ground checking for prints.  A soft whistle drew his attention, and he gave the answering call.  An elf dropped from a tree a good distance away and trotted over to where Illuin still knelt.

Illuin rose to greet the scout.  “Report.”

“A party of elves approaches from the south,” the elf said.

Illuin knew that Thranduil’s party left through the western pass, so it would be impossible for it to be the king’s warriors.  “Identity?” demanded Illuin.

“They bear the banners of Lórien,” answered the scout.

“Lórien!”exclaimed Illuin.  Now this was an interesting development.  Lord Celeborn normally sent messengers ahead when he and the Lady of Light were planning a visit.  The elf knew of no such correspondence reaching Imladris.  The commander hoped that no ill news concerning the Lord’s daughter was being born towards Imladris.  Lord Elrond did not need to hear any more bad news.

“Yes, commander,” affirmed the scout, interrupting Illuin’s contemplation.  “I judge them to be a good two hours from our borders.”

Illuin nodded thoughtfully.  “I will wait for them here and lead the escort.  Sound the alarms…summon our warriors. I want every step they take on our lands to be protected.  I will not allow any more grief to befall our lord.”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 30

Let Not Your Heart Be Troubled

“Worry does not empty tomorrow of its sorrow; it empties today of its strength.”  Corrie Ten Boom

For the remainder of the night and into the morning Elrond battled to save Sariboril’s life.  The surgery was finally completed and the master healer lay sleeping in the healing wing where she had spent so many centuries saving lives.  Her apprentices, Merileth in particular, were more than capable of caring for her now, so Elrond discarded the surgical smock he had been wearing and made his way upstairs to look in on Erestor and his sons..

The twins were awake when Elrond walked into the third floor healing room.  They were both sitting up in bed speaking softly with Mithrandir, who had decided that Estel’s rock-ing chair was quite a marvelous thing.  Elrond paused to relish the sight of his sons awake and animated.  Mithrandir was chuckling as the twins related the story of the night Thranduil met Estel and the horses burst into the Hall of Fire causing the pea soup to be thrown over two tables of elves. 

“Oh, oh ho, how I wish I had seen that sight.  Three horses you say?”  Mithrandir asked with a laugh.

“And Fluffy,” added Elrohir, “do not forget Fluffy.”

The Maia looked up at Elrond, his eyes twinkling in merriment. “I do not remember events in the Hall of Fire being quite so…”

“Chaotic?” supplied the Elf Lord ruefully.

“Entertaining, I was going to say,” reproved Mithrandir with a chuckle.  “Ah,” he added with a contented sigh, “why have I never before discovered one of these delightful chairs?”

“Glorfindel made it so that we could rock Estel when he was younger,” explained Elladan.  “It did not take us long to discover that the motion soothed him and helped him drift off to sleep.”

“An important thing, with young ones,” nodded the Istari.  “I remember a pair of mischievous elflings who were active day and night.  No doubt your Adar and Naneth could have used this chair then!”

“I cannot imagine of whom you speak,” replied Elladan with mock indignation.  He frowned, noticing the look on Elrohir’s face.  “What is wrong, El?”

Elladan’s question to his twin drew Elrond’s attention to Elrohir, and he looked more closely at his son.  “Is your head hurting, Elrohir?”

“Only a bit, Ada,” confessed the twin, offering a weak smile to confirm the admission.

“Please lie back down,” instructed Elrond, walking over to Elrohir’s bedside.  He ran his fingers through Elrohir’s hair to relax his son as he studied the swelling over the twin’s eye.  “I came to check Erestor’s condition.  I will make you something to ease the pain in your head while I am here.”   

Erestor was sleeping in the bed closest to the surgery.  The soft talking would not disturb his rest because he had been given a rather strong sleeping draught by Elrond.  The seneschal’s arm had required a great deal of painstaking attention to detail as every bit of the blackened skin was carefully cut away.  After the deadened skin was debrided to remove any foreign matter that might impede healing, a strong poultice was applied to stop the spread of any remaining poison.  Finally the arm was securely wrapped to hold the edges as close as possible until healing could begin to take place.

Moving to Erestor’s bed Elrond felt the seneschal’s forehead.  He was gratified to find it cool, and he watched for a moment as Erestor’s chest rose and fell in steady rhythm. The natural healing ability of the elves was asserting itself already. 

“How is he, Ada?” asked Elladan, concern making his voice husky.

“He is resting comfortably, Elladan.”  Elrond continued to look at his friend and counselor for a few more seconds, realizing how quickly he could have been gone from their lives and the emptiness his death would leave.  Then he looked up to Elladan with a reassuring smile.  “He should wake soon.” 

Elrond frowned slightly at the wince he noticed Elladan attempt to hide from him as the twin shifted his shoulder. 

“Is your shoulder causing you discomfort?” asked the Elf Lord.

Elladan avoided looking at his father while he tried desperately to think of something with which to divert Elrond’s attention and thus save himself from being required to answer the question.

“Elladan…”  The Elf Lord crossed his arms, prepared to wait millennia if that is what it took.  He schooled his features to show none of the amusement he felt as he watched his eldest squirm.

“It does hurt some, Ada,” he finally admitted with a reluctant sigh, “and my hand feels weak.”   Troubled, questioning eyes sought his father, and Elrond could see the elfling he had been in that look, always trying to be the strong one and never admit to any weakness. 

Sitting on the bed beside his oldest he adjusted the wrapping over his son’s shoulder and then cupped the twin’s cheek with his hand.  “Elladan, your wound was very serious.  There has been an insufficient amount of time for it to heal.  You must be patient…and tell me when you are in pain.  You have enough experience in healing to know that pain will only impede your recovery.”

“Well,” said Mithrandir, sensing the twins might need some private time with their father, “I believe I shall take a stroll through your garden.”  He rose from the rock-ing chair and patted each twin on the leg.  “I should like to hear some more of your delightful stories when I return, but for now, do as your father says and rest.”

Elrohir waited until Mithrandir was leaving the doorway to call softly, “Enjoy your pipe, Mithrandir!”

The Maia turned with great dignity and gave the twin a wink.  “You always were a troublesome elfling, Elrohir Elrondion.”

Oblivious to his twin’s teasing of the Maia, Elladan continued to search his father’s eyes, his concern shifting to his little brother.  “Ada, what about Estel?  Can we not send warriors after him?”

Elrond moved into the rocking chair so that he could address both his sons.  He closed his eyes briefly and rocked back in the chair.  Momentarily he leaned forward meeting first one set of eyes and then the other.  “I could send our warriors after Estel,” he conceded, “but I will not.  Much as it pains me to say it, until we can determine some defense against this new evil, Estel is safer away from here.”

“He left his blankey and Fluffy,” said Elrohir forlornly. 

“He made a choice from his heart,” observed Elrond fondly, reaching out to stroke the blanket, “and sacrificed for ones he loves.  Do not lessen that act by regret.”

Elrohir pulled the yellow blanket up to his chest, hugging it as he would his brother.  “It still carries his scent,” he smiled.  “We will keep them safe until he returns.”  

“But Ada,” Elladan continued, “what if…”  He could not finish the question.  Embarrassed to be losing his composure, Elladan bit his lip and looked away until his father’s earnest voice impelled him to look back.

“Let not your heart be troubled, for it will rob you of the strength you need to recover.”  Elrond looked from one twin to the other, the wisdom of the ages reflected in his eyes.  His face was as grave as they could ever remember it being, and the fire burning within his heart was laid open before them.  “Make no mistake, my sons,” vowed the Elf Lord, “we will defeat this evil and bring Estel home.”

O-o-O-o-O

Thranduil breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the first tendrils of light grace the eastern sky with a gentle kiss of mauve.  He had walked away from the others seeking solitary refuge in order to clear his mind and order his thoughts after the events of the night.  One of Thranduil’s warriors kept the king within sight while still giving his monarch the isolation he sought.  For several hours the guard kept his vigil as Thranduil sat on a lonely rock overlooking the horses grazing in the meadow below him. 

As he did each morning, Thranduil bade farewell to the slowly fading stars and offered thanks to Elbereth for the blessings of a new day.  He rose from his reverie and walked over to where Estel lay sleeping curled up against Legolas.  They dared not light a fire, so when the night had grown colder, the prince pulled the child into his warming embrace. 

His warriors were ever vigilant, but with the coming of dawn the orcs would be taking to ground and the threat would lessen.  They had ridden far, coming to the foothills of the Misty Mountains before the king felt they had found a tenable position to defend.  Estel had been beyond exhaustion by then, and, as soon as a small pallet had been made for him, had dropped right off to sleep with his fingers wrapped around Legolas’ thumb.  Seeing Estel grasp his son’s thumb reminded the king that he had never had the chance to ask Elrond what significance this might hold for edain children.

Edain children…there was much for the king to consider.  Without Erestor and Sariboril, they were at a distinct disadvantage.  Humans had no place in Mirkwood.  Would they know the proper food to feed the child?  What if he became ill?  Unlike the last homely house, the cavern fortress was not designed with the needs of other races in mind. 

Taking off his cloak, the king sat down beside where his son lay curled around the tiny being and added his cloak to the one already covering the boy.  His hand lingered on the child and then moved to smooth the hair back from his forehead in a motion common to fathers of all time. 

“Legolas, you have spent more time with Estel than any of the rest of us.  What supplies will we need to properly care for an adan?”

“I have been giving that question much thought, Adar,” replied Legolas, shifting so that he could sit up and speak with his father without waking Estel.  “The season is growing late, and soon the snows will come.”  “We will need warm blankets for his bed.  My rooms are the closest to the underground springs and therefore the warmest, so he should stay with me.  It is also fitting because I will be the closest tie he has to home.  I fear he will feel alone in a strange new place.”

“I agree,” concurred the king, watching the child sleep peacefully.  “And I will send our first healer to Lake Town to seek out those of the edain.  We will petition them for the proper care of an adan.”

Legolas could not help but chuckle.  “That should certainly elicit comment from the town fathers!  Thranduil of Mirkwood asking them for advice, and about their own kind, no less!”

“It will do them good to be confounded,” chortled Thranduil. 

“Will the healer explain why he is in need of such knowledge?” asked Legolas, wondering about the advisability of anyone outside Mirkwood knowing of Estel’s presence.

“Absolutely not,” responded the king, smiling broadly at his son.  “Besides, I must keep my reputation for unpredictability in tact.”

High up in the hills the lonely howl of a wolf echoed eerily.  Estel whimpered in his sleep, and Legolas instinctively patted and soothed the child, singing a soft lullaby to him.  Estel sighed contentedly, yawned, and snuggled closer to where the prince sat.

“Hîr nín!” called a warrior from a few feet away, “Riders on the horizon.”

“How many?” inquired the king, rising and walking over to where the elf stood watch.

“Four, my lord,” responded the warrior, pointing to the horizon.

“That should be Falathar and his archers.  Be sure it is before you reveal our location,” cautioned the king as he walked back to his son.

O-o-O-o-O

Haldir held up his hand, halting the advance of his party.  Throughout the ranks, his warriors became more alert as the marchwarden drew his sword.  Their ornately carved travel saddles provided a secure attachment for their sheathed swords, extra water skins, and other necessities of a traveling troop.  Normally the elves preferred to ride without saddles of any type, but for long distances they adopted the more practical accoutrements.

“Why do we stop, marchwarden?” questioned Celeborn, walking his mount forward.  The elf lord was millennia old and so possessing of dignity and wisdom as to be a formidable presence in any group.  His travel clothing consisted of an ivory tunic layered over earth colored suede leggings; his cloak was of the same suede.  Celeborn’s long, silvery hair was pulled back and corded into a single braid fit for travel. 

“We are being watched,” reported Haldir, so softly that only his lord could hear. 

As soon as Illuin saw the contingent from Lórien halt, he dropped from the tree where he had been waiting and began walking towards the group.

Celeborn’s cautioning hand touched Haldir’s arm.  The marchwarden sheathed his sword, dismounted, and walked forward to meet the elf.

“Mae govannen,” the Noldo nodded, his right hand resting over his heart.  “I am Illuin, commander of the border defenses of Imladris.”

Ignoring him, Haldir’s eyes continued to scan the trees behind the commander for a few seconds, observing the movement there.  At the insistence of Lady Galadriel, the group had undertaken this trip weeks ago even though it would probably necessitate wintering in Imladris.  The Marchwarden, well acquainted with his lady’s abilities, was aware that she felt her grandsons would need her, but nothing else.  Even if she did not know the particulars, Lady Galadriel had been overly quiet and pensive throughout the trip, and even Lord Celeborn had been uncharacteristically tense.  The marchwarden lowered his eyes to Illuin.  With an imperious arch to his eyebrow, he made inquiry.  “Why are there so many warriors in the trees behind you?”

Illuin fought down a flash of irritation at the arrogant look on the guard’s face.  With added patrols and orc attacks, all of the warriors of Imladris were feeling the stress and pressure of the many extra hours of duty, and it did not escape his notice that the elf had not responded to the formal welcome or introduction.  “Are good manners not a requisite for Lórien warriors any longer?”

Haldir sniffed, his own annoyance rising for a moment before he remembered who it was he represented.  “My pardon,” he intoned in such a way that it was clear he was not in the least apologetic. “I am Haldir, marchwarden of Lórien.  In the name of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, I seek admittance to Imladris, or has the valley ceased to offer sanctuary?” 

Illuin wanted to growl.  If not for his lord’s honor, he would gladly teach this haughty peacock a lesson in protocol.  Instead he stood back and motioned with his arm.  “Imladris awaits our distinguished guests.”  “If you will follow me, I will escort you to Lord Elrond.”  He decided right then and there not to mention to Haldir why so many Imladris guards were present.  Illuin had confidence that the way was well protected.  Let the marchwarden wonder how he could not only have known of their approach but also gathered such a number of warriors as escort.  That thought brought a smile to the border commander’s face.

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel met the riders from Lórien when they were almost to the halfway point of the steep approaches to and from the valley.  The commander of all the defenses of Imladris left the last homely house as soon as he heard the alert horns echoing throughout the valley calling all warriors to the northern section.  Glorfindel had stopped only long enough to confer with Helcar, his commander of inner defenses, before seeking his beautiful and faithful mount, Asfaloth, quartered in the family stable.  Only when Helcar assured his commander that all was secure within the inner valley and, in particular, around the home of Elrond, did the golden one ride for the border.  His warriors had been on alert since the present difficulties had begun and he was proud of their perseverance and performance.

If he was surprised to see Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, the golden warrior gave no indication of it.  Glorfindel had been around Elrond Eärendilion long enough to know that he shared his ability for far-speaking with the Lady of Light.  He had long ago ceased to be surprised at any capability these two displayed.  His duty was to protect Elrond and his line, and to this charge – nay, to this pleasure – he remained true. 

“Mae govannen,” he bowed to the elf lord and the lady of light, “welcome to Imladris. You choose an interesting time for a visit.” 

“Mae govannen,” responded Celeborn, with a smile.  “It is good to see you, Lord Glorfindel.  How are my grandsons, for Galadriel has been uneasy of mind for them?”

“The twins are mending,” replied Glorfindel vaguely, for it was their father’s place to explain their health.  Elrohir seemed well on the way to healing, but Elladan’s shoulder was still a concern.  Glorfindel feared to think how the proud, young elf would respond should the wound prove to be debilitating and his fighting ability adversely effected. 

“Yet your heart is still careworn, golden warrior,” crooned Galadriel softly, her luminous beauty not even dimmed by arduous travel.  The lady had walked her horse forward to join her husband in greeting Glorfindel and now looked at Glorfindel as though attempting to read his thoughts.

“Lady Galadriel,” bowed Glorfindel once more.  He looked back at Celeborn.  “If you will follow me, my lord...” 

Celeborn noted the evasion, but decided to let the matter rest, for now.  “Lead on.”

As the group made their way through the winding trials, Lord Celeborn commented on the unusual assembly of elves along the way.  “You could not have known we were coming, yet you have assembled many warriors as an honor guard. That is quite impressive.”

Glorfindel glanced at Illuin, who suddenly seemed to be extremely interested in something along the edge of the trail.  Haldir also appeared to be watching the commander of border defenses closely and curiously.  So that was the way of it, realized Glorfindel with a chuckle.  Ah, young ones.  He turned his most brilliant smile on Celeborn. “Imladris honors Lórien.”

TBC  

Healing Hope

Chapter Thirty One

For What We Are About to Receive

“For each new morning with its light,
For rest and shelter of the night,
For health and food, for love and friends,
For everything Thy goodness sends.”
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

Aradol and his helpers, alerted by a messenger sent ahead of the group by Glorfindel, were waiting in front of the last homely house to see to the care and stabling of the guest’s horses. 

Elrond walked out onto the front terrace as Glorfindel was just reaching the steps.  As the elf lord began to greet them, Glorfindel’s smile halted him.  “I have brought you a visitor.”

Elrond’s eyes went to Celeborn and Galadriel, still seated on their mounts.

“Not the lord and lady,” drawled Glorfindel, stepping aside to reveal his surprise. 

“Arwen!” 

With a small cry of delight and the flash of a blue cloak and ebony hair, she fairly flew up the steps and into his embrace.  Elrond closed his eyes cherishing the feel of his daughter in his arms after so long.  “Ada, I have missed you so much,” the elleth breathed, pulling back to look upon his beloved face with tears in her eyes. 

“As I have missed you, my Evenstar,” replied Lord Elrond.  He cupped her face with his hands, gently stroking her cheeks with his thumbs.  “Your brothers will be so very pleased to see you.”

Worry creased her beautiful features.  “How are they, Ada?  Daernaneth would only say that her mind had been disquieted over them.”

“They are healing well, daughter, but you will be just the cure they need to see the job completed.”

Glorfindel walked back to offer a hand to Lady Galadriel as she gracefully dismounted.  With a small bow, the golden warrior handed the lady over to her husband, who offered his arm as they ascended the steps towards their daughter’s husband. 

Celeborn was smiling indulgently at the father and daughter’s reunion.  “The light of the Evenstar graces Lórien, my son, but I can see that she is happy to be home in her valley once again.  We shall celebrate the Winter’s Solstice celebration together this year.”

“Mae govannen, my father and mother,” welcomed Elrond.  “Your coming is fortuitous, though I fear that not all the news I bear is good.” 

Galadriel still had not spoken.  Celeborn’s eyes grew serious.  “The twins…how are they?”

Elrond turned to lead them into the house.  “The evidence of your eyes will be more comforting than my words.  I will see whether or not they are awake.” 

Galadriel placed her hand on his arm to stop his movement.  “Their bodies mend, but their hearts are wearied; this I can feel.  I would see them now, for I have been much troubled on their behalf.”

Elrond met her gaze.  “Their hearts will be lightened by seeing their sister and grandparents again.”

“I cannot wait to see them,” said Arwen.  “Come daernaneth; come with me!”

Celeborn tarried, turning towards Elrond as Arwen and Galadriel walked into the house.  “There is much of which we must speak, my son.” 

Elrond nodded gravely.  “We will talk in the library after you have visited the twins.  Mithrandir is here also.  He shall wish to be part of this meeting.”

“Mithrandir?”

Elrond dipped his head in affirmation. 

O-o-O-o-O

The riders were, indeed, Falathar, Alma, Túrelio, and his brother Táron.  They rode into the elven camp at just after dawn, and Falathar immediately sought out his king.

“Report,” commanded the king, as Falathar knelt before him.  “And do rise, Falathar.”

“Thank you, Hîr nín,” responded the warrior.  “We aided the warriors of Imladris, and the enemy was defeated.  I regret to report that Erestor and Sariboril were wounded.”

Thranduil frowned at that bit of information.  “How badly were they injured?”

“Erestor...” at his king’s upraised eyebrow the elf caught his error, “Excuse me, Sire, Lord Erestor received a gash to his arm and Master Healer Sariboril a severe wound to her back.  I overheard Lord Erestor report that she might survive the wounds if gotten to Lord Elrond in time.  That is all I know, my lord.”

“Elrond is a master of healing,” the king mused, before looking back to his chief of guards.  “If anyone can save her, it will be he.”

“Adar!”

Thranduil, followed by Falathar, hurried to where Legolas was holding Estel.  “What is wrong, Legolas?”

“We must find food!”  The softness of his voice was belied by the urgency it held.  “Estel’s stomach is rumbling!”

Both Thranduil and Falathar’s eyes went from Legolas to the sleeping child and back. 

“But...he sleeps,” observed Falathar.  “He surely cannot eat in his sleep.”  Falathar was quite proud of his reasoning, even if he did not know much about edain.

Legolas hesitated.  “That is true, but Erestor...er....Lord Erestor,” he amended before his father could react, “said that Estel could become quite irritable if he is not fed soon after he rumbles.  What else might happen, I do not know.” 

“I, for one, do not wish to find out,” stated Thranduil.  “We are in a precarious position here until the rest of our warriors join us, and unfortunately, Estel’s supplies did not make it through the battle with us.  We do not need another setback.”  He turned to his chief of guards, “Falathar, canvass the warriors.  See what provisions we have.”

While Falathar searched for food, Thranduil knelt by Legolas watching the sky warily.  “The shadow of a storm comes upon us.  The mountain hid its warning.”

Legolas followed his Adar’s look skyward.  “We must shelter Estel.”

O-o-O-o-O

Arwen closed her eyes as she walked softly down the third floor hallway.  From every corner memories assailed her.  Her steps slowed as she passed a doorway across from the rooms of her brothers.  Glancing inside she was enchanted to see toys and even some of her books on a shelf.  This must be the room of the adan currently sheltering in Imladris.  Her home had been sanctuary to the descendents of Elros for as long as she could remember, but never had one of them quartered so near to the rooms of the family.  

“Look, daernaneth, it is a child’s room,” she marveled.  A small sigh of joy escaped her when she spied one of her favorite children’s books.  Fingering the toy soldiers on the top shelf she could not but marvel at the intricacy of the carving.  “Someone spent long hours on these.”

Galadriel lingered in the doorway, an enigmatic look upon her fair features.  “This must be the one I have seen...”

Arwen turned, smiling.  “Come, I am anxious to see my brothers!”  She hurried down the hallway.  Upon entering the room Arwen’s gaze fell lovingly upon on her brothers.  They were, of course, in two beds that were side by side, for the twins always were that way.  She was struck by the fact that Erestor was there, apparently a patient.  She had not known this. 

“Arwen!” breathed Elrohir.  “You have come home.”  As the twin tried to sit up on the side of the bed a wave of vertigo overtook him. 

“Rest easy, Elrohir,” she coaxed, as she helped him lie back. 

“Arwen!” cried Elladan, as he too attempted to come to his feet.  “Daernaneth!”

Galadriel walked into the room behind her granddaughter.  She stood assessing her grandsons, looking more for the content of their spirits than the wounds to their bodies.  Their hearts were wearied, yes, but the terrible rage she had felt for so long emanating from them no longer remained.

As Arwen fussed over getting Elrohir back into bed and his covers straightened, Galadriel saw to Elladan.  “You must remain in bed,” she scolded gently.  “To rush your recovery is to delay it.”

Elladan could not help but smile.  “That is what Ada said as well.”  His smiled widened as Arwen sat on his bed to gift him with a hug. 

“Now that Elrohir is once more settled in bed, I shall see to my older brother.”  Being ever so careful of his wounded shoulder, she pulled him into a gentle embrace.  “I have missed you both so much!” 

With his good arm Elladan returned his sister’s hug.  Her giggle made him pull back to see what she had found amusing.  His laugh joined hers when he saw what she held.

“Brother?”  Arwen inquired, as their musical chuckles filled the air, lifting the spirits of all within hearing.  She held the stuffed Fluffy, which was still faithfully being kept and protected by Elladan.

“What is this?” said Erestor.  “Is our presence graced by my aewithen, my little bird?  Cormamin lindua ele lle!”  My heart sings to see thee.

“Oh Erestor,” purred Arwen, going over to give the Seneschal a hug.  “I have missed you, too.”  She gave his arm a close look, examining the bandage running from wrist to elbow.  “Have you been sparring with Glorfindel again?” she teased.

Erestor affected an affronted look.  “I will have you know that I have been battling orcs.”

“Orcs?”  Arwen sobered.  “Here, in Imladris?”

Erestor was horrified that he had blurted out such a statement and startled Arwen.

At the look on Erestor’s face, Galadriel placed her hands on her granddaughter’s shoulders.  “Avo osto, Arwen, fear not.  Lay aside that discussion for now.  The beren maethor, bold warrior, is in need of more rest.”

“Having Arwen here again is all the medicine I need,” declared the Seneschal, duly chastised by the lady of light.

O-o-O-o-O

A mighty crack of thunder roused Estel from his exhausted slumber.  With a wail he sat up, looking wildly around him for a moment.  “Ada!”

Legolas heard Estel’s cry and rushed to his side.  “Do not be afraid, Estel.”  The prince wrapped Thranduil’s cloak back around him.  “Here child, the air is colder in this place.  Keep this on you.”

“I do not like it when the sky crashes,” whimpered Estel.

Legolas remembered the twins once telling him that violent thunderstorms were unheard of in the protected valley.  Estel would understandably be frightened by the sound and fury of the storm bearing down on them.

The warriors had the horses ready to ride.  As soon as the signs of the storm had appeared, Thranduil sent out two of his warriors to scout for possible shelter.  Túrelio found an abandoned cottage that would be suitable for shelter.  One wall of the structure had fallen in, but the other three walls and most of the roof were intact.  Best of all, a fireplace would provide warmth for the young adan.  As soon as he found the location, the elf gathered wood and stored it in the shelter in case the rains came before he could lead the group back. 

Legolas wrapped Estel warmly in both his and Thranduil’s cloaks and handed him up to his Adar, who was already mounted. 

Falathar was holding the reins of Legolas’ horse.  He handed them off to the prince, and quickly mounted his own and took the lead.  “Túrelio, lead us to this shelter,” he called.

Still somewhat sluggish from his sleep, Estel sat quietly in Thranduil’s arms as they rode.  Before long he twisted to look up into the king’s face.  “King Thran-due, I am hungry.” 

Thranduil patted Estel’s tummy.  “We will have food for you soon, young one.  See there,” he pointed, “there is the cottage where we will keep you from the storm.”  As if to accent the king’s word, another terrific crash of thunder rent the air causing Estel to shrink back against Thranduil’s chest and clasp his hands over his ears.  As the first drops of rain began to fall, Thranduil pulled his cloak more securely around Estel and urged his horse to move faster.  “Noro lagor, my beauty, ride swiftly

The king’s mount did just that, and they reached the cottage as the deluge began.  Thranduil jumped from his horse and ran into the structure with Estel.  Táron took the king’s reins and led the horses around back to a lean-to that still remained attached to one of the standing walls of the cottage.

The inside of the cottage was dark, dusty, and draped with cobwebs.  The only furniture left was an ancient bed.  Its moldy mattress reeked of unwashed bodies, old age, and worse.  “I am not sitting on that thing,” sniffed the king as he held Estel. 

“Here, Hîr nín,” offered Alma, spreading his cloak on the floor in front of the fireplace where Túrelio was busy lighting a fire.  The sound of the knife rasping against the flint was drowned out by the torrents of rain lashing the roof and splattering through the downed wall.  “It is good that the missing wall is not on the side from which the rain is falling,” observed Alma. 

Estel was busy eying the dark corner with almost as much trepidation as Thranduil eyed the bed.

“Do you think there are spiders in here?”

From the corner, one of the warriors snorted so softly that Estel could not have heard, but Thranduil did, and gave the offender a look that promised reprisal should the sound be repeated.

The offending elf did his best to look invisible and not further insight the wrath of his king.

Thranduil settled himself and Estel on the proffered mantle.  Legolas gathered the food they had and spread it out on the edge of the cloak.  The cook at Imladris, Elbereth bless her, had stocked them with bread, cheese, a variety of raw vegetables, dried venison, and apples.  Estel’s stomach growled again as he looked at the food.

The king nodded in satisfaction at the offering.  “Here, Estel, eat.”

Estel looked from the food to the expectant faces of the elves, which were now gathered in a circle around him and were watching him with avid curiosity.  “All of it?” he asked meekly.

“We do not know how much you eat,” explained Legolas, “so we have given you all that we have.”

Estel looked back down at the food.  “My ada tells me to clean my plate...” his voice trailed off as he contemplated trying to eat so much food.  After a moment his face lit up as a new thought came to him. 

“He also says that I must share!”

The elves continued to look at him.

Estel reached out picking up the round, crusty loaf of bread.  Holding it awkwardly by the hand of his broken arm, he used the hand of his good arm to pull off large chunks of bread and begin handing them to the nine elves, starting with the king.  Next he chose the cheese.  He pondered the round of cheese for a moment before turning and handing it to Legolas.  “I am not allowed to use a knife yet.  Would you cut ten slices of cheese, please?”

Legolas smiled and began slicing the cheese as Estel turned back to his duties.  One by one he went through the items, seeing that a portion was given to each elf.  He omitted giving himself any of the raw broccoli explaining that he did not like the green vegetable.  Once the task was completed, he settled himself comfortably back in King Thranduil’s lap, much to the amusement of the warriors. 

Three of the elves started to munch the bread, only to be stopped by a shake of Estel’s head.  “No, no, we do not eat until we have thanked Ilúvatar for the bounty of arda,” instructed Estel.  He carefully bowed his head and intoned the blessing he had heard so many times before.  “For what we are about to receive, we are thankful to thee, Ilúvatar.”

This time the elves did not move until Estel took a bite, and then they knew it was correct to begin.  Legolas looked around the group enjoying the sight that would have been impossible to imagine just a few weeks earlier.  There sat his father, King of all Mirkwood, contentedly sharing a warrior’s fare with a small human perched on his lap.  The light from the fireplace threw shadows around the darkened corners like merrily dancing elves, and for that moment, Legolas could not have envisioned being any place better than in this broken down cottage in the foothills of the Misty Mountains. 

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 32

Fathers

“To become a father is not difficult, but to be a father is.”  Unknown

Dedicated to our “Adas” past and present. 

Elrond had sought refuge in Celebrían’s garden to order his thoughts before meeting with Celeborn, Galadriel and Mithrandir.  He had not told Celeborn and Galadriel of Estel’s presence...indeed, had not told Arwen either.  It was not the kind of information that could easily be put into a missive and sent by messenger.  Of course, they knew that Imladris had long fostered and protected the line of the kings, for Elros line was as much a part of Imladris as it was a part of Elrond. 

The familiar twinge of sorrow gripped his heart at the thought of his long dead brother, the twin who had chosen the way of men and mortality.  Elrond respected his brother’s choice, but that did not mean the ache of their severed bond could be put aside.  It was a pain that Elrond would endure through all the long years of his life, and he closed his eyes against the memory of shock and grief the severing had caused.

He must have sat that way, with head bowed and eyes closed, for some moments while his mind wandered the paths of memory, before a familiar presence touched his feä and small, soft hands gently took his own. 

“Arwen,” he breathed, opening his eyes and smiling as his daughter joined him on the bench and lightly rested her head on his shoulder.

“You always come here when you are troubled,” she observed.  “Whenever I smell these scents, I can still feel Naneth with us.”

“Her presence lingers in the garden she loved.”

“I wonder if I shall ever feel so at home any place else,” she sighed.

Elrond smiled and kissed her forehead. “Are we going to have that conversation once more?”

Arwen laughed at the shared memory her father’s words recalled.

Elrond was working in his library while Arwen played with her dolls on a small pallet underneath the table where he was writing.  It was a bit crowded, but a small price to pay for her happiness.  Arwen had cried and cried when she was not allowed to accompany her brothers and Glorfindel on a trip to Lórien.  Nothing he or Celebrían could say seemed to soothe the hurt she felt at being left behind.

As the twins took their leave, Elrond, Celebrían and Arwen stood on the front steps of the last homely house bidding them a safe journey while Arwen clung to her father, hiding her tears – she thought – from her brothers.

“Why can I go not with them, Ada?” she asked as they rode out of sight.

“Arwen, you are far too young to make such an arduous journey.  Your mother and I will take you to visit Lórien when you are older.”

“Why does everything have to be when I am older, Ada?”

Elrond looked down at the face of his daughter and stroked the tear stained cheeks.  “It only seems that way now, child.  Bring your dolls and you may play in the library with me.  Would you like that?”

Delight filled Arwen’s eyes as she nodded her head.  Arwen dearly loved to be allowed into Elrond’s library, for she associated the scents of the rich leather tomes, the sheen of the lemon oiled woods, and the overall masculine feel of the place with her father.  It was Celebrían who normally kept Arwen playing in other areas of the house so that Elrond could work because Arwen chattered amiably and almost non-stop when she played with her dolls. 

Now virtually at her Ada’s feet she pretended that the table over head was a deep, dark cave where she and her dolls were captive.  She had no fear, however, because she had no doubts but that her Ada would come to her rescue.  He could defeat any evil.

Celebrían stood silhouetted in the doorway for a few moments while enjoying the sight before her.  Arwen had her pallet pulled completely under the table and was leaning back against Elrond’s legs as she chattered away to her dolls.  For his part, Elrond was gamely attempting to work at his text while ignoring the childish conversation taking place at his feet.  She would have moved into the library to lure Arwen away had not a hand stayed her forward motion.

“Leave her, my lady,” whispered Erestor.  “My little bird needs her Ada today.”

Celebrían’s musical laughter graced the seneschal’s ears as she gave his arm a squeeze. “Erestor, she has you wrapped around her little finger, along with everyone else in Imladris.  How blessed I am that my daughter is so loved.  It comforts me to know that she will be cared for...” her voice trailed off as her features clouded.

“Why, whatever do you mean?” asked Erestor, alarmed at the unexpected turn the conversation had taken.

Celebrían shook her head as though to dispel the worrisome thoughts and laughed again.  “Oh, I do not know, my friend.  Sometimes I just get the feeling that I will not be here for them when they need me the most.  It is most annoying; this ability of mine to feel what might be ahead.”  She took a deep breath and released it with a small chuckle.  “My Adar used to tell me that I was borrowing trouble when I felt this way.”

“Lord Celeborn is ever wise, my lady,” soothed Erestor.  “Imladris loves her mistress as she loves little Arwen.  Every warrior here would gladly give his life to protect you, if your husband and sons did not beat them to it.”

“I am being silly, my friend.  Forgive me?” asked Celebrían, as she linked her arm with Erestor’s elbow.  “Let us go tend my roses.  That always lifts my spirits.”

“An excellent idea, my lady,” agreed Erestor. “I will ask cook to prepare some tea for us as well.  We might as well enjoy the beautiful day.”

Celebrían laughed again.  “You are just missing Glorfindel and sad that he will not be around for a while for you to tease.  You do not fool me for one moment.”

Completely unaware of the conversation in the doorway, Arwen played contentedly at her father’s feet until an idea came into her mind.

“Ada?”

“Yes, Arwen?”

“Will you always love me?”

Elrond smiled to himself as he thought about the joyful child at his feet.  “Yes, Arwen, I will always love you.”

“Even when I’m naughty?” she inquired.

Elrond’s eyebrow twitched a bit at that question.  “Do you plan on being naughty?”

“Oh no, Ada, it just seems to happen sometimes.  I don not know why.”

“I see,” replied Elrond.  He bent his head back over his work, for he assumed his daughter’s question had been answered.

“Ada?”

Elrond resisted the urge to sigh, and sat aside the quill he had been holding.  “Yes, daughter?”

“Will you marry me when I am old enough?”

Elrond had not expected that question.  It was certainly not one he had ever heard from the twins.  He scooted his chair back so that he could look at the little one at his feet.  “Why would you ask that, Arwen?”

Solemn blue eyes met his.  “Because, Ada, I want to stay with you and Naneth forever and never leave Imladris.”

Elrond smiled and gathered her onto his lap.  Only an hour ago she was crying brokenheartedly because she could not go to Lórien.  Arwen snuggled in her Ada’s lap, resting her head against his chest so that she could hear his heart beat while he stroked her hair.  She loved it when her Ada stroked her hair.

Elrond continued to hold his daughter, soothing her fears.  “Imladris will always be your home, my child.  No one will ever force you from her gates.”

Arwen sighed contentedly.  She felt safe again and sure that she would always be with her Naneth and Ada.  “Ada?”

Elrond could not help the smile that graced his face.  His child was ever full of questions.  “Yes, daughter?”

“Can Elladan and Elrohir stay with us forever too...and Glorfindel and Erestor?”

With this question Elrond realized the heart of Arwen’s fear.  She had just watched three elves that she loved, who were an integral part of her life, ride away to be gone for many months.  Though time is not marked by elves the same way it would be by humans, a child is a child, whatever the race, and to children time was always measured by absence.  “I can think of no reason that your brothers would ever choose to leave you, Arwen.”

“What about Glorfindel and Erestor?”

“Nor Glorfindel and Erestor,” added Elrond.  “Does that answer all your questions?”

“Yes, Ada.”  Arwen reached up to finger one of Elrond’s braids. “ Ada?”

Elrond fought to kept the laughter from his voice, for his daughter’s tender feelings were dear to him.  “Yes, child?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Arwen.”

Father and daughter shared the memory together in the garden they both loved.

Arwen sighed.  “Why did it all have to change?”

Elrond slipped his arm around his daughter’s shoulders as though to shield her from any more suffering.  He could offer her no words of comfort for a moment because he had asked himself the same question countless times.

Sensing her father’s feä, Arwen reached up to stroke his face. “Tell me about Estel.  Never before have you quartered one of Uncle Elros’ line on the third floor.”

Elrond smiled at his daughter.  As dark as Celebrían was fair, Arwen yet shared her mother’s heart when it came to reading his thoughts.  “Estel is very special.  I...” he paused, momentarily unsure of how to express all that he felt.

Arwen drew back, intrigued at her father’s uncharacteristic loss for words.  “Tell me, Ada,” she encouraged, “for I can see that he is dear to you and the twins.  Is it he that has helped them to heal, for I can no longer feel the rage within them.  Is that why you call him Estel?  I have never met a human with that name.”

“And just how many humans have you met?”

Arwen chuckled, pleased that she had been able to turn her father from the darker thoughts of loss and separation.  “Only the ones who have stayed here through the years, I admit, never one in Lórien.  Haldir practically bristles at the mere mention of a human.  I cannot imagine what he would do should one actually enter the golden wood.”

“Haldir has reason to feel as he does,” Elrond replied softly, “but let us not speak of that now.”

“You were telling me about Estel,” she prompted.

Elrond thought through his words.  “Estel was little more than a baby when your brothers brought him and his mother here.  Gilraen died within a short while, leaving the child an orphan.”

Compassion blazed in Arwen’s heart.  “He lost both of his parents?” 

“Yes,” Elrond confirmed.  “But he is not without family, for we have taken him into ours. He is as my son.”

Arwen blinked, surprised at his words.  “Your...son?”

Elrond nodded, willing his daughter to understand.  “Having a small child to nurture was quite an adjustment...for all of us.”  He smiled, taking her hands into his own.  “You should see your brothers with him, Arwen.  They are so protective of him, and he idolizes them.  He is only four years old.”

“And you, Ada?” she questioned. “He filled the hole in you as well; I can see it.” 

“Nothing will ever completely fill the void in my life until I am once again reunited with your mother, but Estel has made the wait more bearable.  I find that I enjoy having a child around the house once more, though he does not ask quite so many questions as you did.”  He squeezed her hands gently.  “I do not replace you or your mother, Arwen.”

“Oh Ada,” she cried, laying her head against his chest like she did when she was a little girl, “forgive me!  I was only jealous for a moment.”

Elrond hugged his daughter close and kissed her hair.  “All of my children are dear to me, and each holds a unique place in my heart, but you, Undómiel, are the only daughter I shall ever have.”

“When can I meet him?” she asked. 

“He is not here.  He is on his way to Mirkwood,” Elrond replied.

Arwen sat up to look at her father’s face.  “Because of the orcs that Erestor mentioned?”  A quick flash of emotion touched her features before she could hide it.  “Ada, were there really orcs here, in Imladris?”

Elrond knew his daughter well...knew every nuance of her features, every timbre of her voice.  “Orcs have entered the valley, but none have been near to our home.  You are safe here.”

“I do not fear them!” 

The anger in her voice shocked him for a second.  “Then perhaps I should say that they are safe from you,” he said wryly.  His little girl was truly a warrior maiden now.

From a short distance away, Glorfindel kept watch over father and daughter.  No evil would touch them while he was near.

O-o-O-o-O

After sharing his meal with the elves, Estel settled back against Thranduil’s chest, sated and warmed by the fire. The rain had stopped and a heavy mist now hung in the evergreens clinging to the foothills of the aptly named Misty Mountains.  The air was damp and the wind biting, but the small group was protected from it by the three remaining walls of the battered cottage.  Estel was still exhausted from then nighttime flight and would have slept on had the crashing thunder not awakened him earlier.  Now he found his eyes drifting shut, but fought sleep as most children do.

“Tell me a story, Legolas.  You tell good stories,” he said sleepily.  “Did King Thran-due teach you to tell stories?”

Legolas met his father’s eyes with a smile.  “No, Estel, my Adar did not teach me the stories.  It was Lore Master Nárë who did.  He is a very great elf, and you will meet him when we get to Mirkwood.”

But Estel did not hear the prince’s words for he was already fast sleep.

Falathar chuckled at the sight.  “He looks just like an overstuffed piglet at his mother’s teat...”  The elf’s words trailed off as he caught Thranduil’s eye and realized that he had just compared his king to a sow.  “I mean, I did not mean, sire....”

Thranduil held his glare for only a moment before allowing himself to smile.  “Peace, Falathar; you are forgiven...this time.”

 The soft laughter of the elves filled the air.  The truth be known, they were all relieved to be headed back to Mirkwood.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 33

We Will Be Brothers

“There is a destiny that makes us brothers: None goes his way alone: All that we send into the lives of others comes back onto our own.”  Edwin Markham

Dusk was settling over Imladris like a soft blanket of shadow dulling the brilliant colors of nature to grayness as Elrond, accompanied by Glorfindel, walked into his library for the anticipated meeting with Mithrandir, Celeborn, and Galadriel.  He immediately noticed that the three had not been served tea or refreshments and realized once more that his home did not run quite as smoothly without Erestor at the helm.  Dearest Erestor, always beside him seeing to the finer details of the household with such superb competence that the esteemed Elf Lord did not even have to voice his wishes most of the time, was still confined to the healing wing with the twins. 

Elrond glanced at Glorfindel, who had noticed the same thing.  The golden one bowed slightly and left to request tea and a light repast for the meeting. 

“Where is Arwen,” asked Celeborn as Elrond neared the table where they sat.  “Should she not take part in this gathering?”

“Arwen is with her brothers,” explained Elrond.  “She will join us later in the hall of fire.”

“I have never known my grandsons to be overcome by orcs,” observed Galadriel, “despite the numbers against them.”

Galadriel was not without her powers, but she had been as blind as he in the moments after his first realization that the twins were in jeopardy.  The pair had communed by far speak as he sought to answer his fears while Glorfindel searched for the twins.

Mithrandir was watching the pair closely for signs that they could feel the same pulsations as he.  This was the first time the three rings of power resided in the same room at the same time and each was singing in concert with the others, creating their own unique sensations within the three bearers.

Glorfindel reappeared with a pair of servers following closely behind.  One of the servers began lighting the oil lamps for the room had fallen into shadow.  Glorfindel’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Elrond.  It was readily apparent to the warrior that the Lord of Imladris was struggling somewhat to master raging emotions.  He suspected the culprit to be the invisible ring of power on his finger.  The warrior’s eyes slid to the place on Elrond’s hand where the ring was worn, and he shuddered slightly.  Such power was not something he desired. 

Galadriel smiled, as though reading his thoughts.  “Yet you emerged from Mandos’ Halls to re-walk Arda and protect the line of Eärendil.  Olórin, it was, who brought you forth.”

Humor glinted in Mithrandir’s eyes at the look on Glorfindel’s face.  “Sit, my old friend.  You have been around Galadriel long enough to know how she enjoys attempting to catch you off your guard.”

Galadriel chuckled at Mithrandir’s words and gifted Glorfindel with an apologetic smile.  “Sit and be at your ease, golden one, for we have much to discuss this night.  But first, I must thank you for saving the lives of my grandsons.”

O-o-O-o-O

As night approached, the remaining riders from Mirkwood rendezvoused with the king’s party.  Falathar offered to have the king’s pavilion erected, but Thranduil opted to remain with Legolas and Estel in the small cottage so that the child could be kept near the fire.  With the advent of the extra warriors a larger fire could be built without fear of the smoke being seen.  No roaming band of orcs would dare to attack so large a contingent of Elven warriors.

The king had also ordered that the disgusting remnants of the bed be dragged outside the cottage and burned for he would not abide the stench of the thing any longer.  Estel was transferred to the pallet in front of the fire as Thranduil met with the riders who had joined them from Imladris seeking news of Erestor and Sariboril.

Estel turned over in his sleep, whimpered slightly when he bumped his broken arm, and shifted so that his weight was not resting on the appendage. 

“Do they all sleep this long?” asked Falathar kneeling down beside where Legolas sat on the pallet beside Estel.

Legolas met his eyes, “I do not know,” he admitted, “for this is the only edain that I have watched sleep.  I remember Erestor saying that young ones required more sleep than adults, however.”

“It is regrettable that Lord Erestor and the Healer were not able to come with us as planned,” observed Falathar.  “It would have made things much easier.”

Legolas glanced wryly at his friend, “Infinitely easier, my friend.  Your gift of understatement is not diminished, I see.”  He glanced around to assure himself that they would not be overheard and leaned conspiratorially towards Falathar.  “Adar is going to send the First Healer to Lake Town to confer with the healers there as to the proper care and feeding of a young edain.”

Falathar could not hold back an inelegant snort of laughter.  “I would forfeit a few thousand years to see that!  Thedin hates the edain as much as…well, I was going to say as much as the king, but that seems not to be the case here.”

Legolas matched his smile.  “No, it would seem not.”  The prince gently stroked the cheek of the sleeping child.  “It is hard to hold on to hate or prejudice in the face of such innocence.”

“Well, if anyone can, it will be Thedin,” replied Falathar.  “He is of foul humor on the best of days.”

Legolas frowned slightly, thinking about the first healer.

“Seriously, Legolas,” Falathar pressed, “there are many in Mirkwood who hold deep hatred for the edain.  I am not sure how warm a welcome the little one will receive.”

“We will not tolerate a guest being treated with anything less than courtesy!” said Thranduil from the doorway.  “Does that answer your concerns?”

“Yes, my liege,” replied Falathar meekly.  He rose from where he had knelt beside Legolas and bowed before the king.  “By your leave, Sire, I shall see to the defenses for the night.”

“You are dismissed,” Thranduil said.  The king sat down beside Legolas.  “Well, Thranduilion, shall our people think their king has taken leave of his senses?”

Legolas smiled.  “I would say that you never cease to surprise our people, my lord, and that is but one reason they love you.”

Thranduil hitched his eyebrow, “It also helps that I am not averse to tossing them into the dungeons when they displease me.”  

Legolas chuckled, “Yes, father, there is that.”

O-o-O-o-O

“Have I left anything out, Glorfindel?”  Elrond asked, turning to his commander.  He told them all he could think of beginning with the death of Belan, and continuing up to the attack on the twins.

Cool and soft, the breeze sighed through the room from the open terrace as the warrior thought.  “No,” Glorfindel responded after a moment, “I believe you have outlined the facts in your usual methodical manner.”

“The orc leader specifically said that he had stalked the twins and Imladris?”  Celeborn asked.  “It is most unusual for orcs to offer such information before a battle.”

Mithrandir nodded his head in agreement.  “Glorfindel, did you hear any of what was said?”

“No,” Glorfindel shook his head.  “When we arrived I caught but a glimpse of Elrohir standing over Elladan’s body, protecting him, before they were seemingly buried under the mass of orcs.  If Thranduil’s warriors had not been assisting us from the trees, I might not have reached the twins in time.”

“Thranduil’s warriors...here?” asked Celeborn, glancing at Galadriel.  

“There is much that Elrond has not told us,” said Galadriel, her eyes never leaving Elrond.

Celeborn looked from Galadriel to Elrond.  “Perhaps now would be a good time, my son.  We cannot help to untangle the knot of this problem if we do not have all the threads.”

“I agree,” said Mithrandir.  His penetrating gaze bored deeply into Elrond’s.  “Tell them all of it,” he urged.

Elrond looked at Glorfindel for a long moment before rising and walking over to the open terrace.  He stood with his back to the room as he noticed that the earth had fallen into the silence of a night kissed softly by starlight    “Very well,” he said with a sigh, turning back to the waiting elves.  “It began two years ago...the night Arathorn was killed.”

Elrond outlined Estel’s history in Imladris; the attack by Quenthar, the reason for Thranduil’s visit to Imladris, and of the voice Estel heard in his dreams...the one seeking his location.  Lastly, he told of Estel’s impact on his life and those of the twins. 

“And you feel that the orc attacks are aimed at Estel and ending the line of kings...” observed Celeborn.

“It would make sense,” observed Mithrandir.  “With the child in his control, Sauron could use him against us.” 

“That is why I am keeping his eye fixed on Rivendell until we can discover by what magic these orcs are being protected.” 

“By placing your own sons in danger?” accused Galadriel softly.

All sound in the room ceased as Elrond rose suddenly from his seat.  “Estel is, in every way, my son,” declared the elf lord.  He paced the room a moment while gathering his thoughts and then turned and fixed Galadriel with what the twins called ‘the ada look.’  “What would you have me do?  He is only a babe.”

Celeborn cleared his throat to ease the tension.  “Please, sit, my son.  Galadriel was not implying that you would care less for your own...for the twins than you do for Estel.

Elrond remained standing, the strain of the past days finally taking their toll.  “I believe I will look in on the twins.”  Without further word he walked from the room.

‘Well,” sighed Mithrandir, “that went well.”

Glorfindel rose too.  “You do him an injustice, Lady Galadriel.”  Without waiting for a reply the golden one started towards the door.

“Where are you going?” frowned the Maia.

“Where I always go,” declared Glorfindel.  “to follow my lord.”

O-o-O-o-O

Estel sat up somewhat awkwardly on the pallet.  The firelight reflected in his bewildered eyes as he struggled to remember where he was.

Legolas could see the confusion on the child’s face.  “All is well, tithen pen.”

“Legolas,” Estel whispered, embarrassment coloring his cheeks.  “I have to go.”

“Go where?” asked the puzzled prince.

“Go,” Estel repeated with a bit more urgency, “out there.”  He looked past Legolas to the darkness.

Legolas turned around and looked over his shoulder and then back to Estel.  As Estel’s expression became more frantic and the boy began to squirm, Legolas finally understood what the child was asking.  This being a big brother was going to take some getting used to.  “Come with me little one,” he said, holding out his hand.

Still overbalanced by the clumsy cast, Estel took the prince’s hand and let himself be helped to his feet.  Then he followed the prince out to the dark tree line.

“I, uh...”  Estel stammered.

Legolas smiled.  “I will turn my back.”

“Thank you, Legolas,” breathed a relieved Estel as he walked a few feet away.

Several moments passed.  Legolas could tell that Estel had completed his...business, his Elven hearing assured him of that.  What he was surprised to hear was a soft whimper as Estel started to cry softly.  The prince did not know whether to turn around or not.  He did not want to embarrass the child, but it was clear that Estel was in distress.  “Estel?”

“I n, n, need Rester,” cried Estel. 

Legolas was at a loss.  “You know that Lord Erestor is not here.”  His mind raced as he sought some way to relive the child’s embarrassment.  “Is there something I can do to help you...something that you would ask of your brothers?”

There was silence from Estel for a few tense seconds.

“Would you help me, Legolas?  I cannot tie my pants with only one arm,” said Estel sadly.  He hiccupped slighted as he fought the dreadful tears of frustration and shame.

“Oh Estel,” said Legolas, walking quickly to the child’s side.  He knelt down and quickly pulled up Estel’s pants and tied the drawstring.  He stayed on the child’s level and placed both hands on the boy’s shoulders.  “Do not ever be ashamed to ask me for help.  Every warrior needs such help sometimes.  I myself was once consigned to my bed with both my arms immobilized after a fall.  I could do nothing for myself.  My Adar had to do everything for me...even brush my teeth.”

Estel giggled at the image Legolas described.  “Were you embarrassed?” he asked softly.

Legolas paused as the thought back to the incident from his youth.  “I was at first,” he sighed, “but then my Adar helped me to understand that we show our love by helping each other.”

Estel thought about what Legolas said.

“Would you be embarrassed for your brothers to help you?” asked the prince.

Estel shook his head, “no.” 

“Then don’t be afraid or embarrassed to ask anything of me while I am with you.  I will be as your brothers for as long as you need me.”  The prince stood and held out his hand.  “In return, I ask you to be my younger brother.  Is that an acceptable bargain?”

Estel smiled as he slipped his hand into Legolas’ outstretched one.  “It is.  We will be brothers.”

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel found Elrond standing in the doorway to the healing rooms listening to the animated conversation taking place between his children.

“And dirt follows Estel wherever he goes,” laughed Elrohir.

“And he is more curious than anyone I have ever met,” said Elladan.

“Catastrophically curious,” added Elrohir.  “Is that not right, Erestor?”

“This from the two who greeted the King of Mirkwood covered from head to foot in mud,” snorted the seneschal.

“You did not?” laughed Arwen.  “Oh, that must have been a sight to behold.  Daernaneth says that Thranduil is rather prissy.”

“Sometimes, I suppose, but he was wonderful with Estel,” said Elladan thoughtfully.

“I wonder how Estel is getting along?” sighed Elrohir.  “If Ada would just let us go, we could catch up to them; I know we could.”

That comment brought the elf lord into the room.  “The only place you are going to go is downstairs to the hall of fire for dinner.  That is if you are feeling up to it, and only for a short time.  I do not want you to overtax your strength as you recover, but I feel that a little while outside this room would do you all some good.”

“That statement includes me, I hope,” smiled Erestor.  “There is no telling what nightmare cook will invent if I am not there to keep her in hand.  The elleth lives to vex me,” he concluded. 

Elrond turned a fond smile on the grousing elf.  “You may attend dinner as well, but there will be no leaving to check on any function of this household.  Between Glorfindel and cook things are running adequately.”

The only reply to that was a snort of derision from Erestor. 

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Thirty-Four

A Light in Dark Places

“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair.”  Haldir

Haldir, Marchwarden of the Galadhrim, walked into the beautiful Hall of Fire, a place of amity if ever there was one.  Gathered in small, congenial groups were Noldor and Silvan elves from Imladris and his own homeland.  He examined the head table to be sure that all was in readiness for the Lord and Lady of Lórien.  No detail was too small to escape his notice when it came to their security. 

His eyes fell on the uppity Noldo who met them at the border of the hidden valley, and he could not repress the sneer that came to his fair face.  What caught his attention more than anything else was the marked lack of warriors present.  Haldir frowned; that fact did not bode well.  He still had not received an explanation as to why so many warriors were gathered to meet their party.  This was Haldir’s first time to accompany Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel to Imladris, but he rather doubted that they received such a reception every time they arrived.  He knew something was afoot the minute that shifty elf would not meet his eyes along the trail.  Lord Glorfindel could have explained, but he was no more forthcoming than the first one! 

“Oh no,” groaned Illuin, “look what the cat just dragged in.”

Mellow from the miruvor, Helcar began obediently searching the floor, eliciting another groan from Illuin.

“I was being facetious, you ninny,” explained Illuin, as he nodded his head in Haldir’s direction.  “That haughty Silvan had better not get in my way tonight or I shall have to take him down a peg or two!”

It was Helcar’s turn to react with derision.  “You would no more do that and embarrass our Lord than...than...well, I cannot think of what!”

“No,” admitted Illuin, I would not do anything here where it might reflect poorly upon this house, but there are ways, my friend.  Make no mistake about it,” he added for emphasis; “there are ways.” 

Helcar rolled his eyes and decided to change the subject.  “Ah, here are the musicians.”

In the corner, cosseted on one side by the enormous fireplace and on the other by the open terrace, the musicians were beginning to set up and tune their instruments.  This night the draperies had been closed on this side of the vast room to lend a softer, cozier aspect to the evening.  The velvet billows swayed gently as the nighttime breezes whispered outside.  The flutist, a determined elf at the most sanguine of times, could not help but recall the last formal dinner held in honor of King Thranduil.  He leaned over to whisper to the cello player beside him, I certainly hope we do not have a repeat of that last affair.  My lips were numb for a week after attempting to drown out that din!”

“You think that is bad,” replied the cellist, “my instrument still smells of pea soup!”

The flutist lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Who is that gorgeous Silvan over there....the one with the sneer on his face?”

“I would not know,” drawled the cellist.

O-o-O-o-O

“Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel,” announced the herald.  Around the hall, conversations ceased and all the elves came to their feet to honor the stunning pair.  As always, Galadriel seemed to float through the air, anchored to arda by only her feather light grasp of Lord Celeborn’s hand.  The Silver Tree, as Lord Celeborn’s name meant, was crowned with silver tresses that fell like a molten river streaming down his back.  Millennia of battles with the dark lord had forged a strength in the elf that reflected upon his firm features.  The power emanating from the Sindar fairly stole the breath away, and more than one elf was glad that this one was on their side. 

As the Lord and Lady of Lórien were being seated, Erestor, Elladan, and Elrohir made their way into the hall.  Eschewing the fanfare, they asked the herald not to make any announcement.  In truth, the trio felt conspicuous enough with their various bandages and slings, without drawing any more attention to themselves. 

After seating his lady, Celeborn walked over to greet his grandsons and the Seneschal.  Joy twinkled in his eyes as he saw for himself the condition of the twins.  “He ran his hand carefully over Elladan’s shoulder wound, as though assessing the damage within.  With a nod, he turned to Elrohir.  Celeborn’s eyes narrowed as his hand lingered on the younger twin’s cheek.  “Your father has not looked closely into your eyes this eve, has he?”

“Please do not say anything, “Daeradar,” asked Elrohir.  “Ada is much burdened of late, and my vision is truly getting better.”

Celeborn continued to gaze knowingly at Elrohir.  “You will retire early so that I have no need to disturb Elrond.”

The twin smiled his thanks to his grandfather, and with a short greeting to Erestor, the Elf Lord retired to sit beside his lady.

Almost immediately, Lord Elrond entered the room escorting his daughter.  As beautiful as Galadriel was, it was Arwen’s luminous beauty that drew soft sighs from the gathered throng.  Arwen Undómiel was much beloved by her people and her absence had been long for them.  Dressed this night in the softest of blue silk with a deeper, midnight blue mantle draped elegantly over her shoulders and secured by a mithril cord, she fairly glowed as she accompanied her father.

Erestor, with his left arm in a sling was a mirror image to Elladan, who was sitting beside him with his right arm in a sling.  Elrohir sat to Elladan’s right with bandages swathing his head.  They were a pitiful looking trio, but that could not dim their excitement at being allowed out of the healing rooms.

“I am so hungry I could eat a warg,” vowed Elladan.

Elrohir turned to look at him, frowning slightly as he attempted to determine which of the three Elladan’s he was seeing was the real one.

“Still a bit woozy?” teased Elladan, noticing his twin’s attempt to focus. 

“Yes, but do not tell Ada, or I will be put right back to bed,” replied Elrohir.

“I will not say anything if you promise me you will let me know if you start to get worse,” said Elladan.

“I promise.  How are you doing?” asked Elrohir to the seneschal, seated on his right.

“My arm pains me like the fires of Udûn,” Erestor whispered, “but I would not miss being here for anything. I will keep your secret, Elrondion, if you will keep mine.”

Elrohir laughed merrily and agreed with all three Erestors.

The soft hum of conversation settled back over the hall as the musicians played and servers began bringing out tureens of soup and platters of bread. 

Mithrandir walked into the room and found his seat at the head table beside Lady Galadriel.  “Oh,” he delighted, “Maug soup!  I have not had this since I last ate with King Dáin.”  He picked up his spoon and began eating the dwarven delicacy.

Beside him, Galadriel was eying the soup with a look that might easily have frozen water.  Seeing her reluctance, Mithrandir enthusiastically praised the dish.   “The Maug is a type of horned worm found deep within the mithril mines.  It burrows in the veins and actually feeds on bits of skin and sweat left by the dwarves, or on guano and other grubs.  It is quite tasty, I assure you.”

“It is ...alive,” remarked the Lady of Light.  If possible, her face was even paler than normal.

“No, no,” assured the Maia, “that movement takes place only after death, while the blood still runs.  That is how you know it is fresh.”

Galadriel swallowed and turned quickly away.

“Ah,” continued the wizard, to no one in particular, “I must ask that delightful cook how she managed to get her hands upon fresh Maug!”

Arwen basked in the ambiance of this beloved room as she sat surrounded by her family.  Only one significant absence could mar the pleasure of this night.  With dreamy eyes, Arwen gazed around the room remembering the last time she had eaten here with her mother.  Her melancholy contemplation was interrupted by a hiss from down the table in her brother’s direction.

“What is that?” repeated Erestor, gazing at his soup. 

Elrohir was blinking wildly, his nose about three inches from the bowl as he attempted to focus on the contents.

“What is what?” asked Elladan; “and what are you doing, El?”

“I am attempting to ascertain what it is that is in this bowl.  It seems to be moving.”

“It is moving,” snapped Erestor.  “What has that contemptible cook done?”

“It is a new recipe,” said Glorfindel, coming up behind the Seneschal.

“A new recipe?” sputtered Erestor.  “A new recipe!  How dare she try a new recipe when the Lord and Lady from Lórien are visiting?”

Arwen’s attention was focused on Erestor and her brothers, and she chuckled at their hijinks.  “I have missed this…” her words froze as she turned back to her father.  “Ada, there…there are three horses looking in through the draperies!”

Elrond’s eyebrow rose only a little.  “That would be Celos, Celon and Fuinur,” he replied calmly.

Arwen’s faced reflected her confusion.  “And there is a kitten on the back of one of the horses!”

“That would be Fluffy,” said Glorfindel, sliding into the seat beside her.  The golden warrior took her hand and kissed it.  “In case I failed to say it earlier, it is good to have you home, my lady.”

Arwen looked from Glorfindel to her father, both supremely blasé about the appearance of the animals.  “Why are they here?” she whispered, as though speaking aloud of them would make them disappear. 

“They are looking for Estel,” said Elrond, eyeing his soup in a curious fashion.

“They are looking for Estel?” Arwen repeated.

The horses’ ears twitched when they heard that name.  Celos eyed the group searching for his young charge while Celon and Fuinur stood faithfully by his side. 

“Celos and Celon keep watch over him,” said Erestor absently, as his eyes searched the room for cook.  He would have a few choice words for that elleth when he found her.  He just knew that recalcitrant aesdan would pull something like this.

“Fluffy is Estel’s kitten.  He sleeps in a box in Celos’ stall,” added Elrohir.

“Did I hear you say a feline sleeps in a stallion’s stall?” inquired Celeborn, attempting to follow this bizarre conversation.

“And Fuinur was a gift from King Thranduil.  He has become friends with Celos and Celon,” added Elladan.  “What is this moving in my soup?”

From the serving entrance cook was carrying a fresh tureen of her newest creation.  As she entered the room she spied the horses calmly standing with their heads and necks inside the room. Fluffy’s tiny body could be seen sitting atop Celos.  The kitten’s purr was loud and proud. “I will not make that mistake again,” she muttered to herself as she carefully edged away from the animals.

From where he sat Erestor’s eyes finally found the one he sought.  “There she is!” he bellowed, leaping to his feet. 

So completely out of character was it for Erestor to raise his voice thusly that the room stilled and the faces of all at the head table reflected shock and surprise.

Cook, her attention on the horses, jumped so at Erestor’s outburst that she staggered backwards and tripped over the flutist’s robe.  She sat down in his lap and dropped the tureen, which splashed all over the cellist and his cello.

Attracted by the wiggling, Fluffy crawled down Celos’ leg and began stalking the maugs.

Haldir, standing outside the hall, heard the commotion and burst into the room, his eyes seeking his lord and lady.  The sight before him was more confusing than he could possibly imagine.  Arwen was laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her face.  Lady Galadriel was serene as always, but Lord Celeborn looked completely confounded. 

The elf’s shocked gaze slid down the table, taking in the looks of all the others.  Lord Glorfindel was smiling at Arwen.  Lord Elrond was looking at his soup in a most peculiar manner.  Elladan was attempting to talk to Elrohir who blinked his eyes in such an exaggerated manner that he rather resembled an owl, and Lord Erestor was red faced with outrage.

“Haldir,” called Mithrandir, “join us!  We have being served a dwarven delicacy!”

Haldir drew up as though something suddenly smelled extremely bad.  “Dwarven….delicacy?” 

From where he sat, Illuin gave a bark of laughter.  “It is almost worth looking at this disgusting soup just to see the look on Haldir’s face.”

“Oh Ada,” laughed Arwen, “I do not ever remember our meals being this entertaining.”

“Entertaining is an interesting way of putting it, daughter,” sighed Elrond, firmly pushing the bowl with its squirming contents aside, “but since Estel came to live with us, I have learned to expect the unexpected.”

O-o-O-o-O

The Mirkwood party started into the mountains as dawn was breaking over the summit, sending golden shafts of light beaming down as though beckoning the elves.  King and warriors alike were anxious to be home.  To the rest of Arda, Mirkwood might be a dark and gloomy place…a place full of evil, but to these warriors it was home; it was their home.  Each and every one of them had fought hard to hold back the evil encroaching upon their lands, and each had lost loved ones to the fight.

Estel rode in front of Legolas, wrapped so warmly in two cloaks that only his face was showing.  The cool air brought a rosy glow to his cheeks, and his silver grey eyes solemnly took in the surroundings.  His head tilted back as he tried to see the top of the peaks.  “Are we going all the way up there?” he asked, looking uneasily at the lofty heights.  “It is very high.  Can we fall?” 

Legolas gave him a reassuring squeeze.  “If we were not careful, we could; but our horses are very sure-footed.  We will not fall, Estel.  We must pass over the mountains before we can come to our home.”

“Where is your home?” asked Estel.

“It is Taur-nu-Fuin,” answered Legolas.  “We will follow the forest path running straight and true through the heart of Mirkwood.  Our forest is dense, the home of many animals.  At last we will come to a river.”

“Like the Bruinen?” asked Estel.

“Yes,” answered Legolas, “only it is swifter, and the water is very dark.  On the other side of it is my father’s palace cavern.  Around the outside some of our people live in telain or houses within the woods, but many reside inside the palace.”

“Will we have to swim across?” worried Estel. 

“No, little one,” smiled the prince, “we will not have to swim across.  We will cross a very strong bridge.”

“That is good,” sighed Estel, “I do not want to be in the water again.”  He gave a shudder.

Legolas realized that Estel would need to be helped past his fear of water after his arm had sufficiently healed.  “Do you like playing in the water with your brothers?” he asked nonchalantly.

Estel considered the question.  “Um hum,” he nodded.  “They play with me and help me keep my head above water.  They are going to teach me to swim when I am bigger, but I am not sure I want to learn now.  The water was scary.”

“Not all waters are as scary as the Bruinen.  Learning to swim in a pond is easier, and it is a skill that every warrior should have.”

“It is?” frowned Estel.  “You are not just saying that because you like to take baths are you?” he queried suspiciously.

Legolas laughed softly, “No, I am not just saying that.”

“Do you fight in the water?” asked the four year old.

“Not purposefully, but it is good to be prepared for any eventuality.”

Estel mulled over that statement while they rode, finally sighing deeply.  “Legolas?”

“Yes, tithen pen?”  the prince answered.

“Are there wargs in your forest?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered truthfully, “in places there are wargs.”

“But the spiders keep them away from the palace,” volunteered Falathar, riding beside them

Estel’s eyes grew wide as he looked at the warrior.

Legolas closed his eyes for a moment and then fixed his friend with a hard stare.  “The spiders will not get near you Estel.  Our warriors will keep them away.”

“They must be big spiders,” mused the boy.

“Oh, they are…oomph,” Falathar’s words were cut off by the kick he received from Legolas.  “They are somewhat,” he amended, “but they will not be anywhere close to you,” he added helpfully.

“Legolas?”

“Yes, Estel.”

“Are there monsters in your forest?”

The prince knew that the child was referring to the orcs that had attacked them while leaving Imladris.  He sighed.  “There are monsters in parts of our forest, Estel, but they do not come near to our palace, and that is where you will be.”

“My ada keeps me safe,” said the boy.

“And your brothers?” prompted the prince.

“Yes,” nodded Estel.  “My brothers are very brave.”

“You have a brother here with you, remember?” asked Legolas.

Estel smiled and snuggled back in the prince’s arms.  “I forgot.  My brother will keep the monsters away.”

“Yes, gwador, I will.” 

 TBC

Translations:

Aesdan: Cook

Healing Hope

Chapter 35

Hunter’s Moon

“In prosperity our friends know us; in adversity we know our friends.” John Churton Collins

Elrond stood on the terrace outside the beautifully appointed room, his mind a seething cauldron starkly contrasting with the peaceful scene of the valley before him.  Rather he found himself more like the rushing Bruinen as it tumbled down the waterfall and crashed upon the rocks below.  Though still a few hours before the dawn, it was bright enough outside for him to see quite clearly.  His wandering eye fell upon the full and luminous Ithil, accompanied by its glittering entourage of stars.  It was called the Hunter’s Moon by those of Elros’ line.  Again, the familiar ache fell unbidden upon his heart, and he accepted it without complaint, for it was the only tie he had left with his twin.

Loss, so much loss…the word almost seemed to define his life.  Eärendil, Elrond’s father, left his family to seek the aid of the Valar in the fight against the evil one.  It was a noble undertaking, but one that separated him, this side of the blessed realm, from his wife and sons.  Not long afterward, Elwing cast herself from the cliffs; borne by Elmo himself, she flew as a bird, bearing the precious crystalline jewel far from the reach of Fëanor’s sons.  Her choice left her two small sons alone and at the mercy of those who had been denied the Silmaril.

Elrond’s eyes closed, as though to shut out the feeling of abandonment that would rise to engulf him, if he allowed it.  His adult mind could process and accept the decisions his parents made, but the child was the one who had lived the experience.  He and Elros were kept by the kin-slayers until being found and rescued and restored to their Noldor kin.  They were then raised by Gil-galad and Cirdan, the elves who had become his mentors and friends.

He grew strong and powerful under the tutelage of the future king and the shipbuilder, immersing himself in the library of Lindon and learning all that he could force into his brain, as though he could learn enough to arrest the losses that had so defined his young life.  But it was not to be.   As Elrond lost himself in study, Elros was finding his love of the sea, and as the sea sang to his brother’s heart, so too did the mortal blood cursing through his veins.

When Elros chose to follow the mortal way, the severing of the twin bond had almost been more than Elrond could bear, for beyond the physical and emotional rending was the niggling knowledge that, once again, a choice was made to leave him. 

With a deep sigh, he moved resolutely back into the room and crossed to the wardrobe.  “Enough of this,” he muttered. He would not, could not, let his mind travel to the most grievous loss of all, that of his beautiful and gentle Celebrían.  It took him only moments to don the deep brown breeches and matching tunic.  His hair was twisted back in to a simple, yet functional braid that hung down his back.  With precise and practiced movements, he strapped the golden dagger, a gift from Gil-galad, to the specially made sheath that would secure it to his booted calf.

Hadhafang was next.  “Ah, my friend,” he spoke to the sword, turning it to appreciate the soft glow of the lamp light reflected upon the burnished surface, “you shall sing again, as in days of old.”   Gently, almost reverently, he ran his fingers over the fluid script on the sword’s surface.   Aen estar Hadhafang I chatholhen thand around dan I thang an arwen.  This blade is called Hadhafang, a noble defense against the enemy throng for a noble lady.  Deftly, he swung the sword in an arc, reveling once again in its balance and precision, and then sheathed the deadly instrument. 

With long, sure strides he walked across the room, ready to make his way downstairs and to the stables.  Elrond paused at the doorway to Estel’s room.  No soft light shone to dispel the shadows, and the small bed was empty, for its young occupant was not in residence.  Even now the boy was being taken far away from his family to the elven kingdom of Mirkwood.   It grieved and angered Elrond that he felt it necessary to send his son away for his safety, and he was more than ready to do something tangible to remedy the situation.  He had not been able to wield Hadhafang in Celebrían’s defense, but, by all the valar, he would strike a blow against those who were keeping his son from his home.

As Elrond expected, the long hallway of the third floor was dark and quiet in the predawn hours.  With the twins and Erestor back nestled safely within the embrace of the healing wing, those who might be up and around were resting.  As Elrond passed the second floor and followed the curved stairway to the first floor his steps slowed.

“You did not think I would let you go alone, did you?” drawled Celeborn.  “It has been too long since we undertook a mission together.” The elf was clad in hunting gear similar to that worn by Elrond.  His sword was sheathed by his side and he carried one of the famed bows of the Galadhrim.

“How did you know?” Elrond asked simply, surprised and yet, not.

“I, too, am a father.  I recognized the look in your eye.”

“I cannot ask you to place yourself in jeopardy,” said Elrond firmly; “this is my fight.”

“You did not ask, my son,” Celeborn answered, his face as firm as granite, “and no, this is not just your fight.  Those are my grandsons who lay wounded upstairs, and it is, if I am to take your word, my adoptive grandson that is now being stalked.  Besides, I am curious about these orcs that can hide themselves.”

Elrond stood stock still, staring at the elf.  “Very well,” he conceded with a sigh, “but let us hurry, before the rest of the household decides to come with us.”

With a wry look, Celeborn inclined his head towards the door.  “Lead the way.”

The pair quickly crossed the large yard to the stables used by the family.  The beautiful building was more than functional.  Like all of the dwellings in Imladris, the stable was a work of art.  Celos looked over the wall of his stall as the Elf Lords entered.  The ears of the great stallion twitched as he anxiously waited to see whether or not his own master, Elladan, would follow.  Beside him, Celon watched for Elrohir.  At Celos’ feet, Fluffy and his siblings slept peacefully in the box with their mother. 

Elrond paused to speak softly to the twin stallions, praising them for their loyalty, and explaining that Elladan and Elrohir would not be coming at this time.  Thus assured and dismissed, the pair resumed their nighttime rest.

Retrieving his own mount and one for Celeborn, Elrond quickly led the horses back towards the front of the massive stable.  There, leaning casually against the door stoop, his eyebrow hitched halfway up his forehead and a sly smile on his face, stood Glorfindel.  “Surely you did not believe that you could give me the slip...did you?”

“Glorfindel,” warned Elrond, “you cannot come with me and leave the Last Homely House undefended.”

Glorfindel snorted, “You will have to do better than that.  You know, as well as I do, that Helcar is perfectly capable of defending the inner valley.  If you are determined to face this enemy, then I will be by your side.”

“As will I,” added Celeborn.

“I would like to see for myself these magic orcs,” said a new voice, as the owner walked into the circle of light coming from the opened stable door.

“Mithrandir!” gasped Elrond.  “Is the entire household aware of my thought processes?” 

 “You did not think you could fool me, did you?”  The Maia’s chide was accompanied by a good-natured chuckle.

“Then come,” commanded the Elf Lord, “and let us hunt some orcs!” 

O-o-O-o-O

Mirkwood

“Are we almost there?” asked Estel, for the tenth time, a yawn slurring the last couple of words.

Riding beside the pair, Thranduil’s mouth twitched as his elven hearing easily picked up the almost imperceptible sigh from his son.  His Greenleaf was receiving his first lesson in the impatience of the young.

“Yes, Estel, we are almost there,” replied the prince, as he stole a glance at his adar, who appeared to be enjoying this far too much. 

“We are?” Estel exclaimed, for he had not really expected an affirmative answer. The boy sat up, looking around expectantly for a home, but all he could see in any direction was forest...deep, dark, forbidding forest.  A chattering from over his head drew his eyes upward, and the child cringed when he saw the menacing shapes in the shadowy canopy above. 

Legolas knew the moment Estel finally saw the spiders that had been pacing them for some hours, for the boy tensed back against him and let out a small, involuntary gasp.  The prince tightened his hold on the child and murmured reassurances to him.

Estel glanced up at Legolas from the security of his place in the prince’s arms.  His face did not look worried.  Next, the boy turned his head and looked at Legolas’ adar.  His face was as calm as ever.  Sitting up a bit so that he could look around Legolas’ shoulder, Estel peered back at the warriors following them.  No frowns of worry were seen there either.

It was all Legolas could do not to laugh as he watched Estel gauging their reactions to those abominations overhead.  There really was no danger, for the spiders had long ago learned that to attack a force so large was to invite annihilation.  No, their preferred method was to find a straggler or a lone wanderer unaware and ambush them.

With a soft sigh, Estel settled back against Legolas. “Are we al...”

“Yes, Estel,” interrupted the prince, unwilling to hear the question again, “we are here.”  Legolas pointed through the last stand of trees to where the river could be seen.  Over it spanned a rock bridge, which seemed to lead almost straight into the mountain.  “Look!” 

Estel frowned slightly as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.  The horses’ hooves clattered as they crossed the bridge, and Estel shuddered as he glanced down at the dark and swiftly moving water. 

As soon as they were over the bridge, elves began to emerge from the forest to greet the king’s party.  The cheerful faces began to reflect shock as, one by one, they noticed the adan riding with Legolas. 

The prince began to hear snatches of the questioning conversations. 

“Who could he be?  Why is he here?  Would you look at that!  His face is scarred.”

Legolas’ temper flared when he overhead that last comment, but he was unable to see from whom it came.  He felt no tension in Estel, so he felt sure that the child had not overheard the unkind comment.  A quick glance at his father convinced him that the king had not missed the comment, for his countenance, too, had grown stormy.

The elves assigned to the stabling and care of the horses came forward to take their charges as the elven party began dismounting.  Legolas smiled to several friends as he held Estel’s hand.  The boy seemed awed, if just a bit nervous, at seeing so many strangers rushing forward to greet their king.

Estel shrank back against Legolas’ legs.  Never before had he seen so many blonde elves, and he closed his eyes for a moment to remind himself that the bad elf was truly gone.  Had not Legolas promised that Quenthar would never return to harm him?  As Legolas greeted different elves, calling them by name, Estel began to relax and let his curious eyes wander through the brown and green clad groups.  While most of the looks being cast his way were friendly, a few were definitely not and Estel would quickly look away from those, unsure of what he had done to earn their anger.

A different elf caught the boy’s attention and Estel let out a small gasp, for never before had he seen an elf like this.  The elf in question was dark headed, like his father and brothers, but unlike every other elf he had ever seen, this one was not perfect; this elf was missing his right arm and also his ear!  The tunic over the missing arm had been sewn completely shut.  Estel had never before seen such a sight and stared at the elf trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Unbelievably, the elf in question seemed to smile at Legolas and began walking in their direction.  Estel quickly let go of the prince’s hand and got behind his legs, peeking out as the dark elf approached.

“Well met, young prince,” boomed the elf, clapping Legolas on the shoulder with his one arm.  “What is this that you have found and brought home this time?  Not another spider, I hope!”

“I am not a spider!” laughed Estel, emboldened by the friendly manner of the elf, “I am a little boy.”

“A boy?” echoed the elf, his eye crinkling with mirth.  “And what is your name little adan?”

Remembering his manners, Estel stepped from behind the protection of Legolas’ legs and performed a perfect, if clumsy because of the cast, bow.  “I am Estel Elrondion.”

Legolas could hear several gasps and murmurs from the gathering of elves at the mention of Elrond’s name.  Obviously the king did too, and had heard quite enough from them.  Thranduil, who had little patience for stupidity or insubordination, dismissed the gathered elves. 

Joining Legolas and Estel, Thranduil smiled at the newcomer and found himself enveloped in a one armed hug. 

“Nárë!” sighed the king, “you are no good at discipline; you do know that?”

“Aye,” laughed the elf, “you need me though, to keep you humble.”

Thranduil snorted gracefully, as only he could do.  “Estel, I would like to introduce Nárë, the best lore master in Mirkwood, the king’s counselor, and my dearest friend.  When I was an elfling, it was he that told me many wonderful tales.”

“And I, as well,” echoed Legolas, “some of which I have told you.”

The dark elf knelt beside the boy.  “Mae govannen, Estel Elrondion, and welcome to Mirkwood.”

Estel swallowed, unable to take his eyes from where the elf’s ear had been.  After a nudge from Legolas, he quickly gathered himself and thanked Nárë for his welcome.”

Nárë watched the child’s face, intrigued by the emotions he could see so easily displayed there.  “Is there a question you would like to ask me, young one?”

Estel nodded, “Can you hear without your ear?”

A booming laugh preceded Nárë’s answer.  Apparently the elf bellowed most everything he said.  “Yes, Estel, I can hear without my ear.”  He nudged the boy with his left elbow, and added good naturedly, “better than you!”

“My ada can hear good, too,” admitted the child, ruefully.  “He always hears me when I try to track him.  I am learning to be a warrior,” he added with a firm nod of his young head.

“I can see that,” praised Nárë, “for you already bear the marks of battle.  How old are you, young warrior?”

Estel frowned at his cast and then awkwardly held up four fingers on his left hand.

Nárë took the small fingers in his large hand and helped the boy to straighten them.  “You must practice doing things with his arm, Estel, so that it is as strong as your right one.”

Estel nodded, his eyes large and solemn.  “Do you have trouble doing things with your left arm?  Has your other arm always been gone?”

Nárë smiled up at Thranduil and Legolas.  “I love the honesty of children.”  He looked back to the child. “I lost my arm in battle, young one, and it took me a very long time to learn to do all that was needed with just my left arm.”

Estel’s face clouded, and he gave the elf a comforting hug, his little hand patting the elf’s back.  “Did the monsters hurt you too?  They hurt my brothers, and Restor.  They were very scary.”

For a moment, Nárë was too surprised to react to the instinctive gesture of comfort, but then accepted the tribute from the child and returned the hug with his left arm.  He was saved from further comment by a loud rumbling from the region of Estel’s middle.

The dark haired elf leaned back with a questioning glance.

“We must feed him,” Thranduil explained.  “Come, old friend, let us go refresh and make ready for the meal, for I am weary of travel and ready to relax and dine.”

Estel gave the king a worried look.  “Does that mean that I have to take a bath?”

Thranduil’s eyebrows hitched elegantly.  “It does, indeed, Elrondion, but I daresay you shall like my bathing chamber.”

Estel wrinkled his nose but refrained from commenting for it would have meant disagreeing with the king, and he was quite sure that Restor would not approve of such an action.  Instead he looked around.  “Where is your house?”

“Watch and you shall see,” laughed Legolas.

Thranduil walked over to the wall of rock rising into the mountain and softly spoke a few words.   As Estel watched in astonishment the huge rock doors swung open revealing a cool, dark entry. 

“Here is our home,” said Legolas.

Estel gulped.  “In...there?” Dread gripped him as he stared into the cavernous opening.  Thoughts of Quenthar, already fresh, flashed through his mind and he once again experienced the fear of being buried.

Legolas saw the boy pale as the blood seemed to rush from his face leaving the smattering of freckles standing starkly against alabaster skin. 

Estel was trying desperately not to be afraid, but his rapid breaths bore testament of his losing battle.

“Estel!”  Legolas and Estel both jumped at the stern tone of Thranduil’s voice.  It was a command that brokered no comment, and no disobedience. 

Estel tore his eyes from the opening and looked at the king.  His whole body was beginning to tremble, though he fought vainly to hide it.

Thranduil picked up the boy, who threw his arm around the king’s neck and buried his head against the king’s chest.  The king automatically began rubbing soothing circles on the child’s back while speaking softly.   “Keep your eyes closed while we enter through the tunnel, Estel.  I promise you that once we are in my throne room you will not feel as though you are underground.  The ceiling is so vast in there it is like being outside.  Can you accept my word on that?”

Estel hesitated only a moment before nodding his head against the king’s neck.  His eyes were tightly closed, and his breath still came in small gasps, but the arm around the king’s neck gave a squeeze.

“Come then, and I shall introduce you to the home of the wood elves,” said the king proudly.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 36

Home of the Wood-elves

“Everything has its wonders, even darkness and silence, and I learn, whatever state I may be in, therein to be content.”  --Helen Keller

Estel kept his head buried as Thranduil carried him into the palace cavern followed by Nárë and Legolas.  The child could easily tell when they had entered because of the shadow of darkness that penetrated even his closed eyes.  He tensed, his breath hitching as he tightened his hold around Thranduil’s neck while fighting off the memory of being thrown into the box and buried.

Thranduil quickened his step slightly when he felt Estel’s fear, for the child was as taut as a bowstring.  The hallway to the throne room ran straight for several hundred steps before taking a sharp turn to the left.  The king passed several corridors along the way to the great hall.  After making a right hand turn, it was just a few more steps until the king swept past the two guards at the doorway who dipped their heads in salute, but did not drop to a knee.  Tradition held that the guards to the throne room never removed their eyes from the passageway and possible danger.  So precipitously did the king and his entourage enter the room that several elves were caught unaware and gasped audibly before dropping to salute their king.  “Light all the torches,” commanded Thranduil, for the vast room was deeply shadowed.

As elves hurried to carry out his command, Thranduil spoke to Estel.  “Just a moment more, Estel, and you can open your eyes.”  He continued to pat the child’s back oblivious to the shocked stares of the elves gathered in the room who had been so surprised by the king’s entrance with the unknown child, for no child had been born in Mirkwood for many years.

Nárë was confused by the child’s behavior.  True, he had spent virtually no time in the presence of Edain, but this reaction seemed extreme.  The loremaster motioned for Legolas to follow him back into the corridor.  “Why is the child so frightened?”

Legolas quickly related the story of how Estel had been buried alive and abandoned to a slow and frightful death.

The Noldo’s eyes hardened as he listened; sickened that one of the firstborn could have acted so without honor towards the innocent.  It saddened him to see such a streak of cruelty in one of his own kind.  “Is that how his arm was injured?” 

Legolas shook his head and described the incident with the boar and the river. 

Nárë nodded his head as he listened to the tale, his thumb rubbing the cleft in his chin as he always did when deep in thought.  He would like to have asked more, but Legolas held up his hand.

“With respect, Lord Nárë, any more information should come from Adar.”  Legolas was anxious to return in case Estel needed him.  “Let us get back before Estel misses us.”

Nárë nodded again and followed the prince, his mind full of questions.  Why had Elrond of Imladris sent the child here and, more importantly, what had transpired to bring about the change of attitude in Thranduil?  Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed that he could see the king acting so solicitously towards one of the second born.  Of all the elves in Middle Earth, Nárë knew and understood, better than any, the reasons why Thranduil felt as he did towards Edain.  This was a very interesting development and the wily elf was very much anticipating hearing the details.

As Legolas and Nárë joined Estel and Thranduil, the child was looking with wonder around the massive throne room of Mirkwood. 

“Legolas, it is so big!” exclaimed the child, his excitement overcoming his initial fear.  “Listen; it is talking back to me!”

Legolas smiled as Estel discovered his faint echo, and the prince looked around the chamber with new eyes, seeing it as though through the eyes of a child. 

For long years after Thranduil’s return from Dagorlad, the elves of Greenwood had seen their beautiful forest darkened by the blight of evil pouring from Dol Guldur.  Pushed ever backwards by the onslaught, they had watched Greenwood the Great sink to only a shell of its former glory, until it was called simply Mirkwood, and they grieved for the great and ancient trees lost and transformed into twisted, darkened masses. 

When the beleaguered king declared that they had retreated their last league, the determined elves began creating this fortress.  Built long before the Prince of Mirkwood was born, the cavernous room was originally intended to house all of the Wood-elves as a last resort should danger engulf their lands and over-power them.   Here they would make their stand, led by their beautiful and brave young king.  This would be their home, and if the end of all things came for the Wood-elves, their tomb. 

But the Firstborn are energetic and enterprising, and the Wood-elves are renowned for their stubbornness.  They had not the skill of the dwarves, but Nárë’s father, Náro, was Oropher’s Chief Counselor, and had apprenticed in Eregion under the tutelage of the great Celebrimbor.  Náro became wary of Celebrimbor’s obsession with crafting the great rings and moved his wife and two sons to Greenwood the Great, bringing the knowledge of his craft with him.  He passed his skills on to his sons, hoping that they would be able to live in peace, further perfecting their art.  Nárë did so, expanding his knowledge to the areas of design and architecture. 

As the months slipped by, Nárë helped to plan this vast complex of tunnels and rooms, utilizing the warmth from thermal springs running deep beneath the floors as well as the cooling river that openly flowed through the lower passages.  Deep storerooms were built to hold dried foods and herbs for time of siege, and even fresh water was stored in the event that the waters of the river were dammed or fouled beyond their ability to filter.  Cleverly designed and well hidden channels were constructed to bring in fresh air and also vent the smoke from torches or cooking. 

Rather than being a tomb, the cavern became a stronghold.  For a people that had wavered on the brink of sailing from Middle Earth forever, Mirkwood became a place of refuge and relief.  They determined to remain here rather than joined the rest of their kin in the Blessed Realm.

The warriors maintained their fragile grip on the surrounding forests and an uneasy boundary formed.  Through struggle and nerve, the Wood-elves maintained the new borders of Mirkwood and hope once more blossomed in their hearts.  Lives were bonded and new lives created, and their natural merry nature once again began to assert itself. 

Elves ventured out of the fortress, creating telain within sight of the great cavern.  Inside, the elves could turn loose their creative endeavors to make the palace now much more than just functional.  The vast pillars in the Throne Room were carved to resemble trees of beech, ash, and oak.  Intricate vines and trellises were carved and decorated with jewels.  They could not have the stars created by Ilúvatar, so they created their own with glittering jewels from the king’s own stores. 

To the rest of Arda, Thranduil was known as greedy and hungry for jewels and riches, but his elves knew that he desired these things not for himself, but for the beautification of their dwelling.  What he could not provide his subjects in security and stars, he gifted to them in splendor.  Let others think what they would about him, Thranduil cared not one twit about that.  His subjects and Mirkwood were what mattered to him....and his Greenleaf. 

Nárë watched the prince smiling at the young Adan.  The Wood-elves had been an insular group before all these struggles.  Afterwards, they were even more so.  Let the other elves and other races interact with each other, the Silvans preferred to be with their own kind.  Nárë and his brother, Veryo – who was as bold and brave as his name implied - learned that truth the hard way when they came here with their parents. 

Legolas was the exception to that rule.  Thranduil liked to say that the prince was born curious.  He possessed the beauty of his father and the lively good nature of his mother.  His heart accepted love as easily as it offered, and he chaffed when required to remain too long within Thranduil’s realm.  More than once the Noldo had been required to intercede with his friend on behalf of the prince.  'The loremaster had finally been able to persuade the king that the tighter he tried to hold on to his son, the more stubbornly Legolas would fight for freedom.  “Open your fist,” he advised the king, “and allow your son his wings.” 

Looking at Legolas now, Nárë knew that he had been right.  He had no elflings of his own; indeed, had never life bonded, but he had a father’s love and pride in Legolas that he never believed he could feel.  He moved to clasp his arm around Legolas’ shoulders.  “Shall we introduce the young one to one of the true wonders of Mirkwood?”  The pair looked expectantly at Estel.

“The bath?” the boy guessed, with a grimace.

“The bath!” echoed the elves.

As Thranduil started to walk towards the hallway, Legolas opened his mouth to give the warning for Estel to close his eyes, but the prince quickly closed his mouth when he caught the slight shake of the king’s head.  Momentarily confused, Legolas glanced at Nárë, who nodded knowingly. 

“Go ahead, my king, the prince and I shall follow shortly.”

Nárë placed his hand on Legolas’ arm to delay him, meeting the prince’s confused look with a smile.  “The child is distracted and talking with the king.”  He inclined his head in the direction of the retreating pair.  “You will note, I believe, the absence of his fear.”

Comprehension came into Legolas’ sapphire eyes and delight brightened his face.  “How did you know?”

Nárë chuckled.  “We were forced to learn the fine art of distraction when you were an elfling; else you would never have survived long enough to reach your majority.”

Legolas raised his eyebrows in mock innocence.  “I seem to remember being a rather perfect elfling.”

Nárë simply stared at the prince for a moment before bursting into laughter.  “Come, young prince, and let us join the king in the baths.”  As the two began walking, the Noldo turned conspiratorially to Legolas.  “I must admit that I am rather anxious to observe how your father handles a child’s bath time after so long a span of years.”

Legolas could not help but laugh.  “Especially this child, who is famous for not liking his bath!”

“All the better,” sniggered Nárë.  “I shall enjoy this!”

By the time the prince and the loremaster entered the elaborate royal bathing chamber, Thranduil had stripped off his traveling clothes and was working on those of the squirming boy. 

“Hold still, Estel: I am unfamiliar with how these clothes are attached,” muttered the king.

“Perhaps I may be of service,” offered Nárë, choking back a laugh.  The Noldo was quickly intrigued by the fastenings on the tunic.  “This is ingenious!”

“The tunic was specially made by Lord Erestor so that it could be easily removed without interfering with Estel’s cast,” explained Legolas.

Next it was Estel’s turn to be fascinated as the elf deftly unlaced his tunic with one hand.  So intrigued was the child that he wasn’t even flustered at the prospect of bathing with elves he did not know well.  Legolas had shared in the bathing routine at Imladris after Estel was injured and it took two of them at a time to clean the child and keep his cast dry, but Thranduil and Nárë were a different prospect.

Legolas quickly dropped his clothes and placed them beside all the others on a carved stone bench placed along the wall and dropped down into the waist deep water.  “Place your cast around my neck, Estel, and I shall hold you up so that it stays dry.” 

The pool was almost the size of Estel’s bedroom at home and though eying the prince with a bit of trepidation, the child obeyed after only a moment’s hesitation.  The water was extremely warm for it was part of the underground thermals, and steam rose in billowy waves, coating the entire wall in a moist sheen that reflected the torchlight, giving the room a golden hue.  A waterfall of the sizzling fluid cascaded down one wall constantly feeding the pool while a drain had been constructed on the opposite side keeping the waters fresh.  The pool was carved so that it slanted from the shallower end where Legolas stood holding Estel to a much deeper depth where Thranduil and Nárë now floated.

“We are not going over there, are we?” asked Estel nervously.

“No,” smiled the elf in reassurance, “we will stay on this side.”

As Legolas began to move away from the wall he could feel Estel tense, but kept his movements slow to give the child a chance to relax in his arms.  “There are minerals in the water that soothe the skin and also make us more buoyant,” he explained as he lowered them slightly so that the water was over Estel’s waist.

“What is boy-ant?” asked the child.

“It helps to keep us from sinking,” explained the prince.  “Is the water too hot?” 

Estel shook his head, the moisture of the room making his hair curl even more riotously than usual.  The warmth of the water was making him drowsy, and he laid his head on Legolas’ shoulder. 

The prince smiled.  “I am going to use my hand to put some water on your back now, tithen pen.”  Legolas cupped his hand to dip the water and pour it over the child’s back, careful not to wet the sling around his neck.  Legolas was sure that the sling must be wearisome for the child.  “Does that feel good?”

Estel, too relaxed to answer, simply nodded his head.  “Legolas?” he said after a few moments.

“Yes, Estel.”

“Is this where you took a bath when you were little?”

“It is,” replied the prince, “and my Ada would often hold me as I am holding you now.”

“No wonder you liked getting baths,” came the sleepy reply. 

“Why could not your baths have made you as sleepy as this little one,” inquired the king lazily.  “Instead, you were energized to run the halls of my palace with nary a stitch on!”

Legolas groaned.  “You take far too much delight in recounting that tale, Adar!”

Estel lifted his head from the prince’s shoulder.  “Was Legolas a fast runner?”

“He was,” answered Nárë, “and as slippery as an eel, for he often ran straight to my chambers.”  The Noldo submerged his entire body for a moment before coming up with a blustery surge of bubbles, shaking his head back and forth to rid his hair of the water and making Estel giggle at his antics.  “It was my job to hold the little mite until his Adar could don his leggings and follow.”

“One simply does not run through the halls without one’s breeches,” replied the king imperially, as he continued to float on his back.  His hair drifted in the water around his head like a silken coronet.  “It would not do to put one’s guards to shame over their...inability to measure up,” he added with a wicked grin.

Nárë flipped some water over the king’s face.  “Are you implying that the rest of us fail to match up to the king’s assets?”

“It is a well known fact that my treasure store is the largest...” the king came to a sputtering halt as the Noldo ducked him under the water

“You were saying, my lord?”

Legolas interrupted the playfully jousting pair before the king could reply.  “I believe I shall get this little one settled into some sleeping clothes and then fed his dinner before he falls asleep.”  He sat Estel on the edge of the pool and quickly jumped out himself.  Soft drying cloths were stacked on a shelf carved from the walls, and Legolas grabbed a couple of these.  He wrapped one around Estel’s shoulders before quickly drying himself off.  He looked askance at the two elves still in the water.  “Perhaps you two should dress here lest you dazzle the guards with your glory!” 

“An excellent suggestion, young prince!” drawled Nárë, causing Legolas to laugh as he picked up Estel and started from the room.

The prince quickly traveled down the hallway to his room.  He was relieved to see that the oil lamps had all been lit and the simple meal he had ordered was waiting on a table.  He padded across the floor and sat Estel on the bed.  “Now what to put you in...” he wondered.  Estel’s clothes and supplies had all been left behind in the dash from the attacking orcs.  “Ah,” Legolas decided, pulling a soft, linen tunic from the drawer, “this shall work.”  He untied the sling and slipped it from around Estel’s neck, then worked the sleeve of the tunic over the cast.  The shirt would hang to Estel’s ankles if he stood up.  “This will keep you warm,” he added.

The prince pulled back the covers, plumped up a couple of the pillows, and snuggled the boy against them.  Next he selected some fruit, cheese, and bread from the provided tray and brought them back to the bed.  “Try some of this Estel.” 

Estel sleepily eyed the plate, too content to move.

“You will sleep better if you eat something,” coaxed the elf, waving the warm bread under the boy’s nose.

Estel smiled at the prince and took the bread.  “Will you stay with me?” he asked as he chewed. 

“Yes, I will,” answered Legolas.  “This is my room.”

Estel looked around curiously.  The room was a bit smaller than the one he was used to in Imladris, but no less richly decorated.  Where Estel had a terrace however, this room was solid, almost circular.  A washroom, much smaller than the royal baths, opened off to one side, and a large wardrobe seemed built into the very wall itself.  The floor was covered by a woven rug patterned with a tapestry of woods, vines, and primroses.  Along one wall were cleverly built shelves displaying a fascinating collection of weapons.  But what took away the child’s breath was the ceiling, which was speckled with a glittering array of adamants designed in the image of the constellations and magically reflecting the light from the oil lamps.  Intricate venting along the walls kept fresh air circulating throughout the chamber.

“It is beautiful,” breathed Estel, lost in the splendor of the ceiling.  “You can go to sleep looking at the stars!”

Legolas smiled at the wonder on the child’s face.  “I have always loved sleeping under the stars.”  He glanced up, his eyes following the beloved patterns.  “As long as I can remember, these stars have lulled me to sleep at night.”

“I am finished eating,” Estel said after a while.

Legolas took the plate and put it away.  He extinguished all but one of the lamps, leaving the one designed so that it reflected upon the ceiling.  The prince crossed back to the bed and settled down beside the boy, pulling the child into his arms to sleep.

Full, clean, and feeling decidedly safe, Estel snuggled comfortable beside the prince.  “Legolas?”

“Yes, Estel.”

“I am glad that you are my friend.”

The prince smiled into the darkness.  “I am glad that I am your friend too.”

“And my brother,” the boy added sleepily.

“And your brother,” echoed the prince, allowing himself to drift into the waking dreams of the elves.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Thirty Seven

The Better Part of Valor

“True valor lies between cowardice and rashness.” Miquel de Cervantes

By the time the four hunters reached the border area where the twins were overcome, the golden orb of Anor was rising over the steep mountain ranges surrounding the hidden valley. The cooler air of night was slowly being warmed as the rays gently erased the last traces of the predawn mist.

“This is where it happened,” confirmed Glorfindel, dismounting from Asfaloth. “Elladan was down, and Elrohir was standing over him as they were engulfed by the orcs.”

The other three dismounted and walked over to stand by Glorfindel. The horses began to graze nearby as the warriors examined the area.

An unconscious shudder ran through Elrond’s frame as he contemplated how very close he had come to losing his sons in this place, where the veil of malevolence still seemed to cling to the very air he breathed. During the centuries that he had lived in Imladris, very few times had evil been able to penetrate the valley defenses. Not since the time of siege had orcs roamed within the valley confines unrestricted.

Elrond walked over to where Mithrandir knelt in a particularly lush, fern covered area, gently feeling of the soil with his hand. The Maia’s eyes were closed, as though reaching out with his senses rather than with his vision. The Elf Lord knew better than to speak or interrupt the wizard’s concentration, but he longed to know what it was, if anything, that Mithrandir could discern.

Celeborn, too, waited…silent and tense. Instincts honed through battles too numerous to count were tingling throughout the elf’s frame and he found himself glancing at Glorfindel, where he found affirmation. The golden warrior was standing with his back to the other three, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword and his shoulders taut with anticipation.

“They are close,” said Mithrandir, as though from a trance. “I can feel the wizardry surrounding them.”

“Wizardry from where, Mithrandir…can you tell from where?”

The Maia closed his eyes harder, concentrating with all his might. “I cannot detect a particular Maia’s power,” he said at last, panting slightly from the mental exertion.

“Then we must engage the enemy and take one alive, if at all possible,” said Elrond, drawing Hadafang. Every line of his face spoke of fierce determination. “Come!” he called to the surrounding forest. “Come, if you will! You wanted my children; now come and taste their father’s sword! Face me!”

The sensation of malicious danger hung heavily in the air. So electric was the atmosphere that the Maia would swear that he could almost see it shimmering just beyond the bounds of their sight. “Careful,” he cautioned, “for these beings are not just orcs.”

“What do you mean?” asked Celeborn, moving to stand where he could protect both Mithrandir and Elrond as they concentrated on seeking clues from beyond the physical realm.

“They carry a protection,” said the Maia, “but from where I cannot ascertain.”

“Why do they not attack,” asked Glorfindel, “for I can feel their hatred.”

“That is just one more piece to this puzzle,” answered Celeborn. “Orcs being aided by a Maia,” he shook his head; “how can this be?”

Before anyone could respond, they attacked.

O-o-O-o-O

Mirkwood – The Healing Rooms

“You will not take that tone of voice with me!” admonished Thranduil. By all the Valar, had every elf in his kingdom fallen into an appalling lack of discipline?

Thedin immediately bowed his head, though his countenance remained stubborn. Only a century younger than Thranduil, Thedin had apprenticed during the war of the Last Alliance. His skills were perfected in the battlefield tents of healing where his cool head and innate healing abilities had saved many lives. It was Thedin that refused to give up on Nárë, and saved the elf’s life the morning he was brought back from the dead marshes minus his arm and bleeding heavily.

Thedin did not hate Edain so much as he had absolutely no use for them. Like many of his kin, he preferred the Wood-elves stay to themselves. In his mind, the time they had needed the other races the most, they had been let down, with the resulting devastating loss of their king and so many of their warriors. He believed that they were best served by never again putting themselves in a position where they must rely on others. Thedin blamed not only Isildur for the continued evil pouring from Mordor, but also Elrond. The truth be known, many Silvans blamed the Noldo for not taking the ring from Isildur and destroying the wretched thing himself.

“My king,” said Thedin, trying a different track, “surely one of the other healers would be better suited to this mission than I.”

“You question my judgment now?” growled Thranduil.

“No, my liege…”

“Of course you do!” grumbled the king. “Do not push my good humor too far,” he warned, ignoring the look of astonishment that flashed across the healer’s features.

“It will take me days to learn all that I would need to know from the Lake Town healers,” protested Thedin.

“You are my first healer, Thedin, and the one I trust the most.” Thranduil stopped and sighed. “Need I remind you that the son of Elrond saved Prince Legolas’ life?”

Thedin knew then that he was lost.

“How can we do less than that?” asked Thranduil, spreading his hands as though in petition. “Think of it as a debt of honor.”

The healer would try one last argument. “But Sire,” he almost whined, “they are Edain!”

The king’s eyes hardened. “You will leave within the hour.”

Thedin knew that tone of voice. He sank to his knee, his head bowed. “Yes, my lord.”

Thranduil allowed Thedin to remain as he was for a few more seconds, just so that the message would be clear. “You have my leave to rise, Thedin.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

“Now,” continued Thranduil thoughtfully, “you must find out the nutritional requirements for a small adan, and how much he might need to consume at each feeding.” The king paced the room as he considered what else he particularly wanted to know. “Because the child’s arm was broken, you will need to find out how long it must remain immobilized.”

Thedin favored the king with a shocked look. “You failed to mention the child was injured!”

“Did I?” Thranduil affected an innocent expression, “how forgetful of me.”

Thedin’s eyes grew wide as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Edain get illnesses!”

“Your point?” Thranduil asked.

“What if this child gets sick?” murmured the healer. “I have tended war wounds, accidents and spider bits, but never such as that!”

“Why do you think I am sending you to the Edain healers?” Thranduil shook his head disdainfully. “Really, Thedin, sometimes I wonder about you.”

“And I, you, my lord...” the healer mumbled under his breath.

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel drew his sword and slashed upwards at a charging orc in one smooth motion. His analytical mind ran through defenses as he allowed his body to slip into the well practiced motions of battle. While he fought, his eyes constantly searched for orc archers; he wanted to be aware of any threat from that quarter. Swords he could fight; incoming arrows were more difficult and would have to be dealt with. He gradually fought his way over to where he could protect Elrond’s back.

Celeborn slashed downward with a feral grin on his face. Not in millennia had he fought orcs, and he relished the chance to fight back with his own hands. Even when Celebrían, his own daughter, had been so cruelly used, he had been unable to do more than watch as his warriors and those of Imladris rode out to clear the mountain pass of the orcs responsible. The Lord of Lórien did not consider himself a vengeful elf, but he would admit that he was finding satisfaction in doling out justice to the ones who had hurt his grandsons. Celeborn quickly ducked as Mithrandir’s staff swept over his head, connecting with the orc attacking from behind him.

“Watch you do not enjoy yourself so much that you become careless, old friend,” chided the Maia. “I would not want to face Galadriel should something happen to you.”

Elrond was wading through orcs as quickly as they came at him. A pair charged him from two different directions. A swing of his sword connected with the first as he sliced downward and turned to decapitate the second. Immediately, more of the foul creatures surged forward. Even while his mind told him he was becoming isolated from the others, his anger and his instincts kept him charging.

Attacking from two sides, the orcs attempted to further isolate Elrond. The Noldo stabbed his sword through one particularly ugly orc. Hadafang was pulled from his grasp as the creature twisted violently in his death throes. Elrond quickly crouched down and unsheathed the golden dagger from its location on his boot, dispatching two more orcs before retrieving his sword.

A particularly large being stepped over two of his own dead to challenge Elrond. “Long have I stalked your home, Elf Lord,” he spat.

Hadafang in a ready position, Elrond stepped easily over four, reeking bodies, never taking his eyes from his prey. “Stalk no more then; I am here.”

With a powerful swing, the orc lunged at Elrond. His size alone would give him an advantage, he believed. The brawny being slashed repeatedly at Elrond as the two maneuvered in their uninterrupted dance of death.

Elrond kept his concentration on his formidable opponent, diligently watching his shoulders for an indication of where his next strike would be. Time after time their swords clashed with a mighty clang as he met each crushing blow.

Celeborn was fighting against three orcs. One thrust to his left and then immediately spun around to catch the Sindar in a blow to his ribcage.

The Lord of Lórien side-stepped enough to keep the blow from being fatal, but not enough to completely divert the sword from wounding him. He automatically placed his hand over the wound, drawing it back only to see it covered in blood.

Glorfindel was desperately fighting his way towards Elrond when he heard the involuntary cry from Celeborn. The Lord of Lórien was wounded! The golden warrior quickly dispatched the orc he was fighting and threw his sword at the orc attempting to finish off Celeborn. The sword embedded itself to the hilt in the orc’s back and he fell forward without ever knowing from where the killing blow came. Celeborn quickly retrieved his own sword that had been knocked from his grasp when he was wounded in the side.

“I have him,” called Mithrandir, stepping beside Celeborn. “See to Elrond.”

Glorfindel grabbed an orc blade and started back towards Elrond. He could see several gashes marring Elrond’s body, and realized that, impossibly, the tide seemed to be turning against them. Mighty warriors they might be, but they were only four against untold numbers. Anger filled him with resolve. He had not returned from Mandos’ Halls to see the son of Eärendil fall to vile creatures!

Elrond was becoming tired of this orc and his mocking eyes. Ducking his head and swirling around to his left in one swift motion, the Lord of Imladris came up and drove his sword through the orc’s stomach. For a sickening moment, they were face to face and Elrond watched in satisfaction as the malicious light died from the being’s black eyes. Panting, he stood back and pulled Hadafang free.

Glorfindel was immediately by his side. “How badly are you wounded?”

“The cuts are not deep,” responded the Elf Lord, as he swung at another foe; “they are only bleeding freely because of my exertion.”

“We must withdraw,” said Glorfindel.

“No!” roared Elrond.

“My lord, we must!”

O-o-O-o-O

“Ada!” Estel sat up, panting hard from his dream. “Ada!” he called again.

Legolas was immediately by the child’s side. “Estel, it is Legolas.”

“Legolas?” Estel repeated.

“Yes, child,” the prince soothed, “you were dreaming.”

“I dreamed the monsters were after my Ada,” the child said quietly.

“Lord Elrond is safe in Imladris, Estel,” assured Legolas. “You know that Glorfindel and all of the warriors will always protect him.”

Estel’s large eyes blinked as he thought about the prince’s words. “Yes,” he nodded thoughtfully, before a huge yawn claimed him.

Settling himself on the bed, Legolas pulled Estel into his arms, nestling the child against him for warmth and security. “My Adar brought you some of the clothes I wore as an elfling. You will dress as a Wood-elf!” He could not help smiling at the thought of what Elladan and Elrohir would have to say about that.

“How does a Wood-elf dress?” asked the confused child.

That question caused the prince to laugh. “I forget how literal you are.”

“What’s lit...?”

“Never mind,” interrupted Legolas. “You will dress in the colors of the forest as we do. It is one of the ways that we are able to disappear into the woods.”

That caught Estel’s attention. “Will you teach me to disappear too?”

“I will,” replied the prince, “but first we must break our fast before your stomach decides to make you grumble.”

Estel giggled at the seriousness of the Legolas’ words. “You are funny, Legolas!”

“Oh I am, am I?” he laughed, tickling Estel’s tummy. “Well let us see how funny this is!”

Estel dissolved into giggles at Legolas’ antics. So caught up were the pair in their play that they did not notice Thranduil enter the room. “What is this?” said the king seriously. “Play before break of fast?”

“King Thran-due!” squealed Estel. “I am going to dress like a Wood-elf and hide in the forest!”

“Not hide, Estel,” said Legolas automatically, “disappear.”

“Oh,” corrected Estel, “disappear!” The boy stopped for a second and looked quizzically at Legolas. “Why disappear instead of hide?” His silver eyes blinked as he thought about the words. “They are the same thing, are they not?”

“Not at all,” explained the king, taking a seat on the side of the bed. “For my elves do not hide from the enemy.”

“Oh!” said Estel, seriously. “Warriors do not hide!”

A loud growl emanated from the child’s middle.

“Too late,” said Legolas, “we must hurry and get your dressed, Estel!”

The giggling boy allowed Legolas to quickly dress him in the soft greens of Mirkwood.

O-o-O-o-O

Glorfindel refused to be intimidated by glare. The pair stood toe to toe as more orcs poured from the forest.

“We must have a prisoner,” Elrond growled.

“A prisoner will do us no good unless we are alive to question it,” responded Glorfindel, deftly blocking a sword thrust aimed at Elrond’s back.

Before Elrond could reply, arrows filled the air.

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Thirty Eight

Just Be My Friend

Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend."   Albert Camus

Erestor sat up with a start, straining his ears for the sound that had summoned him from sleep, unsure whether or not the sound was real or a phantom of his dreams.  The first light of dawn was just gracing the valley, casting a soft, pink hue over the landscape as the Seneschal struggled to bring himself to wakefulness.  There it was again...the horned call faint, but clear.  Three short bursts followed by a long one.  That chased any vestige of sleep from his mind. Erestor pulled back the light cover and put his feet on the floor, fighting off the slight wave of vertigo that overcame him.   “I have been abed too long,” he muttered to himself, pulling the irritating sling from around his neck and letting it fall onto the bed.

“Erestor?”  Elrohir was sitting up looking at him, confusion clearly written upon his features.  “Was that the attack signal?”

Erestor nodded as he stood up.  “It came from the border.”

“I must go,” said Elrohir resolutely, swinging his legs off the bed.  His attempt to stifle the moan elicited by the motion was not completely successful.

“El?”   Elladan, too, was awake now, drawn instinctively by his brother’s soft sound of pain.  “What is it?”

“Attack on the border, El,” the twin replied.  “No,” he hurried to add, “do not even think about getting up.”

“You cannot go without me,” protested Elladan, “besides, I am not the one who groaned from pain just now.” 

“You are neither one leaving this room,” said Erestor with finality.  “I will see what is going on.”  Erestor did not say it, but the house seemed too quiet.  And where was Elrond?  Normally he would be the first one here to ensure his sons did not attempt what they were now attempting.  He forced himself to stop and stand straight, ignoring the dull ache in his arm. 

“But Erestor...”

“Sit!” he commanded.  Shaking his head, Erestor mumbled to himself, “Stubborn elflings.” 

“I believe you should all three obey that advice.”   The lady entered the room, as serene as ever.

“Lady Galadriel,” greeted Erestor, trying to look less like a patient and more like the distinguished Seneschal he was.   “I am needed.”

“You will stay in your beds until you are released by a healer,” said Galadriel, unmoved by his performance.  “I have just had this same conversation with Sariboril, and I weary of repeating myself.”   The lady’s tone brokered no argument.

“Where is Elrond?” asked Erestor, suddenly not wanting to know the answer.  He did not miss the slight glance she sent in the twin’s direction.

“My son is hunting this morning.”

“Ada?” Elrohir could not keep the alarm from his voice.  His grandmother’s attempt to explain Elrond’s absence only heightened his apprehension, for Elrond was not given to hunting of any form.  Suddenly the significance of the attack horns took on a decidedly ominous tone.  “Daernaneth, I must go!” 

Galadriel put her hands on his shoulders and gently, but firmly, sat the twin back down.  “You are not leaving this room, Elrohir.”

“Daernaneth, is Ada in danger?”  Elladan’s soft voice was laced with iron, but the look in his eye betrayed the love of a son fearing for his father.

Galadriel gifted him with her smile.  “Your adar has been a warrior for many centuries.” 

“Respectfully, Daernaneth, that is not an answer,” interjected Elrohir.  His sleep tousled hair reminded his grandmother of the elfling he had been.

Galadriel brushed back the strand of hair that had fallen over her grandson’s forehead. “Do not let fear rule your heart,” she replied enigmatically.  “He is not alone.”

O-o-O-o-O

As he fired volley after volley of arrows at the orcs, Haldir’s stony countenance belied the emotion roiling within him.  The elf had been horrified and then furious in turn when he discovered that his lord had ventured forth without a guard.  What was he thinking?  Seeing the blood streaming down Celeborn’s side only intensified his agitation. 

“I am going to take all four of them and I am going to lock them in a room,” muttered the more excitable Illuin beside him.  His supply of arrows exhausted, Illuin drew his sword and jumped down from the tree.

Haldir quickly followed suit.  He ran to Celeborn’s side as the warriors from Imladris and Lórien quickly fought off the remainder of the orcs, forming a protective circle around the four beleaguered warriors.  “My Lord, you are out early this morning,” he growled, grabbing Celeborn’s arm to help him remain erect.  “How careless of me to have missed the call to arms.”  The irony in his voice was not lost on Celeborn. 

“Do not start with me, Haldir,” growled the Elf Lord, though he allowed the Marchwarden to bear part of his weight.  The wound to his side hurt fiercely, though not quite so much as the wound to his pride at having received it.  And now he would have to soothe the fabled ire of Haldir.

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow as Illuin approached him.  “What kept you?”

Illuin was too flabbergasted to answer until he caught the glint of humor in the commander’s eye.  The truth was, Illuin was still too shaken to do much more than nod back to the golden warrior.  He shuddered to think what could have happened had his guards not observed the Lord of Imladris leaving the grounds and signaled him.  As it was he was going to have to put up with that peacock from Lórien smirking about their defenses. 

“Or lack thereof,” drawled Haldir, as though reading Illuin’s thoughts.

Elrond turned on the young commander.  “I wanted a prisoner!”

Glorfindel’s eyebrow hitched a bit further, but he held his counsel, deciding to see how Illuin responded.

The young commander of border defenses drew himself up to meet his Lord’s eye.  “You and Lord Celeborn were wounded, my Lord, and your position overrun. My warriors had not the luxury of shooting to wound, nor were they particularly inclined to do so.”

Glorfindel nearly snorted.  “Well done, Illuin,” he clasped the elf on the shoulder. “Round up the horses, if you please.”

“Yes, my lord,” the elf responded, with a small bow of his head.

“Illuin,” said Elrond softly.

“My Lord?” the elf immediately responded, love, and devotion clearly mirrored in his eyes.

“Forgive me; I spoke out of turn,” the Elf Lord apologized.

“You had my forgiveness before even you asked, my Lord.”  With a small smile, he turned to follow Lord Glorfindel’s command.

Elrond sighed deeply.  “I ask your pardon as well, my friend.”

“It is not necessary,” replied Glorfindel.  He took Elrond by the shoulders, looking him over carefully and assessing his wounds.  “I have been waiting for you to vent your emotions for some days now.” 

“I cannot afford to allow my emotions to control me,” Elrond agonized, angry with himself.

“You cannot continue to bottle them all up, either,” responded Glorfindel earnestly, squeezing Elrond’s shoulders in support.  “You have been under a tremendous strain; it is well past time that you allow those who love you to share some of that load.”

O-o-O-o-O

Arwen’s eyes sparkled with mirth.  “Mistress Sariboril, you must stay down.”

“Nonsense!” argued the feisty healer.  “You heard those horns as well as I.”  She fixed Arwen with a mock glare, for she loved the child too much to truly glare at her.  “There may be wounded arriving; I will be needed!”

“You are still wounded yourself,” Arwen reasoned, “and I am beyond being intimidated by your frown, so do not try it on me.”  She softened her words with asmile, before growing serious again.  “Allow your healers the chance to impress you.”

Sariboril stilled and gave Arwen a considering look.  “When did you become so wise?”

Arwen’s musical laugh cheered them both.  “Not so wise, I think; I simply come from a long line of stubborn elves!”

“That you do, child,” agreed the healer, “that you do.”

“Now lay back,” Arwen urged.  ‘I will sit with you.”

Sariboril beamed with pride as she watched her healers quickly and efficiently prepare to receive casualties.  “I will deny it if you tell them, but they are quite good, are they not?”

Arwen gave Sariboril’s arm an affectionate squeeze, “They were trained by the best.”

Noise coming from the front hallway, interrupted their conversation, and Sariboril started, “There are wounded coming in!”  Instinctively, she moved to rise, every fiber of her being trained for healing, but a slight pressure from Arwen’s hand stilled her again.

Haldir entered the room supporting a pale Celeborn.  Immediately behind him came Elrond, Glorfindel and Mithrandir. 

“Ada!”  Arwen rose in alarm.  “Daeradar!” she cried, more shaken than she cared to admit.  She had never seen her father or her grandfather injured in any way.

Elrond waved away a healer and went instead to his daughter, taking her smaller hands in his own.  “They are only scratches, daughter.”

Her fearful eyes went towards Celeborn, 

“The wound to your Daeradaris not fatal,” he assured her, “only painful.”  

“It should be painful,” snapped Sariboril.  “What were the two of you thinking?”

“That is something I would like to know, as well,” said Haldir.  He had stepped back against the wall when the healers took Lord Celeborn into the surgery, and was now looking quite pointedly at Lord Elrond.

Arwen bristled at his tone, but Elrond’s eyebrow simply arched elegantly.  “I am not accustomed to asking leave of my warriors before I act within my own valley, Marchwarden.”

Haldir reddened slightly, but held his ground.  “With respect, my Lord, your warriors cannot protect you if you do not allow them to do so.”

Glorfindel coughed and Mithrandir chuckled, only to receive a frown from Haldir.

“You forget yourself,” warned Glorfindel, softly, stepping in front of Elrond as though to shield him from the Marchwarden’s ire.

“Relax, young one,” soothed the wizard. “We are not so decrepit as we look,” he added with another chuckle.  “I may appear to be old, but I assure you I am quite capable of keeping up with even you.”

Before Haldir could sputter, Arwen wrapped her arm through the crook of his elbow.  “Come, Haldir, let us leave before you create even more of an incident,” she bantered, though the lightly spoken words could not completely mask her worry.

Haldir’s look went from Arwen’s concerned countenance to the bleeding gashes marring Lord Elrond’s arms and shoulders and his heart softened.  The look on Lord Glorfindel’s face was also a factor, and the elf realized he had badly overstepped the bounds of courtesy towards his host.  “My apologies for the harshness of my words, my Lords.  If you will excuse me?”  He led Arwen from the room, trying to salvage as much dignity as he could. 

Arwen laughed lightly, “You really are a sight when you are angry!”

Haldir bit off the reply he could have made because he did not wish to alarm the Undómial.  In truth, the Elf Lords and the Wizard had been close to being overrun, for all their banter and overconfidence. He could not fault their skill or their courage, but he would certainly question their judgment.  His Lord’s safety was his responsibility, and he took that extremely seriously.  

O-o-O-o-O

Dressing Estel in the clothes he wore as an elfling was no small matter.  In fact, it required both the king and Legolas working in tandem before the task was complete, with the prince spurred to hurry as the growls emanating from Estel’s middle became more insistent.

“Adar, we must hasten,” urged Legolas, as he pulled the soft blue top over Estel’s head.  The prince had no idea just how long he actually had once Estel’s stomach growled, but he did not want to take any chances on something bad happening because of so simple a thing as lack of food.  He hoped that Thedin would be able to answer such questions when he returned from Lake Town.  His father’s words interrupted his reverie.

“That will not work,” frowned the king.  “The injured arm must go in first.”

“You are correct,” sighed Legolas, pulling the shirt back up over Estel’s head.

“Ouch,” cried Estel. “You pulled my ear!”

“I am sorry, tithen pen,” apologized the prince. “I am unused to dressing young ones.”

“Here Legolas,” offered Thranduil, with a chuckle, “let me try.”  The king, at least, had experience in the dressing of a squirming child.  He slipped the bulky cast through the sleeve and then held the opposite opening.  “Here, child, put your other arm through here and then we will pull it over your head.”

“Whew,” Estel sighed, when the tunic was in place.  “I never knew it was so hard to dress as a Wood-elf.”

“We are only half way through, child,” laughed the king, “unless you intend to spend the rest of the day with a bare backside.”

Estel frowned at the idea, shaking his head thoughtfully.  “My ada would not like that!”  He sat on the bed and held up wiggling feet for the prince and king to slip on the green leggings.”

“Hey,” objected Estel.  “You did not give me any braies to wear under them!”     

“We do not wear other clothing underneath our leggings,” explained Legolas. “The fit would be too tight if we did.”  He pulled the material up over Estel’s knees.  “Stand up so I can pull them up.”

Estel scooted off the bed and allowed the prince to pull up the pants. “What about my beets?”

“Your what?” asked the puzzled king.

“Your feet, Estel,” corrected Legolas.  He had noticed Estel slipping back to the old speech pattern after they had arrived at Mirkwood...a sure sign that the child was insecure, even if the boy did not understand that fully.

“I have these,” said the king, holding up a pair of brown suede boots. “They look to be around the same size.”  He sat one down beside Estel’s foot. “There are others if these do not fit.”

Estel’s stomach gave a particularly insistent growl.  “Are we almost binished?”

“Yes, young one, we are,” affirmed the king, grunting slightly as he tried to pull the boot onto the squirming foot.  “Are you hungry?”

“Um hum,” nodded the child.

“If you will stop wiggling your toes the boots will go on quicker and we can dine all the sooner.”

“Oh,” faltered Estel, biting his lower lip. “I am sorry.”  He pointed his foot, and it slid nicely into the boot.  “Can we eat now?” he asked, immediately brightening.

O-o-O-o-O

Like so much else in Mirkwood, mealtime was a formal affair.  Opening from the throne room was a smaller area where meals were taken.  All the elves living within the cavern and many from the surrounding telain, gathered there waiting for the king’s entrance and his leave to begin.  A table carved in an ivy motif and elevated upon a dais was draped with the finest of cloth and served the king and his entourage.

In happier days Thranduil had envisioned filling the seats at the head table with cheerfully chattering offspring.  After the death of his wife, however, he knew that Legolas would be the only elfling that would grace his life and his table.  Now Nárë dined beside the king, and before his death, Silad, the adar of Falathar and previous chief of guards, had also shared meals at the king’s table. 

The soft hum of conversation died as the king entered the room and all present dropped to a knee in welcome.  Legolas walked behind Thranduil, holding Estel’s hand.  The prince could feel the tension in the air as the elves were given leave to resume their seats.  From all around the room he could feel their eyes following him.Word had certainly spread that the king returned with a human, for the room was even more full than usual and many were stretching their necks to catch sight of the child.

Nárë was settling into his seat as Legolas and Estel arrived at the table. 

When he saw Nárë, Estel smiled shyly. He could not have put into words why, but it comforted the child to see an elf like his father and brothers.  Estel was not completely at ease amongst so many blonde elves.  Visions of Quenthar still lurked in the darker corners of his mind, threatening the boy with his fears, even as he clung to Legolas’ hand. 

Legolas sat Estel in the chair between himself and his adar.  “Well, this will not do!”

Estel’s chin barely peeked above the surface of the table, and he looked up helplessly at the prince.  “It will be all right, Legolas,” he said hesitantly.   In truth, he rather liked being able to hide behind the table cloth because he was acutely aware of being scrutinizedby the many elves in attendance.  

Sizing up the situation, Thranduil reached over, picked up Estel, and sat him onto his lap.  “Here, Estel, you may eat with me.”  An audible gasp was heard when the gathered elves witnessed the act.  Thranduil quickly silenced the throng with a glance.  “We shall have a special seat made for you before the next meal, child.” 

The silence in the room was deafening as the meal was served and consumed.  Perched on the king’s lap and surrounded by Legolas and Nárë, Estel began to relax, though he remained aware of the numerous eyes watching him.

Nárë observed the child surreptitiously.  He remembered how it felt when he first arrived in Greenwood as a stranger and a Noldo in the world of the insular Silvans.  He and Veryo were definitely on the outside and it took long, difficult years for them to find their place amongst the Wood-elves.  The memory brought a small smile to his face as he remembered those bitter-sweet ages.  It was the friendship of Thranduil that got him through those hard times…and the worse ones that were to come. 

Estel frowned at the mithril chalice full of milk in front of him.  It was beautiful, shining and set with dark blue gems, but it was too large for his small hand.  His eyebrows furrowed as he pondered the problem.  His ada taught him to think problems through before taking action, and he was very proud of himself for remembering that lesson.  The trouble was that he could not think of an answer for this particular dilemma.

The solution presented itself for him in the guise of the Noldo warrior.  “Might I be of assistance, Estel?”  Reaching over, he grasped the goblet and helped the boy to drink. 

“Ah,” sighed Estel, “that was good.”  He smiled at Nárë through a milk mustache and then reached up to wipe his mouth with his sleeve.

The elf’s eyebrows hitched, reminding Estel of his ada, and he immediately arrested the motion.  “Do not wipe my mouth with my sleebe?”

Nárënodded approvingly.  “That is correct.”  He picked up the napkin from where it had fallen onto Estel’s chair when the king had picked him up and handed it to the child.  “Use this.”

Estel smiled and daintily wiped his mouth.  He turned to look proudly at the prince.  “Look, Legolas, I used my napkin and not my sleebe!”

“Very good, Estel,” praised Legolas.  “Now, if you are finished with your break of fast, would you like to go outside?”

“Yes!” cheered the boy, for he was anxious to go outside and see the sky again.

“Come then,” smiled the prince. “I have a wonderful tree for us to climb!”  He knelt before his father.  “Maywe have your leave to depart, Adar?”

Thranduil gifted his son with a smile that softened his eyes and brought joy to Legolas’ heart.  “You have my leave.”

Estel took his hand and slid from Thranduil’s knee.  “Thank you for my break of bast, King Adar.”  He glanced shyly over to the Noldo.  “Thank you for helping me, Lord Nárë.” 

The room had gone deathly quiet when Estel referred to Thranduil as King Adar, and now there was a hiss of conversation as the elves discussed this affront, as many saw it, coming not only from a human, but from a so-called son of Elrond.  Some in Mirkwood were too willing to hold onto their grudges.

Thranduilwatched Legolas lead the child from the room, reeling somewhat from Estel’s guileless slip of the tongue.   He sat back with a sigh.  Love for his Greenleaf kept him going through the grief of his wife’s death, and it gave him strength when the burden of leadership weighed down his heart.  He was proud of his warrior son, but also remembered the sweet elfling he had been.  Thranduil had believed he would never again hear a child call him Adar.

“It is nice to have a youngling in residence again, is it not?” 

The king glanced over at Nárë.  “Is my countenance so easily read?”

“Only to one who knows you so well,” responded the Noldo.

 “You begin to scare me, my friend,” chuckled Thranduil.  “You know me too well.”

“Not all will welcome him.”  The smile faded from Nárë’s face.  “I remember what that is like.”

Thranduil nodded thoughtfully. “I was your friend then; I will be his friend now.”

Nárësmiled.  “He could have none better.”

“He already does,” said Thranduil.  “He has my son.” 

TBC 

Healing Hope

Chapter 39

Nárë

“What cannot be changed must be borne.”  Boromir, as written by Evendim

Estel and Legolas lay side by side on a fletnestled high in the branches of an ancient oak.  The pair had their faces turned towards the anor as though to seek the last bits of warmth before the colder months of Rhîw moved in.  They had come straight here after the break of fast, and Legolas had instructed Estel to crawl onto his back and hold tight while he climbed the tree.  The flet was relatively small, due to its extreme height, but it was one of Legolas’ favorite spots to retreat for contemplation. 

Enjoying the soft breeze, Legolas closed his eyes and sighed deeply.  He had been telling stories to Estel for some time, until the boy seemed to grow drowsy.  The child had not rested peacefully during the night, as Legolas could easily attest, for the prince has been bumped more than once by the bulky cast as the child tossed and turned fretfully.  At least there had not been a recurrence of the night terrors that left the child gasping for breath, and for that Legolas was extremely grateful. 

When Estel giggled beside him, Legolas opened his eyes to peer at the boy.  A smile lit his face.  A butterfly had landed on the child’s nose and Estel was currently staring cross-eyed down his nose at the graceful creature.  .

“Look, Legolas!” the boy whispered excitedly, “a bur-der-bly!”  At his spoken word the butterfly took flight.  Giggling, Estel rolled after the insect, trying to catch it with his unrestricted hand.

“Dartho, Estel!” Legolas cried, grabbing for the boy as he rolled off the flet. 

O-o-O-o-O

The air whooshed as the blade sliced through it at impossible speeds.  Again and again the blade slashed back and forth, over and under, its burnished surface gleaming.  The flickering torches blurred into one continuous line as the elf whirled, his rapidly beating heart and panting lungs bearing witness to the ferocity of his exertion.  Faster and faster he went, pushing himself until he reached the very limit of his endurance and still he pushed for more.   The blade now acted as an extension of his body, as though hand and metal had been melded through some fiery crucible. 

“Enough,” panted Thranduil, “I concede!”  Stepping back, the king touched his sword to his forehead and dipped his head while his breath fought to return to normal.  “Were you sparring with me or some unknown enemy, my friend?” he teased.

Nárë’s breath hitched slightly as he forced his body to stand down from the fevered pitch to which it had been forced.  Thranduil was closer to the truth with his question than he might have realized, but Nárë did not want to visit that thought now.

Sobering, Thranduil elegantly arched an eyebrow.  Nárë’s silence confirmed his statement.  Aware of his friend’s discomfort, the king changed the subject as he sheathed his sword.   It was normal procedure for these two to retreat to Nárë’s private den for sword practice every morning after the break of fast.  Had a casual observer happened into the room, which was not possible since it opened from Nárë’s personal chamber, it would have seemed he had fallen into some type of weapon filled nightmare. 

The room was circular, as were most of the private chambers of Mirkwood.  Thranduil had commissioned this suite of rooms built to his specifications as a personal gift to Nárë.  This was where Nárë worked his muscles and honed his skills privately, away from prying eyes.  The walls were lined with swords and spears of various sizes.  Numerous daggers - from the Elven to that of the Haradrim – were mounted in niches carved into the stone walls.  Torches ringed the room providing all the light the elf might need. 

Thranduil sat cross legged on the floor as Nárë moved to a rack of smoothed stones slung in individual leather pouches.  Almost with a vengeance, the elf began hefting one of the larger stones to strengthen his arm.  The king watched in silence for a few moments, warring with himself as to whether or not to broach the subject they were both avoiding...always avoiding.

Nárë worked out with as much intensity as he always had, since the days that he and his brother had determined the only way they would be accepted by the Silvans was to best them at everything.  The brothers had taken it upon themselves to become the most proficient warriors in Greenwood, and they had succeeded.  Nárë was the undisputed champion of the bow and Veryo the master of the sword; both finally winning the respect of their fellow warriors and the attention of the king. 

Thranduil had befriended the pair from the very beginning, finding in them the camaraderie that was more difficult to find with those who had always seen him as the heir to the throne.  The three had become inseparable as they worked together to become the best warriors in the kingdom...the brothers for acceptance, Thranduil because he felt it was the only way he could earn his father’s respect.  It was inevitable then, when Oropher led his forces to war that Nárë was named his Herald and Veryo his Chief Commander.  If Thranduil was hurt at the apparent slight by his father, he never voiced it, and his loyalty to his friends never wavered.  

During the battle of the Dagorlad, Oropher’s closest ally Malgalad and his host are cut off and driven into the Dead Marshes.  Oropher dispatched Veryo and a number of his elves in a last ditch effort to support the beleaguered elves, but it was for naught, and Veryo was slain along with Malgalad and most of his forces.

On the Cirith Gorgor side of the plain, Oropher, Nárë, and Thranduil battled furiously, horrified to see the decimation that was happening to the Elven host opposite them.   Nárë, in particular, was torn between rushing to his brother’s aid and staying to protect his king.  In the end their efforts at reaching Malgalad were repulsed and they were driven back, finally retreating to their camp, bitter at the apparent lack of aid by Elendil and Gil-galad.

When an enraged Oropher had banished all his advisors, save Thranduil, from his tent, Nárë seized his chance.  The Noldo could not bear the thought of his brother’s body lying in the swamps and stole from camp. He could not face his parents or live with himself if he did not at least try to bring Veryo from that vile place.  Stealthily, he made his way through the enemy lines until he reached the reeking area where so many bodies lay, some already beginning to rot in the heat.  Steeling himself against the sights he would see, Nárë began the search for Veryo, a full ithil aiding his effort

Thranduil endured his father’s wrath until the King finally wore out.  It wasn’t that Oropher blamed Thranduil so much as it was that Thranduil was someone onto which the King could vent his anger, grief, and disillusionment.  Weary beyond words, Thranduil listened and accepted all the vitriol pouring from his father while his mind fretted over his friend.  No one knew Nárë as well as Thranduil, and the heir to Greenwood knew that the longer he sat there the more likely it was the Noldo would do something stupid.

When at last Oropher dismissed his son, Thranduil went directly to Nárë’s tent and found it empty, as he had known in his heart he would.  “Damned stubborn elf!” he raged.  Quickly, Thranduil chose four of his most loyal warriors and set out to follow the Noldo, praying that he would not lose both his friends in the same day.

It was becoming dangerously close to dawn and the time that Nárë would be forced to withdraw, when he found Veryo’s battered and butchered body.  Choking back a sob, Nárë gently lifted his brother into his arms, burying his face against the beloved chest for a moment as the grief he had kept at bay throughout the long, horrific night finally wracked his body.  Nárë gave into the grief for only a moment before his discipline reasserted itself.  It would be suicide to be caught out alone like this behind enemy lines when the anor appeared.  

Nárë was just gaining the outer edge of the marshes when the enemy fell upon him.  The orcs must have been hiding in wait and anticipation of an easy meal, for the elf had not even seen them before it was too late.  Nárë could have made the move to save himself, but he would not leave his brother to be fodder for these evil beings.  So be it, he would join Veryo in the Halls of Mandos.  He laid his brother down and stepped in front of his body.  “I will be along soon, brother, but not before I dispatch as many of these foul beings as I can.”  Nárë drew is sword and charged.  “You shall be avenged!” 

O-o-O-o-O

Imladris

“Ada!” Elrohir sat up as quickly as his reeling head would allow when his father entered the room still bloody from battle.

“Peace, Elrohir,” soothed Elrond, “I am well.” 

“Ada?”  Tears burned Elladan’s eyes as he beheld his father’s wounds.

Elrond’s heart was stricken by the reaction from the twins.  He had decided to come upstairs to his own healing rooms because he knew that the twins and Erestor would be alarmed by the commotion coming from downstairs.  He had thought to spare them this fear by coming straight here, but it seemed that he had done just the opposite.  Indeed, it seemed that many of his decisions of late were suspect, and the Elf Lord sighed tiredly.  With Erestor and Galadriel looking on, he stepped between the twin’s beds and simply held open his arms for his sons to step into his embrace.   Holding them both, he surrounded their fäer with as much comfort as he could even as he bestowed a kiss of blessing and love upon their heads.

“Do you not know that we are the ones who are supposed to come dragging home looking like this?” sniffed Elladan, embarrassed by his emotions.

Elrond rested his cheek against the older twin’s head for a moment before pulling back to look them both in the eye.  “I am well, as is your grandfather.”

“What were you thinking?” sputtered Erestor, finally able to gather himself from the shock of seeing his Lord in such a state.

Elrond gave his Seneschal a wry look, “That does seem to be the question of the morning.”

“I am glad to see that you have not lost your sense of humor,” said Galadriel.  “Since things are in hand here, I shall go see to my husband.”  She stopped as she drew even with Elrond and lovingly cupped his face with her hand for just a moment before withdrawing.

“Stop sputtering, Erestor,” teased Elrond.  “I requested hot water be sent up here, and I hoped that you would bind my wounds before Glorfindel gets up here to do it.” 

“Too late,” drawled the golden warrior from the doorway.  “You only thought you could escape me.”

“You have the healing touch of a Mûmakil!” groaned Elrond.  “I would rather be tended by Erestor.”

“Over my dead body,” deadpanned Glorfindel, leading the Elf Lord over to the empty bed.

Elrond gave a quick wink to Glorfindel.  Their banter had diverted the fears of the other three, as they had known it would. 

“Now,” drawled Glorfindel, as he helped Elrond removed his tattered tunic, “where shall I begin.”

O-o-O-o-O

Miraculously, Legolas managed to catch hold of the back of Estel’s tunic when the child rolled off the flet.  Estel was now suspended over the edge with only the prince’s grasp of his tunic preventing him from falling, but rather than be afraid, he seemed delighted to view things from his new vantage point. 

“Look, Legolas!” Estel exclaimed, with complete faith in the prince’s ability to keep him from harm. “We are up so high!” 

Pulling the child back onto the flet, Legolas rolled onto his back with Estel grasped securely across his chest while his heart attempted to settle back into a normal rhythm.  “Good, Legolas,” he muttered to himself. “Some protector you are; you almost let him fall to his death on his first day here!”

Suddenly the prince gasped, and rolled to look off the edge of the flet. 

“What is it, Legolas?” asked Estel.  “Did you see another bur-der-bly?” he asked hopefully, positioning himself beside Legolas to peer over the edge.

Almost vibrating with shock and anger, Legolas sat up back on his heels, shaking his head to answer the question while he gathered his wits again.  Keeping a firm hold on the child’s tunic, he looked closely at Estel’s face.  From his joyful expression, it was certain that the boy had not heard the words, for they were apparently too softly spoken for his human hearing.  Legolas had heard them without mistake though, as he was obviously meant to, and they echoed ominously in his mind.  “You should have let the human fall.”

The prince had looked quickly, but was unable to see where or from whom the voice originated.  Shaken, he suggested they go back inside the fortress.

Estel’s face lost some of its animation.  “But we have not been outside for very long, and I wanted to look for ba-lowers.” 

“There are not so many flowers remaining in Mirkwood,” responded Legolas absentmindedly.  He did not believe the vile words had constituted a direct threat against Estel, but the very thought that one of his own kind had uttered such a sentiment filled him with disgust and disquiet. 

“Legolas...can we not stay outside a bit longer?”

The prince could not resist the eagerness in the plea and smiled wistfully at the boy.  “You are not comfortable inside yet, are you?”

Estel bit his lower lip and dropped his head before looking back at the prince.  “I liked being able to see the stars from your bed,” he offered hopefully.  The tenderhearted child would not have hurt his friend’s feelings for all the world.  His wide silver eyes blinked solemnly.

Legolas smiled and hugged the child to him.  “We will spend the entire day outside if that is what you wish, tithen pen nín.”

O-o-O-o-O

As he watched Nárë’s repetitious lifting of the stones, Thranduil was reminded of the sight that met him the morning he followed Nárë to the marshes.   The Noldo was surrounded by orcs, blood flowing from where his arm had been severed and from numerous other wounds.  How the elf was even on his feet was beyond Thranduil.  He and the Greenwood warriors engaged the orcs and defeated them.  As Thranduil pulled his sword from the last orc he turned back to find that Nárë’s great strength had finally been spent.  The Noldo had managed to crawl over to where Veryo’s body lay before giving out...his one remaining arm draped across his brother, as though in a final embrace of farewell. 

Thranduil’s heart lurched as he ran to the pair and sank to his knees beside them.  Gently pulling Nárë into his arms, he rejoiced to see that his friend still lived.  There was just enough of Nárë’s sword arm left so that Thranduil could tie off the blood flow and keep him from bleeding to death right there, but   even with that accomplished, none of them knew whether or not the great Noldo would live to learn of their efforts on his behalf or whether he would instead join his brother.  Swallowing his grief and fear, Thranduil sent one of the elves rushing back to camp to alert the healers, and he himself carried Nárë.  Reverently, another wrapped Veryo’s body in a cloak and brought him.

 “How long are you going to refuse to talk to me about it?” asked Thranduil, finally shaking himself from his reverie?  

TBC

Translations:

Anor: sun

Rhîw: Winter

Dartho: Hold, stop

Tithen pen nín: my little one

Ithil: moon

Healing Hope

Chapter Forty

Memories

“Memories, light the corners of my mind...misty, water colored memories, of the way we were.”

Marvin Hamlisch

Mirkwood

Nárë continued his repetitious hefting of the leather bound rocks, his countenance as cold and hard as those of the stones with which he was presently working. 

Thranduil watched him for a few moments before deciding that he had been patient long enough.  “You know that patience is not one of my virtues, do you not?”

Nárë’s arm stopped in mid-lift as the elf looked incredulously at his friend and liege.  “Thranduil Oropherion impatient?  What could possibly make me think that?” 

The king carefully schooled his features to hide the smugness he felt as Nárë once again began his repetitions.  He would give the Noldo a few minutes of reflection before once more attempting to get the stubborn elf to open up to him.

Nárë studiously ignored Thranduil as he continued his workout.  He knew, of course, what it was the king wanted to hear, for so great was their friendship and bond that they read each other far too easily at times.  The arrival of the little dark haired adan had awakened painful memories...memories that he desired to keep at bay.

Thranduil surreptitiously watched the play of emotions on his friend’s face while he did his own sword practice.  His precise movements were as graceful as they were powerful, and his muscles shone from the exertion.

Nárë tried to ignore Thranduil but he might as well have been trying to ignore a Mumak.  He could sense that the subject was not going to go away...not this time.  Almost unwillingly he let his mind journey back to the Dead Marshes.

Heat...he could feel the heat that settled cloyingly around him, even at break of day.  It intensified the odors emanating form the marshes and made them all the more ghastly.  He could also hear the flies buzzing around his head...or was that his own heartbeat pounding in his ears?  He was not sure anymore.  All he knew was the pain threatening to drag him into a void from which he might never emerge.  His entire body had shaken with the fall of the tremendous sword stroke that had severed his right arm, taking his sword with it. The orcs had laughed then and pulled back, enjoying his reaction as he watched his arm fall seemingly in slow motion, the sword still grasped firmly in his hand.

Nárë did not remember falling and seemed surprised to find himself on his knees, the laughter of the orcs ringing in his ears.  He glanced down at his own body with almost detached interest.  A small shaft of pale, white bone was all that was left of his once strong sword arm. With each pump of his heart, blood spurted from the fissure in a precision that matched the pounding in his ears.  He reached out clumsily with his other hand to detach his sword from the lifeless appendage lying in front of him.  Using the sword as leverage he struggled determinedly to pull himself back to his feet and once more face his enemy.

His breath came in gasps now, and he shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his vision, only to find the edges of his sight darkening.  Awkwardly holding his sword one handed, he lunged at the first orc that charged him, the bloodlust screaming from the being’s throat.  Nárë plunged the sword deep into its belly, the shuddering effort taking almost all his remaining strength.

Behind his eyes, he could see the veil beginning to turn silvery and Veryo waiting to great him as the savage blades of his adversaries seemed to hack at him.  Pain tightened his chest to the point that he could barely breathe, yet still he struggled to fight on.  From somewhere hazy and far off his mind registered the roar of a familiar battle cry.  Thranduil?   

Nárë could no longer see anything but Veryo’s smile beckoning him, and he stifled a cry of agony as he attempted to focus on the beloved face of his little brother.  His knees jarred as he hit the ground again, the jolt momentarily clearing his vision so that he could see Veryo’s body lying on the ground a few feet away.   “I am coming, brother,” he gasped, even as he fell forward.  With the last of his strength, he pulled himself towards the goal, his only thought to reach Veryo as darkness enveloped his senses.

“Will you never forgive me for saving you?” asked Thranduil quietly, relieved to finally say the damning words aloud. 

Unaware of the tears streaking his face, Nárë was pulled from his reverie by the king’s words.

Imladris

Elrond tried to focus on the things in the room around him as Glorfindel tended his wounds.  Abstractedly, he mused that he had forgotten how painful such wounds were.  Pushing past the pain, the Elf Lord focused on keeping his countenance calm, for he was well aware that his sons were watching him intently.   He focused on the twins now.  Elrohir sat on the bed beside Elladan.  Elrond made a mental note of how pale the younger twin looked and of how gingerly Elladan held his right arm.  Behind him he was aware of Erestor hovering, and smiled slightly at the thought.

He was relieved that Arwen was downstairs now and not witness to this procedure.  He was grieved at the concern and fear he had seen in her eyes when he and Celeborn first entered the healing rooms.  As her father, it was his place to protect her from such distress.  At least Estel was not here to be frightened by the sight of his father’s injuries.

Estel.  Elrond forced himself to focus on thoughts of his youngest child as Glorfindel deftly worked.  His mind wandered down a path to a night two years previously.

Elrond had been in his study preparing a parchment to be delivered to King Thranduil in Mirkwood when he heard a commotion coming from the front hallway. Sadly it was a familiar, if not completely welcome, sound. With an inward groan he carefully laid down the quill with which he had been writing and leaned back in his chair. Tiredly he rubbed the bridge of his nose as he wondered what trouble his twins had found this time. His hand moved from massaging the bridge of his nose to the taut muscles on the back of his neck as he sought relief from the sudden tension the return of his sons brought.

Oh, he loved his children more than anything else in Arda, but the pain and utter helplessness of seeing his sons being slowly torn apart by their grief and vengeance was becoming almost unbearable. More than anything, he wished that he could help them to understand that their mother’s need to sail to the gray haven was not a rejection of them or their family. Of course they understood that on an intellectual level, but inside their hearts had broken the day that they had rescued Celebrían from the hands of the Orcs and brought her battered and broken body home to Imladris, and it appeared to the Elf Lord that each new sunrise brought him closer to losing his sons as well. The bright, mischievous young elves who loved to play pranks had been replaced with two battle hardened Elven warriors who had made it their life’s mission to seek out and destroy every orc in Middle Earth.

Elrond would have embraced that mission as well if it would have brought them peace, but he knew it would not. As an elf many centuries old, he understood that the path they had chosen would only lead his sons into more darkness, but, it would seem, he was powerless to make them see that fact. The evil that began so many years ago was still as active today and threatened to destroy his entire family, for his beloved daughter Arwen had chosen to live in Lothlórien with her grandparents rather than remain here where her mother’s memory only caused her regret.

Standing up tiredly and pushing back from his desk, Elrond walked from his study to see what he could salvage from this latest trek of his sons. He only hoped their injuries would not be too terribly serious this time.

Entering the hallway he was pleasantly surprised to see that both of his sons appeared healthy and uninjured, though they were both covered in orc blood. However, Elrond could also see red blood mixed in with the black, foul blood of the Yrch.

“Ada,” Elrohir greeted him. “We have news. The ranger’s camp was attacked yesterday. There were many deaths, including that of Arathorn.”

Elrond closed his eyes and absorbed the dreadful news. He shook his head sadly as he looked back to son. “These are evil tidings, indeed; the line of kings is severed then.”

“Not quite,” declared Elladan, as he walked over to reveal a tiny bundle to his father.

“This is Arathorn’s son, Aragorn. His mother is ill and has been taken to the healing wing.”

Elrond looked at the little boy trembling in his son’s arms. Large, soulful eyes looked out from the blanket in which he’d been wrapped and Elrond could see that his dark hair was a mass of unruly curls. He placed his hand on the baby soft hair and smiled sadly at the two year old. “You are all that is left of the line of kings, little one; that is a huge mantle for one so small.”

Elladan continued to soothe the child in his arms. “He saw his father fall, Ada, and has not spoken a word since. Will you see what you can do with him? Elrohir and I do not know what to do with a child such as this.”

“Of course, ion nín,” Elrond affirmed, as he took the shivering child into his arms. “He is in shock,” the elf lord remarked almost to himself, for his mind was already at work on the best course of action. “Has he any injuries?”

“No,” answered Elladan. “He was kept safe during the attack.”

“Good,” nodded Elrond. “Now, let us see what we can do for you, little one. Elrohir, will you bring me another blanket, please? Elladan, ask Erestor to prepare some warm milk with cinnamon in it. That should help him to relax.”

“Yes, Ada,” the twins echoed as they left in different directions.

“And sons,” the elf lord added, stopping them both in their tracks, “I suggest you bathe and don fresh clothing once you have completed your tasks, for your appearance would frighten even one many years older than this child.”

The twins ruefully looked down at their bloodied tunics and nodded their assent.

“There,” said Glorfindel, “that should do it.” 

“Let me see,” insisted Erestor.  “Did you disinfect all the cuts?  It would not do to have one become infected.”

Glorfindel gave the Seneschal a long look, bringing a chuckle from the twins.

Lake-town

Thedin forced himself to remain calm.  He was presently waiting at the Guard’s Hut giving the remaining sentry a look that would cause most men to quake.  The other guard had crossed the Great Bridge to seek the council of the town fathers.  “Really,” Thedin muttered to himself, “one would think that the Elves of Mirkwood were an enemy rather than benevolent protectors of this lot.”

The guard was unimpressed.

Were his mission not specifically ordained by his king, the first healer of Mirkwood would turn on his heel and leave the dust of this edain holding far behind.  He had no wish to be here. 

Presently the first guard returned and beckoned the healer to follow.  They crossed the Great Bridge and entered the city through the gate.  Despite his agitation, Thedin was fascinated by what he was seeing.  Compact as it was, the city on the lake, with the anor light sparking on the waters and beaming overhead, stood in stark contrast to the underground cavern of the Silvans.

Numerous two-storied dwellings were laid out in close quarters, as though to take advantage of every bit of space the small man-made island city afforded.  Narrow openings ran between each dwelling allowing for access and passage.  To his right was a larger building, and it was to this place that the guard accompanied him, explaining that he would be greeted in the Town Hall by the leaders of Lake-town.

The guard opened the great doors to the Town Hall and bowed respectfully to Thedin before withdrawing.  The healer took a deep breath and steeled himself to seek the aid of the edain.  His head held high, Thedin began walking down the central aisle to where the lake men awaited him.  He was vaguely aware of the curious glances he was receiving from the people gathered in small groups inside the hall. 

A large man rose from his chair and greeted the healer.  “The men of Lake Town bid you well come, Master Elf.”

“Master Healer?”

Thedin started as the voice shook him from his waking dream.  He had retreated to a curtained off area at the rear of the largest of the healing tents and sought refuge for a few moments.  “I must have fallen asleep,” me mused, gathering his wits.

“We have more wounded arriving.”

Thedin nodded his head wearily and sighed as he rose stiffly to his feet.  His healer apron was sticky with blood but he had not found time to change it.  His heart lurched as a keening sound of grief echoed from the throats of several elves outside the healing tents. 

Hurrying through to the main area, Thedin’s heart sank when he caught sight of the golden armor and even more golden tresses of his king, both now stained dark with the monarch’s blood. 

“The edain king withheld his forces and allowed our columns to be cut to shreds,” charged a wounded warrior bitterly. “We stood not a chance alone.”

Thedin place a calming hand on the wounded elf’s arm.  “Rest now, and let us care for out king.”

“Master Elf?” repeated the adan, confusion clearly written on his face.

Mirkwood

Legolas sat lazily with his back against a beech tree.  Estel’s head rested in his lap.  The boy’s eyes drooped as Legolas methodically carded his fingers through the soft dark locks of his hair.  Legolas was fascinated by the curls, repeatedly pulling them out straight and then watching them spring back once they were released.

The pair had spent much of the afternoon in this most serene of places looking for flowers and butterflies.  This area Legolas favorite location within Mirkwood, for it hearkened back to the time of Greenwood the Great and belied the evil that permeated so much of his homeland.  The secluded spot included a pool fed by a small waterfall.  The constant mist of the waterfall encouraged the surrounding ferns and flora to flourish

Estel had chased butterflies until he grew tired, and Legolas had enticed him to rest with the promise of a story.  Now the child’s dark eyelashes batted against his pale cheeks and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest became deeper as he dropped into a peaceful sleep.

Legolas smiled as he watched the face of the child relax, and continued his soothing motions through the boy’s hair.  With Estel asleep, he could relax his guard somewhat and allow his mind to wander back to the subject he had been assiduously avoiding...that of the disembodied voice wishing harm to the child.

For the tenth time, the prince berated himself for not being quick enough to see from whom the voice had come.  Legolas knew as well as any the reasons that his kind had for distrusting and even disliking the humans, but this innocent had no part in that.     

He thought back to when he first learned of Estel’s existence. 

Legolas and Falathar were just entering the border of Rivendell when three arrows landed on the path directly in front of Legolas’ mount, startling the horse and causing it to buck wildly.

“Halt!” called the simultaneous command.

Legolas was shocked by the act, but Falathar was furious.  Pulling his sword form its sheath, he quickly maneuvered his horse protectively in front of the Prince, who was struggling to control his skittish mount.

Immediately, three Elves landed on the path in front of them, arrows notched and aimed directly at Falathar’s heart.

Too angry to be intimidated, Falathar was fairly sputtering with outrage. “How dare you fire on the Prince of Mirkwood?”

The elves didn’t back down.

Finally gaining control of his horse, Legolas jumped off and placed himself between Falathar and the Noldor Elves holding up both of his hands.  “Peace, good Elves, we are no threat!  I am Legolas of the Green Wood and this is my companion, Falathar.  I ask pardon for attempting to enter your valley at night, but I seek information from your Lord.  Obviously this was a mistake.”

One of the Noldor separated himself from the others and approached the Prince.  “Prince Legolas?”

Legolas lowered his head in a bow of acknowledgement.  The Noldo who had addressed him appeared very young, and was not a warrior that Legolas remembered.

“Forgive me, my Lord, we did not recognize you.”

Falathar snorted from behind Legolas. “It is hard to see an Elf’s face when you are busy shooting arrows at him.”

Legolas threw a silencing frown at his friend.  Something unusual was going on here and he wanted to know what it was, for he had never seen the defenses of Imladris on such a high state of alert.  “What has happened?”

Falathar dismounted and stood beside Legolas, ready to defend his Prince if these obviously crazy elves posed any threat.

At a motion from the sentry, the other two elves climbed back up the trees to resume their look out.  When they were out of sight, the sentry turned back to speak to the Prince.  “The whole valley is in an uproar, Your Highness.  Lord Elrond’s son has been stolen and Lord Erestor badly wounded.”

Alarm and relief shot through Legolas at the same time and he took a small step towards the elf.  Obviously the twins, or at least one of them, were alive and still in Middle Earth.  “One of the twins taken?”

“Oh no, my Lord, not the twins…it is the younger Elrondion.”

Now Legolas was completely confused, for the sentry had said “son” and only Arwen was younger, but before he could ask any more questions, a rider approached and the nervous Elf beside him was once more on guard.

“Halt,” the young Elf called out, notching his arrow and aiming it at the new intruder.

“Beling,” growled Glorfindel from atop Asfaloth, “You are supposed to be guarding the valley from outside forces, not inside.”  The golden warrior leapt from his horse and strode over towards the trio; his magnificent mount followed him, nickering softly when he recognized Legolas. 

If the earth could have opened up at that moment and swallowed him, Beling would not have been happier.  As it was, he was grateful for the darkness hiding the furious blush that had just overtaken his fair cheeks at the reprimand.

“Your pardon, my Lord,” he stammered. “I…”

“No,” interrupted Glorfindel with a sigh; “I ask your pardon.”  The commander took pity on the astounded young warrior, knowing that this was his first assignment, and on a night that had seen the valley responding to a threat it had not faced for centuries.  It was bound to have the young one on edge.  “The events of this night have proven stressful for all of us.” 

“Will somebody please tell us what is going on?” appealed Falathar from where he was standing behind Legolas.

Glorfindel turned to face the two Silvan Elves, as though seeing them for the first time.  “Prince Legolas…and Falathar, isn’t it?  You pick an unfortunate time to appear at our border.”

Any other time Falathar would have been thrilled beyond measure that his name had been remembered by the legendary Balrog Slayer, but at the moment he was still far too aggravated that his Prince had been fired upon to be flattered.  After all, the King had entrusted Falathar with the duty of protecting the Crown Prince, though of course Legolas did not know that, and here he could have been killed by a bow-happy novice sentry!  “And it is a fine welcome we received as well!  Your sentries fired at the Prince. He could have been killed!”

From the other side of Glorfindel, Beling reddened again and cleared his throat nervously.

“Falathar, please,” entreated Legolas, glancing back at his friend.  “All is well, young one,” the Prince soothed the sentry, who looked as though he were only a few years younger than Legolas himself.

“Resume your duties, Beling,” Glorfindel instructed the Elf.  “And Beling,” he added for Falathar’s benefit, for though he understood the being’s irritation, these were his warriors and he would not allow them to be berated before him, “continue to keep a sharp eye.  We still do not know the full scope of tonight’s threat.”

Falathar snorted softly, but Legolas smiled, knowing exactly what Glorfindel was doing and approving of the display of loyalty.

“Yes, my Lord!” breathed Beling with gratitude. He turned and sprinted over to the tree and sped up it with a speed and agility that impressed even the Wood Elves.

 Glorfindel watched the Elf scamper up the tree and turned back to the Prince and Falathar with a tired chuckle.  This night was proving to be full of more surprises than he cared to think about.  “Follow me, young ones.  I will escort you so personally so that there are no more mistakes.  I will clarify the situation to you on the way back.”

“Legolas?”

The prince glanced down at Estel and was surprised to see tears glistening in his silvery eyes.  “What is it, little one?”

“Im aníron Ada,” sniffed the child, as one crystalline drop traced a path down the plump cheek. “I want my Daddy.”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Forty One

Glory in the Darkness

“The gloom of the world is but a shadow.  Behind it, yet within reach, is joy.  There is a radiance and glory in the darkness, could we but see, and to see, we have only to look.  I beseech you to look.”

Fra Giovanni

The flet where they were was high above the forest floor and offered a magnificent view of the brilliantly colored leaves, but Legolas had no eyes for the view at this moment.  As though picking up on the Wood-elf’s distress, the tree seemed to shiver as Legolas’ eyes were focused on the small human lying beside him. He was stricken to see the tears streaming down Estel’s cheeks.  “Estel, what is wrong?” 

The child’s bottom lip quivered as he tried vainly to stem the flow and be brave, but it was a losing battle.  “I miss my Ada,” he wailed.

Feeling helpless, Legolas pulled the boy up to sit on his lap.  “Tell me what I can do to make it better, little one, for I am at a loss as to how best to help you.”

Estel instinctively placed his ear over Legolas’ heart, his hand reaching up at the same time to pat the prince’s chest as though he were the one doing the comforting.  “I want to go home.”  

Legolas hugged the child, his brow lined with concern.  “You have never been away from home before, have you?”

Estel shook his head.

“I forget how very young you are, Estel,” responded the prince, almost to himself.  “Are you not happy here with us?”

Estel bit his lip and remained silent, a frown on his small face.  He began playing with a strand of Legolas’ hair, thinking about what to say.  Legolas had always been kind to him, and King Thran-due was nice too.  Afraid he would hurt their feelings or make them angry; Estel struggled for an answer to the question.

His hesitation was answer enough to Legolas, who wondered how he was supposed to comfort a homesick babe...for that is what Estel was to the immortal...an innocent babe.  The prince sighed, feeling decidedly unsure how best to proceed. 

“I am sorry,” Estel sniffed, completely miserable and not knowing what else to say.

Legolas felt his heart melt and hugged the child closer.  “You do not ever have to be sorry about how you feel, mellon nín, and you certainly never have to be afraid to tell me what is in your heart.”  Legolas watched a tear trace its way down Estel’s cheek. 

Estel sniffed again as he thought about what Legolas said.  “I feel...sad,” he admitted softly, bringing a fresh round of tears. 

“That is understandable,” said Legolas slowly.  “We are all sad sometimes.”

Estel sat up and fixed him with a thoughtful look.  “I have never seen you sad.”

“But I am sad sometimes,” the prince confessed.  “Everyone is,” he explained.  “I am sad when I see the evil that has claimed so much of my homeland, but I am happy that our cavern fortress is a safe place for us to live.”

Estel sniffed and reached up to stroke the prince’s cheek in a gesture of comfort.  “I was sad when Ada would not let Blubby sleep in my room,” he said haltingly, “but I was happy when Restor made me a stuffed kitty to sleep with.”

Legolas smiled to see Estel caught up in this somewhat unorthodox game.  “I was sad when you hurt your arm,” he added, “but I am happy now that it is healing.”  He noted that Estel was thinking over his words.  “You see, sadness is the yardstick by which we measure our happiness.” 

“Huh?” questioned the bewildered boy.

Legolas grimaced, trying to think of a way to put it so that a four year old might understand.  “Estel, do you remember when we were crossing the Hithaeglir?”

Estel nodded, and the prince noticed that the tears were no longer falling.  His eyes remained watery, however and he blinked as though to clear them.  “We were very high, and I was scared at first, but you kept me safe.”

Legolas smiled, “Yes, I kept you safe.”  He settled the child comfortably back against his chest again as he continued.  “Once you knew that I would keep you safe you enjoyed the trip.”  Legolas could not help but think of the sacred trust Elrond had invested in him when the Elf Lord had handed over his son for safe keeping.  Said son was now interrupting his thoughts with a question.

“What does that have to do with being sad?” asked Estel, as the soft breeze tumbled the curls of his hair.  The tree swayed rhythmically, relaxing the pair with his lulling motions as he sensed the lessening of Legolas’ tension

“Without the mountains and the valleys, Arda would be flat and a very boring place...never high and never low,” Legolas answered.  “It is the same with our feelings; the sad times make us appreciate the happy times all the more.”  Before Estel could ask what appreciate meant the Silvan amended the sentence, “...make the happy times all the more happy.” 

Estel considered the prince’s words.  “Like when my gwedeir have been gone for a long time, and I am so glad to see them that I do not mind that they tease me?” 

“That is correct,” praised Legolas.

“Will I always be happy when I go home?”  The hope in Estel’s eyes touched the Silvan’s heart.

Legolas wondered how far he could take the comparison and still be completely honest.  “None of us can say how happy we will be, Estel, for much of happiness is determined within us.”

Estel looked completely confused by those words, but at least he was not crying any longer.  “I am not sure what you mean.”

Legolas realized he was getting far beyond the understanding of one so young and decided to take a different path.  “Do you remember what you saw when you looked down from the mountains?”

Estel frowned slightly as he thought back and then brightened as he remembered the details of the trip.  “We were so high in the sky that I could look down on the clouds!”

“That is right,” smiled Legolas, “the mist below covered all the trees so that we could not see them, did it not?”

“Um hum,” nodded Estel, settling himself more comfortably against the prince’s chest.  “It was almost like they were all gone because all I could see was white when I looked down.”

“Were the trees gone because you could not see them?” 

Estel giggled, “No, trees do not disappear!”

“That is right,” Legolas smiled, “and your Ada’s love is still surrounding you even though you cannot see him.”

“And my gwedeir?” asked Estel.

“And your gwedeir,” confirmed the prince.  “And Glorfindel and Erestor and the rest of the Elves at Imladris,” he added before Estel could ask.

“And Fa-luh-fee,” sighed Estel very carefully, bringing a smile to Legolas’ face at the correctly pronounced F’s.

“Yes Fluffy,” laughed Legolas, “and no doubt Celon and Celos as well!”

Estel smiled wistfully at the thought of his beloved horses.  “I miss them,” he said slowly, “but I am glad they love me and they are safe.”  A look of understanding crossed his face.  “Is that what you mean, Legolas?”

“It is, indeed, young one,” approved the prince.  “We each have the power inside here,” he pointed to Estel’s chest, “and here,” he said, pointing to the child’s head, “to be happier or sadder.”

“Why would anyone choose to be sad?” asked Estel.  “That is silly.”

“You would be surprised, my young friend, how very many of Ilúvatar’s creations choose to be unhappy by keeping their minds on the unpleasant things that happen in their lives.”

Estel was working hard to understand all that he was learning.  “Is that why some of the elves looked at me with mean looks...because they are unhappy?”

“I had hoped that you had not seen those looks, Estel,” Legolas admitted softly. 

“My ada says I notice everything,” Estel said proudly.  “He says I will be a good tracker!”  Estel sat up so that he could look Legolas in the eyes.  “I am not mad at those elves that looked at me mean, because now I know that they are just sad.”

Legolas wished that life was that easy...but he could not get the implied threat of the words he had heard out of his head.  Would one of the Silvans make the leap from harbored resentment to overt threat?

O-o-O-o-O

“Will you never forgive me for saving you?” asked Thranduil quietly, relieved to finally say the damning words aloud. 

Unaware of the tears streaking his face, Nárë was pulled from his reverie by the king’s words.

Nárë sighed and lowered the leather bound rock he had been hefting.  “I pledged my life to the house of Oropher...Le ú-nach erui, mellon nín, you will never be alone.

Thranduil smiled briefly and steeled himself to continue until all truths, however ugly and difficult, had been laid bare.  Like lancing an infection, the pain had to precede the healing.  “That is not what I asked you.”   

“Let it go,” Nárë remarked softly.

“No, I will not!”  Thranduil stood up angrily.  “I have ‘let it go’ as you say, for far too long and it festers between us.”  The king put his hand on Nárë’s shoulder and forced the Noldo to look at him.  “You blame me for preventing you from joining Veryo in Mandos’ Halls.”  It was a statement, not a question.

“No,” Nárë roared, rounding on the king in seeming fury.  “I blame you for keeping me alive to live as a monstrosity!  

Thranduil was staggered, but held his ground.  Nárë was finally opening up to him and he was not about to stop him, no matter how painful it was to hear.  Thranduil could have told him that he did more with one arm than many elves he knew with two, but he would not offer what Nárë was bound to see as a platitude.  Besides, the king did not believe that this was the heart of what was hurting his friend.  He was convinced that there was more and determined to force the elf to face it.  “You are not a monstrosity.” he said softly. 

“No?” the Noldo snarled, “Tell that to my parents.”

“Náro and Alassantë?”  Thranduil was genuinely confused.  Like many of the elves of Greenwood, Nárë’s parents had sailed soon after the remnant returned from the war.  .

“Thranduil, do you think they sailed only to escape their grief at losing Veryo?”  He shook his head sadly.  “No,” he added bitterly, “they could not bring themselves to look at me.”

“You could have sailed with them and been made whole,” Thranduil said quietly.  “Why did you not?”

“Because I could not bear to see the look of condemnation in their eyes,” he admitted.  “I would rather live like this than face their disappointment.”

Thranduil was stunned at Nárë’s revelation and not at all sure he accepted the premise.  “Nárë, you were still seriously wounded; how can you know what your parent’s were thinking, let alone feeling?”

“You just said it yourself,” Nárë laughed bitterly, spreading his palm as if in supplication.  “They did not even stay to see whether I would live or die.”

Nárë sighed, suddenly exhausted.  Both elves were standing in the middle of the room, and Thranduil suddenly felt as though the walls were closing in on him.  “Walk with me,” he commanded.

Nárë was numb and automatically followed his king, quickly wiping any telltale trace of the despised tears from his face.  Grief threatened to choke him, but the Noldo maintained a calm facade as the pair exited his chambers and started down the hallway towards the king’s suite of rooms. 

The ever present escort of the king’s guard fell into step behind them, for even within the fortress nothing was taken for granted.  Thranduil had long since grown used to their presence and only occasionally chaffed at the necessity, unlike Legolas who hated feeling cosseted.  As Thranduil and Nárë disappeared within the king’s chambers, the guards stationed themselves on either side of the door and shared a quick glance.  Thranduil would normally be taking up the business of the court by this time of morning, but neither elf was about to question his king over this unusual circumstance.

Thranduil walked straight though the sitting room to the thermally heated bathing chamber where they had brought Estel the night before.  ‘Was it only last night,’ mused the king, for it now seemed ages since they had passed a pleasurable evening with Legolas and the child.  As Nárë stood mutely by, Thranduil quickly stripped off his leggings and then turned and began tugging at the Noldo’s.  As obediently as a child, Nárë put his hand on Thranduil’s shoulder to steady himself and stepped from the pants.  “Now,” said Thranduil, not at all caring for the glazed look in his friend’s eye, “into the water.”

Nárë stepped down the carved steps into the heated pool and felt Thranduil leading him to the deeper end.  The elf felt empty of a sudden, as bereft as if his heart had been pulled beating from his body.  So long had he buried the grief behind a wall of exuberant over-achievement that its awakening was as a battering ram upon his psyche.  He felt directionless and curiously absent.

Thranduil maneuvered the shivering elf deeper into the water until he was floating.  Nárë’s head rested on his shoulder, and he smoothed the dark hair back from his friend’s pale face.

“No more,” whispered Nárë, closing his eyes and surrendering his body to the warmth of the waters and the protection of Thranduil.

“Only a little more,” soothed Thranduil, praying it was so, “you have my word.”  He felt Nárë shudder, but no protest rose from the Noldo’s lips.  “It must come out once and for all, my friend; else it will all have been for naught.”  Thranduil believed he finally had the understanding of what it was his friend felt.  “It is not your parent’s blame you fear, but your own guilt.”   

Thranduil allowed the thought to linger, neither saying more nor prompting Nárë for a response to his assertion.  He was willing to wait as long as it took for the elf to work through his warring emotions.  Over and over he cupped warm water in his hand and poured it over Nárë’s chest, afraid his friend was literally slipping into shock.  He had almost decided he would be impelled to call for a healer when the softly spoken words finally came.

“He was my little brother; I was supposed to protect him.” 

Thranduil closed his eyes in relief.  Now the healing could truly begin.

O-o-O-o-O

Night had fallen when the elf stole from the house.  Silently he moved, as graceful as a panther, through the darkness, climbing until he reached the place he sought...a secluded spot high above the dwellings and beside the Bruinen.  Across the valley the torches of Imladris twinkled in the darkness.  He breathed deeply of the cool air, enjoying the slight burning in his muscles from the exertion of the climb.  It was not often that the Lord of Imladris felt adrift, but tonight he did. 

Elrond sat on the ground, leaning back against a boulder so that he could see both his valley and the rushing waters.  He wished the pounding of the falls could silence or at least mask the questions hammering over and over in his mind, but it was not to be.  He had come here seeking some peace from the hubbub of the house, hoping the solitude would allow him to order his thoughts.

His eyes drifted upwards to the stars as he sought Eärendil’s light.  “He is of Elros’ blood, and my heart, father.  Help me find the answers to keep him safe.”  As it always did, the twinkling jewel racing across the night remained silent.

Elrond closed his eyes and rested his head back against the cold stone.  No sound disturbed the night, but he felt the familiar presence touch his mind, and sighed softly.  “You might as well join me.”

Glorfindel chuckled self-consciously, and lithely jumped from atop a boulder, looking vastly uncomfortable.  “I do not mean to intrude,” he said sincerely, “only be available.”

Elrond opened his eyes to look his friend in the eye.  “Your presence is never an intrusion.”

“Could you not rest?”

Elrond shook his head.  “Too much weighs upon my mind.”

“You have not come here in a long time,” observed the golden one, settling himself beside the Elf Lord.  His long legs were pulled up and he rested his arms easily atop the knees.

“Not since the last time the twins returned from their vengeance hunting of orcs so badly wounded that I feared they would both be lost to me.”  Elrond swallowed as the cold fear of that night returned to close his throat, and took a shuddering breath.  “Thank Ilúvatar that those dark days are over.”

“My scouts have found no more signs of the orcs,” Glorfindel said after a few moments, voicing what they both had been thinking.  “Perhaps those that sought him have given up.”

“They will never give up,” Elrond said sadly.  “Estel will be hunted his entire life...”

“Then perhaps they have given up finding him here,” the warrior persisted. 

Elrond laughed softly.  “I want to go get him as much as you do, but I must be sure.” 

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas had to carry Estel to bed that night, so exhausted was the boy from the day’s adventures.  He had supped alone with the child, eschewing the formal dining room in favor of something more causal in his own quarters.  Estel had not wanted to eat and Legolas had finally gotten him to drink some milk.

Laying the child upon the bed, Legolas was surprised to see his cheeks flushed and his eyes glazed over.

“Estel?”

Estel only blinked slowly in response. 

Only then did Legolas become aware of the unusual heat radiating from the child...certainly more than usual.  Feigning a calmness he did not feel, Legolas quickly checked over the child for any previously unseen injury, thinking that perhaps a scratch or insect bite had become inflamed.  As his hand ran lightly down the cast, Estel whimpered.  Legolas quickly lifted his hand away, noticing that the hand and fingers below the cast were red and puffy.  How long had they been this way?  Estel’s breathing was beginning to come in little gasps now.

“Oh Eru, no...”  The prince ran to the door and out into the hallway.  “Guards!” he called to the sentries beside his father’s chambers.  “Summon a healer!”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Forty Two

Challenges

“Although the world is full of suffering, it is full also of the overcoming of it.” – Helen Keller

Since returning from Imladris, Falathar had completely reconfigured palace security, working his guards nonstop until the new system worked flawlessly.  At the first sign of anything out of the ordinary, the new procedures automatically kicked in. 

The moment Legolas had stepped into the hallway summoning a healer, a network alarm was raised.  The beauty of the design was in its unobtrusiveness.  To the elves going about their normal activities, the guards were not particularly evident, yet even now Elven guards were moving quickly and efficiently into place.  One guard from outside the king’s chambers had gone to summon the healer, while the other moved inside the rooms to guard the king himself until dismissed by Falathar.  Immediately two more sets of guards took up position outside the chambers of Thranduil and Legolas.

Less than a minute later, Falathar arrived on scene, nodding his approval at the four guards in the hallway and asking for a report from the duty commander.   Upon hearing that it was Legolas who called for the healer, Falathar headed for the prince’s chamber, arriving at the same time as Thedin.

O-o-O-o-O

Inside the thermal baths, Thranduil and Nárë were unaware of the circumstances until a voice interrupted them.

“Your leave to enter, Sire?”

“Come,” Thranduil automatically answered, surprised and not at all happy to be interrupted.  There had better be a major catastrophe behind this intrusion!

The guard entered the room and pulled up short at the look in his king’s face.  “S, Sire, my orders are to remain with you until relieved by Commander Falathar.”

Thranduil calmly kept spooning the warm water over Nárë’s chest, but the look he gave the guard caused the unfortunate elf to swallow.  The guard quickly gave the bathing chamber a look to assure himself of its security.  “I will wait in the outer chamber, Sire.”  With that he dipped his head and exited the room gratefully.

Nárë moved to stand up and stepped away from Thranduil, once more completely in control of himself.  “We had best see what is going on before the young one declares war upon some hapless traveler.”  Despite the circumstances he could not help but chuckle.  “Falathar is certainly alike to his sire.”

“Yes,” sighed the king, “Silad suffered from an overabundance of zeal as well.”

“In Falathar’s defense,” chided Nárë, good naturedly,” he protects his king.”

“Nárë, we are inside the fortress and the doors are sealed,” groaned Thranduil.  “What possible danger could there be to me or anyone else for that matter?”

“Perhaps that is what we should find out,” advised the ever wise Noldo while wading to the side of the pool.

O-o-O-o-O

Falathar stood off to the side as Thedin quickly assessed Estel. 

“How long has he been gasping for breath like this?” asked the healer.

“He just began when I called you,” replied Legolas.  “Feel his skin, Master Thedin; it is hot to the touch.” 

“So I see,” nodded the Healer.  “Stand back, my prince; you are in the way.”

Legolas opened his mouth to protest when Falathar stepped up and pulled him back by the elbow.  “Come on, Legolas; let him work.”

“I have been with Estel every moment since he arrived,” fired the prince.  “No one here knows him better than I do.”

Thedin ignored the outburst.   The healer was quite used to dealing with anxious relatives, and he had observed some human parents whose small children were ill while he was training in Lake-Town.  They were a most illogical - not to mention hysterical - lot, though his prince was proving to be almost as irritating.

“What are you doing?” questioned Legolas, interrupting the healer’s thoughts.  “Where are you going?”

“The child’s internal temperature must be lowered rapidly or he may suffer harm,” replied Thedin as he cradled Estel in his arms and started for the door.  

“Harm...what harm?”

“Legolas, please,” said Falathar.  “Let him do his job.”  He’d never seen his friend this frantic.  If Estel were not involved, it would be rather humorous.  The pair fell into step behind the healer as he proceeded down the hallway at a rapid pace.

Entering the healing rooms, Thedin veered immediately to his left.   The main healing chamber of the palace had been constructed with access to fresh filtered water from the river as well as the warmed thermal springs.  The cool water ran on the left of the main chamber while the heated access was on the right.  A series of smaller hollows accessed the different pools allowing healers the opportunity to treat a variety of injuries simultaneously.

Thedin entered one of the cooling compartments and knelt beside the pooled water.  Carefully he lowered Estel, clothes and all, until only his head was above the icy flow.

“His cast!”  Legolas exclaimed.  “Lord Elrond cautioned me to keep it dry!”

“Lord Elrond is not here,” replied Thedin through clenched teeth.  “I warn you, Prince Legolas; continue to interfere and I will have you removed.”

‘Uh oh,’ thought Falathar, dropping his head, ‘now he has done it!’

Legolas was livid. “You would not dare.”

“What is this?” questioned an amused voice from the doorway.  “My Greenleaf sounds almost as regal as his sire!”

Legolas and Falathar turned to see Thranduil and Nárë standing just inside the cubby hole.  Designed for only a patient plus one or two healers, the area was quickly becoming crowded.  Just outside the doorway were three guards.

Thedin sighed in resignation.  “If you all insist upon being in the way, then make yourselves useful.”  He glanced back over his shoulder and judged that the prince was obviously the one most anxious.  “Please bring me a blanket, Prince Legolas.”

Legolas shot from the room and grabbed a blanket from the nearest bed.  Turning back, He met Thedin, trailed by the others, as the healer exited the cooling chamber.  Legolas’ eyes swept over Estel.  He was relieved to see that the child’s breaths were no longer coming in gasps, though he looked dreadfully pale. 

Ignoring the retinue of elves following him, Thedin calmly carried the child to an examination area.  He gently laid the small form on the padded surface and sure handedly began stripping away the soggy clothes.   While he completed this task, another healer stepped up to assist him.  “Dry the child while I cut away this cast,” he instructed, trying to ignore the four elves pressing ever closer to his back.

“I have the blanket,” offered Legolas, while trying to see over the healer’s shoulder. “He should be kept warm.”

“Thank you, my prince; I am aware of the necessity,” replied the long-suffering healer.

At Thedin’s tone, Nárë decided that his intervention was needed.  “Let us step back here,” he said, ushering Thranduil, Falathar, Legolas and the guards back a few steps.

“Falathar,” drawled Thranduil, “why am I surrounded by a covey of guards?”

“I was not aware that three constituted a covey?” sniggered Nárë, drawing an irritated glance from Thranduil.  With an innocent look, the Noldo held up his hand as though in surrender. “I am simply endeavoring to add levity to the situation.”

“I would appreciate it if you would all take your ...levity...and exit my healing rooms!” snapped Thedin.

“I am not leaving Estel!” vowed Legolas.

Thranduil eyed his son and capitulated.  “Legolas will stay with Estel...out of the healer’s way.”  He glanced at Nárë, Falathar and the guards.  “The rest of us will wait in the hallway.”

As the others walked away, Legolas edged closer to Thedin’s back.  “Could he have been poisoned?”

Poison!  That word struck Falathar like a lightening bolt, and the guard stopped in his tracks.  Immediately he pulled one of the king’s guards aside to speak to him.  “From this moment forward, no food or drink gets near the King or Prince Legolas without being tasted.”  He glanced back to be sure that no one else had overheard his instructions...especially his stubborn king.  “Is there anything you do not understand about my instructions?” he questioned, just to be sure.

“No sir,” responded the guard immediately.  “It will be so.”

Falathar nodded to the guard to dismiss him, but did not follow.  He had to question the prince and he had the suspicion that he would not like the answers.  “Legolas, I need to speak with you.”

“Not now,” murmured Legolas. 

“Yes,” insisted Falathar, “now.”

“The child is in no immediate danger that I can see, my prince; you may speak to the guard.”

Legolas sighed, frustrated at the turn of events.  “What is so important, Falathar, that it cannot wait?”

Falathar stood toe to toe with Legolas, refusing to back down.  This involved security - the security of the Prince and the King to be specific, and he was fully within his authority of Chief of Guards to question whomever necessary.  “Do you have a specific reason to suspect that Estel has been poisoned?”

“I would be interested in hearing that answer as well,” observed Thedin as he worked at cutting away the soggy cast.  The assisting healer had wrapped Estel warmly in the blanket with only the arm being attended left out.  The assistant gently supported Estel’s head while he monitored the child’s breathing.  At the word poison, his eyes had gone from Estel to Thedin to Falathar and back to the patient.  “Has the child ingested something you feel could be questionable?” pressed Thedin.

Legolas ran his hand through his hair as he thought back over the day.  “No, I do not think so.”  The prince tried to remember everything Estel had eaten.  “With the exception of the milk he had a while ago, he has eaten the same things that I have.”

“Have the milk brought here,” ordered Thedin.  “It should be checked for foreign substances.”

“What are you not telling me,” insisted Falathar.  His internal alarms were sounding.

Legolas looked down and then met his friend’s eyes.  “I heard what could be construed...what might have been...er...”

“Just say it, Legolas,” urged Falathar exasperatedly. “Has there been a threat made against Estel?”

“Not specifically,” admitted the Prince.

“Then tell me – specifically - what was said,” growled Falathar. 

Quickly, Legolas told Falathar and Thedin about the comment he’d heard while on the flet.  “So you see, it was not exactly a threat.”

“To be on the safe side, the milk will be checked, my prince,” assured Thedin, pulling the rest of the cast free.  Gently he began sponging away the remnants from Estel’s enflamed arm.  “However,” he said slowly, “I believe I may see the culprit here.”

Legolas and Falathar edged closer to the table, attempting to see what the healer had found.  Estel groaned in his delirium as the healer prodded a particularly nasty looking site located just above the child’s wrist.  “See here,” Thedin pointed, “it appears that a bore mite has made its way underneath the cast and set up its nest.”

“A bore mite!” said Legolas disgustedly.  Non-threatening to elves, the bore mite was a repulsive and minute insect that normally owed its existence to the numerous spiders of Mirkwood.  Genderless scavengers, the bore mites made their homes on the back of the larger of the spiders, earning their name by boring into hides of the spiders and laying eggs there to incubate.  Elven skin, fortunately, had proven unsavory to the insects, but apparently one of the species found the tender skin of the child more to its liking. “It must have dropped onto him as we made our way through Mirkwood.”

Falathar shuddered, equally revolted by the creature, and immediately had the desire to wash his hair and bathe.  “Elbereth save us; I will never understand why Eru created those creatures!”

Legolas sighed. “At least we know that he was not poisoned.”

“Do we?” questioned Thedin, pausing in his examination to look back at the Prince and Falathar.  “Until the milk has been examined, we cannot rule out the possibility.”

“But you said it was a bore mite,” sputtered Falathar, his bubble of relief quickly broken.

“I said that a bore mite had taken up residence in the child’s arm,” he stressed. “I cannot postulate that as the sole cause of his febrile seizure until I have completed my examination of Estel and the milk in question.”  The healer carefully laid the arm along side Estel’s body.  Uncovering small sections of the child at a time, in order to retain as much warmth as possible and resist chill, he began searching Estel’s skin for additional injuries or insect bites.  “Mortal children are extremely susceptible to a variety of entities that are of no consequence to elves,” he lectured, as though to a room of apprentice healers.  “Food that was eaten on the journey here might have become tainted by your knives or an unseen contaminate upon the hands.”

“It is a wonder that any of them survive,” murmured Falathar, shocked at what he was hearing.  “We fought wargs along the way and camped in an abandoned cabin.”  He thought back to the filthy mattress the king had ordered removed from the cabin.

Legolas was looking at Falathar with wide eyes, before looking back to Thedin, his beautiful face stricken.  “Could we have exposed Estel to dangers there and not even realized it?”

Estel moaned, and Thedin paused in his examination, carefully tucking Estel’s free hand back inside the warm blanket.  “Come with me,” he ordered, taking the pair by the elbows and leading them away from the table.  The assistant immediately moved into Thedin’s place securing the child upon the table.

When he’d led Legolas and Falathar a short distance from the table, Thedin stopped and turned to the two young elves.  “Prince Legolas, you are very close to this child, and he is obviously quite attached to you.”  The calm voice of the Healer was soothing to the pair.  “Your anxiety is relaying itself to the child.”

Legolas’ looked quickly to where Estel lay on the examining table. 

“Believe me when I tell you that you can do him the most good by being calm and supportive.”

“But he is not even conscious!” exclaimed Falathar.

Thedin fixed Falathar with a look that had skewered many a young healer. “I do not instruct you on the protection of the King; kindly do not attempt to tell me about the healing arts.”  He finished with another long look at Falathar, until the guard actually began to squirm.  “Much goes into healing that we as healers cannot explain, including the ability of a patient to sense negative feelings.”

“We understand,” said Legolas quickly.  “I apologize, Master Healer, if I adversely affected Estel.”

“Your affection for the child does you credit, my prince,” responded Thedin sincerely.  While initially extremely resistant to the king’s order for him to journey to Lake-Town in order to learn from the healers there, the elf had earned a begrudging respect for the mortal physicians who faced not only the challenges of battle wounds and accidents but also a myriad of diseases and illnesses.  So much was his admiration that he had assembled a large quantity of herbal cures not previously known to the mortals and had them delivered along with explicit instructions upon his arrival back in Mirkwood.  “Curious...the challenges faced by edain in their short lives are such that should crush their spirits, but rather than be crushed, they thrive and find contentment and even happiness.”

Legolas found himself smiling at the healer’s new found appreciation of men.

“Lord Thedin,” called the helper.  “The child’s skin is becoming heated again.”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Forty Three

It is Not Betrayal

“There is no more miserable human being than one in whom nothing is habitual but indecision.” – William James

Imladris

Elrond hesitated in the doorway only a moment before walking through his sitting room to the balcony beyond to join his daughter.  As she had every night since arriving, the Undómiel stood with her back to the room looking out over Celebrían’s garden.  Unlike the other evenings, this night she was unable to stem the flow of tears.

Arwen thought that she was coming to this place only at times when her father would be engaged elsewhere, but there was little that took place within the Last Homely House that the Elf Lord did not know.  He had simply allowed his daughter her privacy and maintained his distance whenever he knew she was here.

However, tonight was different.  Elrond had silently watched the hollow look of loss creeping back into his daughter’s beautiful countenance bit by bit the longer she was here, and tonight he had known, as only a father can know, that the tears would finally fall, and he steeled himself to do what must be done for Arwen’s sake. 

“Arwen,” he said softly, watching his daughter brush her hands swiftly across her moistened cheeks.  “No, daughter,” he crooned, taking her by the shoulders and turning her to face him.  “Do not hide your tears from me.”

“Oh Ada,” Arwen cried, stepping into the safe embrace of his arms where she had always felt loved and secure.  “I do not wish to bring more sorrow to you.”

Elrond smiled wistfully against her silken hair.  “You bring me only joy, my Evenstar, but it is time for you to return to Lórien.”

Arwen quickly stepped back to look into his face, and he could easily read the relief in her eyes warring with the confusion there.  “But we have come for the winter, to spend the Winter’s Solstice with you.”

“Not this year,” he replied easily.  “Too many memories linger here for you.”

In all her life Arwen had never been able to hide her feelings from her father and she did not try now.  “Will it always be so?” she asked sadly.

“I cannot answer that,” Elrond admitted. 

Arwen stepped back into her father’s arms, resting her head on the broad shoulder where she’d always found sanctuary.  “Why can I not find the peace here that you and the twins have found?”

“Peace?” Elrond questioned softly.  He thought about the word not sure that he would have chosen the same one.  Acceptance...resignation... patience..., the words ran swiftly through his mind.   Those were emotions that he could admit to feeling, but peace, he was not so sure about.  When had his heart begun to feel at peace? 

 It was Arwen’s turn to read the look in her father’s eyes, and a soft smile welcomed the confirmation she found there.  “You did not realize it, did you?”  Slowly she shook her head to halt the denial that sprang to his lips.  “It is no shame to find peace, Ada; nor is it a betrayal.” 

Elrond gazed at his daughter, accepting her words and affirming the feeling in his heart.  “I did not realize my daughter had grown as wise as she is beautiful.”

Arwen’s lilting laugh lifted his heart.  “It is not wisdom to read your eyes, Ada.”  She cupped his cheek with a soft hand.  “I saw it in the twins, and I see it now in your eyes.”  A soft sigh escaped her.  “Perhaps someday Estel will bring peace to my heart as he has yours.”

“Perhaps,” Elrond echoed, “but it is not yet that time.”  Elrond kissed her forehead.  “Do not rush yourself, Arwen; you were very young when your mother sailed.”  He smiled gently at the quick tears that formed once more in her luminous eyes...eyes so alike to her mother.  “Healing comes in its own time, daughter.”

“I spent so many wonderful days sitting right here with her,” Arwen said longingly, looking around the balcony where her mother’s lounge still sat, the ever present basket of flowers situated beside it.  The sight brought a smile to her face.  “You keep mother’s flowers fresh.”

“I always will,” he replied, glancing with love at the red geraniums.  “They remind me that one day we will be together again.”

Arwen kissed her father’s cheek, and walked slowly across the sitting room.  Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back to the balcony where her father stood silhouetted by the moonlight, and she thought she could see the slightest slump to his proud shoulders. 

O-o-O-o-O

“Haldir!”

The Marchwarden changed his course across the gardens and veered towards the form of his Lord.  “My Lord, I was just on my way to the archery fields; care to join me?”

“Your archery practice will have to wait,” said Celeborn.  “Prepare your warriors; we leave at dawn.”

“Leave?” Haldir was confused, for the original plan was to winter in Imladris.  Involuntarily he glanced at the sky as though to gauge the weather, bringing a smile to Celeborn’s face.

“The warm days linger,” the Elf Lord announced.  “We shall have plenty of time to reach home before the mountain passes are lost to the snows.”

Haldir was not sure how he felt about this turn of events.  True, there had been no further attacks upon the valley, but he could possibly be leading his troop – including the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien – through danger.  Plans immediately began running through the warrior’s mind as he bowed to his Lord.

Celeborn smiled to himself as he walked back over to join Mithrandir on the terrace.  “Young ones,” he laughed, “their thoughts are so easily discernable.”

Mithrandir chuckled, blew another smoke ring, and immediately began to cough.

“Mithrandir,” chided Celeborn, “why do persist with that disgusting pipe weed?”  The Elf Lord poured some water into a mug and handed it to the Maia.

Between coughs, the wizard thanked Celeborn for the water and drank deeply of the soothing liquid.  “One simply must have some vices,” he sighed.  “But that is something an elf would not understand.”

Celeborn raised an elegant eyebrow at his friend’s assertion.  “You have been spending too much time with the Halflings, my friend!”

“Yes,” sighed Mithrandir nostalgically, “their happy-go-lucky ways do rather influence one.”

Celeborn’s indulgent smile turned pensive. “It is my hope that they may keep their innocence as long as possible in these ever darkening days.”

Mithrandir’s furry eyebrows drew together as, his throat soothed, he once again puffed thoughtfully on his pipe.  “That is why we are here in Arda.”  With a deep sigh, he tapped his pipe to empty the remaining leaves from the bowl and sat up.  “I believe I will pay a visit to Saruman.”

“Do you think that wise?” questioned Celeborn, eliciting a snort from Mithrandir.

“Ever since Círdan gave the ring to me instead of Saruman the elves have had reservations about the White Wizard,” Mithrandir rejoined.  “Need I remind you that he is the head of my order?”

“Need I remind you that he was instrumental in putting a halt to our efforts to confront the Necromancer at Dol Guldur?” replied Celeborn.  “Besides, I trust the judgment of the shipwright.”

“Do not be petulant, Celeborn,” reproached Mithrandir. “It is not becoming of an Elf Lord.”

“What is this?” questioned Galadriel, joining the pair on the terrace.  The Lady of Light seemed to have the ability never to appear when the Maia was still smoking.  “Are you harassing my husband?”

“Harassing!” sputtered the Maia.  “Hurrumph, I was simply having a quiet conversation with an old friend.”

Galadriel’s soft laugh filled the air.  “I could hear your quiet conversation from the library.”  She patted the wizard on the shoulder.  “I would only ask that you keep your own council regarding the child, Mithrandir.”

Long seconds passed as the Maia met the steady, unflinching gaze of Lady Galadriel.  Slowly he nodded his head.  “No word of Estel shall pass my lips.”

O-o-O-o-O

Twice more in the night Estel’s fever spiked, necessitating that he be placed back into the waters of the cooling chamber.   Each time Legolas was at Thedin’s side ostensibly to help, but in reality because he could not bear the thought of leaving Estel alone.  The child’s skin was incredibly pale, almost transparent to the worried eyes of the prince, and each time the fever raged he feared that Estel would be lost to them.

Thedin had resigned himself to the proximity of the prince and began teaching the young one some of the finer points of caring for the child that he had learned from the edain healers.  He was quite pleased to find Legolas as adept at learning these lessons as he was with his knives.  Many times the young warrior stopped the healer for clarification, asking pertinent questions and always interested in learning more about human physiology. 

Legolas had been in many battles and seen many wounds, but the prince had found himself flinching, at least on the inside, as Thedin cut into Estel’s arm to retrieve the bore mite and the copious amount of eggs it had deposited.  Dutifully Legolas swabbed at the blood running from the wound as Thedin attempted to extract the mite.  The bore mite is a tenacious parasite that spreads his hook shaped tentacles throughout the surrounding flesh of its host.  It is from the ends of the numerous tentacles that the eggs are produced, thus offering the eggs a better chance of survival.  The process of removal proved to be long and ghastly.

“Is it over?” Legolas asked quietly once the wiggling mite was placed into the metal dish attached to the side of the surgical table.  He sincerely hoped he never had to witness such a sight again.

“Almost, my prince,” answered Thedin.  “You would make an excellent healer.” 

Legolas almost gagged. “No thank you,” he said fervently. “What you do makes battle seem almost orderly by comparison.”

“It is not always so difficult,” chuckled the healer.

“At least my enemies are adult and able to defend themselves,” avowed Legolas.  “Watching an innocent suffer so is…”

“Difficult?” supplied Thedin.  As he talked, the healer continued flushing the gaping wound to remove as many of the minute eggs as he could.  Now he paused in what he was doing as he thought about what he wanted to say.   He could almost have smiled at the large, solemn eyes of the prince staring so intently at him.  “It is rewarding to help a patient completely heal from a wound, but we are not always successful.”

Legolas nodded, thinking of Nárë, and of other warriors he knew that had died from their wounds.  Somehow he had never thought about the duty levied against the healers who fought their own battle…the battle the save lives rather than take them.

A moan from Estel drew their attention back to the table.  “He is waking up,” cried Legolas.  “Can you give him something to make him sleep?”

“I am sorry, my prince,” said Thedin, shaking his head sadly.  “We dare not give him more.”

“I do not understand,” argued Legolas.  “Surely it would be worse for him to awaken and suffer.”

“I have done all I can do for now,” sighed Thedin.  “The wound will have to be left open so that it can continue to drain.”

“What about the broken bone in his arm?”

Thedin carefully ran his hands along the large bone in the upper portion of Estel’s arm.  “I do not believe sufficient time as passed for a bone this large to have knitted together.”  He tapped his finger against the table as he thought.  “I will put a partial cast on the child’s arm.”  Thedin looked carefully at the open wound just above Estel’s wrist.  “I will bring the cast to the mid section of the forearm about here,” he pointed out.  “A padded rod will extend from the bottom of the cast to the palm to help support the weight of the arm.”

“How long until the wound heals?” questioned Legolas.

“I am not sure,” admitted Thedin. “I will place a loose bandage over the wound so that Estel cannot see it.”

Legolas breathed a sigh of relief, for the wound truly did look horrendous and he wished to spare Estel that sight.

“Legolas?”  Estel said weakly, as the long lashes of his eyes batted slowly. 

Legolas placed himself on the side of the table away from where Thedin was bandaging the wound so that the child’s attention would be drawn away from that action.  “I am here, little one.”

“My arm hurts,” Estel said, trying to look at the wound.  “Why is my cast off?”

“Just look at me, Estel,” the prince urged.  “We are almost finished.”

“It hurts, Legolas,” Estel wailed, his bottom lip trembling and tears welling in his eyes.

Legolas felt tears of frustration burning the back of his own eyes.  Never in all his long years of life had he felt so helpless.  “Can you be strong for me, my brave little friend?”

“Do not cry, Legolas,” Estel begged. “I will be brave for you.”

“I know you will,” responded the prince.  “You are my brave warrior.”

Estel sniffed and held his breath as Thedin finished wrapping the wrist.  “You are my best patient, Estel,” the healer bragged.  “I know that was painful, and I am very proud of you.”

“Thank you,” Estel said weakly.   “My Ada would want me to be a good patient.”

Thedin smiled.  “Your Adar is a very great healer, Estel; and I know he would be very proud of you right now.”

Estel moaned and his breathing began to come faster. “I feel sick.”

“Help me roll him over to his side, Legolas,” Thedin said quickly.  Together they rolled Estel to his side as Thedin supported his injured arm.  “That’s right,” he encouraged as Legolas supported the boy’s head and held a silver bowl as Estel cast up the meager contents of his stomach.

Thedin’s assistant healer had thoroughly tested the contents of the milk Estel had been given and found no poisons in the contents, so the Prince was not concerned on that account, but his eyes found Thedin’s while Estel was sick.

The healer spoke to both Estel and the Prince by addressing the child.  “Estel, you are most likely sick to your stomach because of the pain and the high fever you had.”

Legolas handed the bowl of cast off to the healer that had approached for that purpose and brushed back the dark curls from Estel’s damp forehead.  He helped to roll the child over onto his back.  “We are almost finished Estel,” he promised.  “You are doing very well.”

Thedin held the padded rod to the bottom of Estel’s forearm as he began to apply the plastering material.  “We have just to reapply the cast to your arm and you will be able to rest.”

Estel was thoroughly miserable and trying desperately to blink back his tears.  “Stars?” he asked weakly.

“What is that, Estel?” asked Thedin.  “I do not understand.”

“I understand,” smiled Legolas. “Estel wants to see the stars.”

Thedin shook his head sadly.  “The sun is rising and the stars will not reappear for some hours.”

“I know where we can find some stars,” said Legolas, with a wink at Estel.  “If you will allow me to take Estel to my room to rest, he can go to sleep looking at the stars.”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Forty-Four

Sharing the Stars

“Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your soul.” Unknown

Imladris

With the dawn approaching, arda seemed to be holding its breath waiting for the first warming glimmers of light to creep across the valley as torches flickered in the sconces affixed to the walls on each side of the front doors of the Last Homely House.  The air was thick with the heady scent of the roses from Celebrían’s garden as those gathering in the pre dawn talked softly amongst themselves.

The twins and Erestor, elated to finally be released from the healing rooms, were on the front steps bidding farewell to Celeborn and Galadriel.  Mithrandir was leaving soon after, but had been persuaded to linger for a break of fast before his departure.  Besides thinking of the wizard’s comfort, Elrond wanted to assure himself that the Maia would not mention Estel’s presence or even his existence to anyone else.

Her grandparents were already mounted and ready to go as Arwen went to say her farewell to her father in his study.  She stood quietly in the door watching him for a moment before entering.  The familiar room was awash in shadows, lit by only the small lantern resting on her father’s map table.  “Namárië, Ada,” she choked, running across the room and clinging to him as she had as a child.  “Hiraetha im.”

“Iston,” Elrond soothed.  “Henion.”

“Do not come outside, please,” she begged, “for I fear I cannot make a second farewell.”  Arwen was sure it would be too difficult for both of them.  “If you come outside I will not have the courage to leave you.”  

“And yet you must,” he answered, setting her from him.  He cupped her beloved face and dried the tear tracks with his thumbs.  “Go with your grandparents and heal, my daughter, for I want only happiness for you.”

“I am a coward,” she blurted unhappily.

“No, Arwen, you are following your heart, as we all must.”

Elrond kissed her forehead and then took her hands and kissed each of them.  “When you ready, we will be here,” he said softly.  “Until that day, be at peace in Lórien, and fear not for your family.”

Arwen nodded, turned and left the room quickly, for she could not bear to think of leaving, and yet she could not bear to stay either. Lingering one last moment at the door, she looked back.  “Le gar meleth nín Ada”.  She was gone before he could respond.

 As Arwen walked out the front door and spotted her brothers, she ran to them, wrapping an arm around each to be engulfed in their duel hug.  “Take care of yourselves, and come to visit Lórien.”

“We will,” answered Elladan.

“Perhaps we will bring Estel with us next time,” added Elrohir with a smile.

“Do that,” Arwen begged, “for I would love to meet the one who has brought such healing to your hearts.”

“It is my turn, Aewithen,” said Erestor, holding out his arms.

Arwen kissed her brothers on the cheek and walked into Erestor’s embrace. 

“Avo osto, child, I shall look after your family,” he vowed. 

“You always have,” she acknowledged.  “What would we do without you and Glorfindel?”

“You need never ask that question, Aewithen,” he responded, “for we will always be here.”  He looked deeply into her eyes to affirm his pledge.

“Estel mín,” added Glorfindel, getting his own hug.  “Go now in peace, Arwen, and return to us in joy.” 

“Come child,” Celeborn said softly, for he could tell that to prolong the goodbyes would only be more difficult.  “We must be well on our way before this day is done.”

Arwen quickly mounted her horse and turned, with only one backward glance and a quick wave.

Elrohir sighed deeply as the wind picked up slightly and blew a few strands of his hair across his face.  “Do you think she will ever be able to return here, El?”

“One day she will,” Elladan vowed.  “One day she will.”

O-o-O-o-O

Estel was thoroughly miserable and trying desperately to blink back his tears. “Stars?” he asked weakly.

“What is that, Estel?” asked Thedin. “I do not understand.”

“I understand,” smiled Legolas. “Estel wants to see the stars.”

Thedin shook his head sadly. “The sun is rising and the stars will not reappear for some hours.”

“I know where we can find some stars,” said Legolas, with a wink at Estel. “If you will allow me to take Estel to my room to rest, he can go to sleep looking at the stars.”

Thedin looked from Estel to Legolas, carefully weighing the possible consequences as well as the advantages of allowing the child to remain in the prince’s room.  The child should be closely monitored for any additional rise of temperature or infection in the wound site, but on the other hand, he would rest more easily in a more familiar setting, given that he was already far from home and his family.  “Very well,” he said, addressing Estel, “since you were such a good patient, I will allow you to sleep in Prince Legolas’ room where you may see the stars.”

Estel smiled weakly in thanks.

“But first,” qualified the healer, “I would like for you to drink something that will help you to rest.”

Estel wrinkled his nose, but did not complain as he drank down the bitter liquid.

“He is already exhausted from this ordeal,” worried Legolas.

“The draught is not a sedative, my prince,” reprimanded Thedin gently, “but to fight infection.”

Legolas looked puzzled.  “I thought that the bore mite was the cause of his fever.”

“It was the primary source,” Thedin corrected, “but see how the hand is still swollen and red?”

Legolas looked at the part of Estel’s hand that was showing beneath the bandage, and saw how it still retained the ugly and painful looking swelling.  He gasped at the sight and sought the healer’s eyes.  Then he noticed Estel looking at him with worry in his tired eyes.  “Am I going to be sick again, Legolas?”

Thedin shook his head slightly to forestall the conversation that he preferred to have in private.  Estel did not need to hear that he might face further complications from the wound.  Smiling at Estel, Thedin kept his voice light as the addressed Legolas.  “Keep a close watch on the little one, and when you have the chance, I would like to speak with you alone.”

Legolas nodded his understanding.

“Do not hesitate to call upon me if you notice any change in his condition.”

“I will,” Legolas vowed, as he carefully took Estel into his arms.  “Are you ready to go see the stars, Estel?”

“Um huh,” Estel nodded sleepily, resting his head against the prince’s shoulder.   The child had been through an ordeal throughout the night and the exhaustion and pain showed itself in the dark circles underneath his eyes.

As Legolas walked from the healing rooms, Thranduil and Nárë, who had waited out the night on a stone bench cut into the wall of the cavern hallway, stood and met the pair.  The king had obviously found his guard tedious and banished them to the far end of the hallway where they could still see him but he did not feel shadowed by them.

“How is he,” Thranduil asked anxiously, eyeing the bandaged and still bleeding arm.

Nárë placed a reassuring hand on Legolas’ shoulder.  “From the looks of things, neither one of you has had an easy night.”

“Let us put this little one to bed before we talk,” suggested Legolas.

“Are the bugs going to come get me?” asked Estel fearfully. 

Legolas realized that Estel had heard at least snatches of his conversation with Thedin regarding the bore mite even though he was unconscious, for the most part, while they worked on him.  He was frustrated at himself for frightening Estel more. 

“No, child,” assured Thranduil, meeting Legolas eyes.  “I do not allow bugs in my fortress.”

“Promise?” sniffed Estel. 

Thranduil smiled.  “No bug would dare to disobey me; you have my word as a warrior and a king.”

Blood was seeping through the loose bandage, and Legolas could see Estel looking at it.  He started walking towards his chambers followed by his Adar, Nárë, and the ever present guards.  Legolas entered his chamber and went straight to the bed.  The covers had been pulled up and neatened since their precipitous exit the night before, and Thranduil now pulled back the cover so that Legolas could place the child in the middle of the bed.  The king placed an extra pillow underneath Estel’s injured arm so that it could stay elevated and in a more comfortable position.

Once settled, Estel’s glazed eyes sought the stars above and a small smile formed before the bottom lip began to quiver.  “Make it stop, Legolas, please.”

“Make what stop, Estel?”

“The stars are moving,” he wailed, “and my arm really hurts.” 

Legolas did not know how to answer the child and he was heartsick to see him so obviously miserable and in pain.  “I...I must speak with the healer,” he said quickly.  “Adar?”

“Go,” Thranduil answered the unspoken question. “I will stay with Estel.”

Legolas raced from the room.  He was desperate to speak with Thedin and find out exactly what was making Estel see the stars moving and how much longer he would be in such pain.  He also wanted to know what the child would be facing and how he could best help him.

“Now then,” Thranduil crooned, sitting on the side of the bed. “Let us see if we can make you more comfortable.”

Nárë smiled as Thranduil literally crawled up into Legolas’ bed and pulled the child onto his lap, wrapping strong arms around him.  Estel sighed contentedly as he rested his head on the king’s broad chest.  Nárë pulled the extra pillow around and propped it under the wounded arm.  The Noldo frowned as he noticed small bumps appear on the child’s skin.  “What is that?” he whispered anxiously.  Thranduil was as mystified as the Noldo.  He had never seen such a phenomenon. 

“Estel?”

“I am cold,” the boy shivered.

“Nárë,” Thranduil said urgently, “go to my chamber and bring back my ceremonial cloak; it is the closest thing I have to a sunshine blankey.”  At the Noldo’s astonished look, the king laughed, reminding Nárë of just how beautiful he’d always found the sound.   It was soft, low pitched and melodious.  The king shrugged at his confused friend.  “Go, I will explain later.”

“King Adar?”

Thranduil smiled.  “Yes, Tithen pen?”

“Would you tell me a story about when Legolas was little?”

“You liked the story about his bath time as I remember,” murmured the king.  “Well, let me see if I can remember another story for you...”

“When my Greenleaf was very young he was small for his age.  Sometimes he would get very frustrated because he could not do all that the other elflings his age could do.  Once when there was an archery contest, Legolas was very excited because he had been working diligently on his archery and wanted to win the competition for me, but because of his slight frame he came in last.  I could see that he wanted to cry, but he did not.”

“He was brave?” Estel asked thoughtfully. 

“He was very brave, Estel,” Thranduil replied.  The king sighed as he thought back to images that he had buried deep in his mind, hidden away from conscious thought.  “But he was also very young, and sometimes the young do not make the best choices...”

“After the winners had been congratulated I looked for my Greenleaf, but he was no where to be found.  I did not know it at the time but he had decided in his own mind that I must be disappointed in him and figured out a way he thought he could make me proud.”

The king glanced down at the boy.  Estel seemed to be drawing warmth from the king’s bare chest and his eyes dropped sleepily.  Thranduil bestowed a kiss to the soft curls of Estel’s head and continued.

“How he did it, I am not sure, but Legolas managed to sneak out of the cavern without being seen.  He had decided that he would track and kill one of the Mirkwood spiders and thus prove his bravery.” 

“When I found that he was missing, I thought he must be hiding.  My guards and I searched the palace cavern looking every where that an elfling could hide.   When we could not find him I was frantic, for night had fallen and that is the most dangerous time to be outside the caverns.  I knew that if I lost my son that my heart would turn to stone.”

“I grabbed my sword and rushed outside before even my guards could have followed.  I ran searching for him and calling his name until I almost collapsed from fear and dread.  It was when I dropped to my knees, sure that I would never again see my Greenleaf, that I heard him.”

Thranduil paused in his storytelling as the sheer terror and grief of that night hit him again, as fresh a wound now as it was then. 

Nárë came in with the king’s cloak and covered the pair, tucking it around Estel’s shoulders and sat on the foot of the bed.  He’d heard the last part of Thranduil’s story and remembered the night of its happening well, for he had never before or since seen his friend as anxious.  He settled himself comfortably to listen.

Thranduil closed his eyes and continued his remembrance.

“I could hear him softly crying, and it was the sweetest sound I have ever heard.  He was only a short distance away behind some foliage.  I ran to him and gathered him into my arms.”

“Did he do it?”  Estel asked, blinking curiously at the king with huge silver-blue eyes.

Thranduil smiled at the boy.  “Yes, he killed a spider.”

“He did?” Estel breathed in wonder.  “Was he crying because it bit him?”

Nárë chuckled softly at the innocence of the child, for the beast he saw that night could easily have swallowed the elfling whole.”

“No,” Thranduil mused.  “The spider did not harm Legolas.  My Greenleaf was crying because he felt sad that he had killed a living being…even one so monstrous, for such was the tenderness of his heart and the gentleness of his soul.”

“Were you proud of him?” asked Estel, the pain in his arm momentarily forgotten as his interest was caught up in the story.

“I was proud of him before he killed the spider, Estel,” said the king.  “My pride in my son has nothing to do with his prowess as a warrior.”

“Legolas loves you too, King Adar,” responded Estel, surprising the king with his insight.

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas exhausted every question he could think of with the healer.  It took far longer than he expected and as he hurried back to his room he hoped that Estel was not too uncomfortable.  His father’s ever present guards were dutifully standing outside his door, so he knew that the king was still inside.

Opening the door Legolas stopped short, quite astonished at what he was seeing.  The room was pitched in almost complete darkness. Only the shimmering stars, illuminated by the candles placed around the chamber, lit the interior.  Shadowed, but clear to Elven eyesight, Thranduil was perched in the middle of his bed with Estel sound asleep against his chest wrapped in the King’s best cloak, a creamy garment of the softest silk.  Estel’s fingers were wrapped securely around the King’s thumb.  Nárë was lying across the foot of the bed dozing, his mouth slightly open and his arm hanging off the end.

Thranduil glanced up, and the warmth of love lit his already beautiful face.  As always a thrill of pride and admiration ran through his veins at the sight of his son.  “Come Greenleaf, and rest beside your father, for I long to share the stars with you once again.”

TBC

Translations

Hiraetha im – I am sorry          

Iston – I know

Henion – I understand

Estel mín – Trust us

Le gar meleth nín Ada – You have my love, Daddy.

Aewithen – Little Bird

Avo osto – Do not worry

Healing Hope

Chapter Forty Five

Mist and Shadow

“Mist and Shadow, Cloud and Shade, All shall fade!  All shall fade...” Pippin, Return of the King

Imladris

Elrohir sighed deeply as the wind picked up slightly and blew a few strands of his hair across his face.  “Do you think Arwen will ever be able to return here, El?”

“One day she will,” Elladan vowed.  “One day she will.”

Long after Elrohir, Glorfindel and even Erestor had gone back inside the residence, Elladan stood looking in the direction in which the Lórien party had ridden.  The shadows of night had been chased away, but only a gray, foggy dawn, heavy with the scent of rain, remained.  The weather matched the young elf’s mood as he strolled across the yards to the stables.  Golden leaves in the colors of Firith had begun to fall and swirled in eddies around his legs as he crossed the distance.

Entering the stable where all the family horses were kept, Elladan paused to breathe in the familiar scents of horse, leather, and fresh hay.  He had missed it so much when confined to the healing rooms, but even the comforting atmosphere of the stable could not lift his spirits.

Celos lifted his head as soon as Elladan entered the stables.  The great white immediately backed out of his open stall and started walking towards the twin.

Still leaning against the side of the stable entrance deep in thought, Elladan was surprised when Celos came into focus in front of him.   He immediately reached out and flung his arms around the stallion’s neck, burying his face against the coat of his horse as a sob rose in his chest.  Elladan clung to Celos for as long as the unexpected storm lasted and then the twin quickly and self-consciously scrubbed at the damning tear tracks on his face....evidence of his weakness, or so he believed.

Before he even knew what he was doing Elladan mounted Celos, straining his injured shoulder in the process.  The twin ignored the pain as he luxuriated in the feel of Celos between his knees and rode the stallion from the yard.  At the moment he did not even care where he was going so long as he could just ride.  He would allow Celos to warm up and then set whatever pace the feisty stallion wanted.

The Hall of Fire

Elrond glanced up from where he was seated with Mithrandir.  “Where is your brother?”

Elrohir stopped and looked behind him as though surprised that his twin was not walking behind him.  “I thought he was right behind me,” he offered. “Is there anything wrong?”

Elrond’s eyebrow rose.  “I have released you and Elladan from the healing rooms, but you are not to engage in anything remotely strenuous.”

Elrohir smiled at his father as he kissed the top of his head and then slid into the seat beside him.  “I promise, Ada, we will be on our best behavior.”

“Elrohir,” the Elf Lord intoned dispassionately, “you have not been on your best behavior since you reached your majority.”

The twin playfully grabbed the area of his chest located directly over his heart.  “Ada, I am wounded.”

From across the table Mithrandir chuckled.  “Never again shall I think of Imladris as staid.”

Elrond and Elrohir stared at the Maia. 

“Mithrandir,” said Elrond, glancing at Elrohir, “I am wounded.”

Elrohir burst out laughing at the look on the wizard’s face.  “You did not know he had it in him, did you?”

“I see that a lot has changed since my last visit, and that intrigues me.”

“It is not anything too unusual, my friend.”

“It is Estel,” smiled Elrohir.  “He has a way of making you see life in fresh new ways, as when arda was first formed.”

“Why Elrohir,’ exclaimed Mithrandir, “that was quite poetic.”  Then the Maia chuckled and hitched his shaggy eyebrow.  “I did not know you had it in you!”

Unnoticed, Glorfindel watched the three bantering back and forth.  It was all well and good, but he was not fooled.

The Healing Wing, Imladris

“I will not stay in this bed one moment longer!”

“Now Mistress Sariboril,” soothed the young healer, who was, of a sudden, feeling very much over his head, “you should remain abed for at least another three days.”

“Three days!” Sariboril all but shouted.   “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

The healer crossed his arms and looked down at his Mistress.  “You may have taught me everything I know about healing, but there was one very important lessen you failed to impart.”

Suspicious, Sariboril took the bait.  “And just what would that be?”

Ah ha, he smiled to himself.  “How to deal with a stubborn, bull-headed, Mistress!”

Sariboril opened and closed her mouth several times before finally finding her voice. “Bull-headed?” 

“Here now, what is all this noise?” 

Both healers turned towards the newcomer. 

“Lord Erestor,” sighed the younger healer.  “Thank the Valar, my Lord; perhaps you can talk some sense into my Mistress.”

“I gave up on that hope eons ago,” sighed the Seneschal.

“I see that you have not lost your biting sense of humor,” droned Sariboril. 

“One does what one must,” replied Erestor.  “Now, what is the source of all this racket?”

“Her!”

“Him!”

“I see,” nodded Erestor.  “We have a disagreement.”

“And I see that you have also not lost your talent for stating the obvious,” Sariboril snapped.

“Mistress Sariboril insists upon getting out of bed,” replied the healer, “and she is simply not ready.”

“I know well enough when I am ready,” stated the fiery healer, leveling her gaze at the fidgeting healer.

A new voice from the doorway joined the discussion.

“Perhaps I should be the judge of that.”

“My Lord!” bowed the young healer, vastly relieved to be off the hook!

Erestor all but smirked as he glanced at Sariboril.  “An excellent idea!”

“Well, Sariboril,” asked Elrond, “shall you accept my judgment?”

O-o-O-o-O

Elrohir walked back outside after breaking his fast, curious as to the whereabouts of his twin.  It was not like Elladan to miss a meal, the twin chuckled to himself.  Growing serious, Elrohir stopped to listen to the disquiet that had been growing in his heart, and he realized this disquiet had nothing to do with Estel or Arwen’s departure. 

Fear slammed into him like a slap to the face as he stopped short, realizing that his twin was in distress!  The more he thought about it the more concerned he became about Elladan’s recent demeanor.  Why had he not seen it before, the twin berated himself.  He had simply attributed it to all that had been going on, but now, as Elrohir thought back, he realized his twin had been strangely withdrawn, almost emotionally devoid.

There was one place that Elladan was sure to seek comfort.  Elrohir headed towards the stables, ignoring the wind that was picking up speed and buffeting against him as he walked.  The temperature had dropped several degrees and the cool wind that had been comfortable earlier would be too cold for Estel now. 

Elrohir paused as he realized what he had just thought.  His little brother was not even here and still his first thought on the changing weather had been on how it would affect his baby brother.  He smiled as he entered the stables, comforted by thoughts of one brother while still troubled by those of another.

Celon whinnied and pulled at the rope fastened around his neck as Elrohir came inside. 

“He has been kicking up a fuss ever since I got here,” said Aradol, walking from the back of the stables with a fresh bunch of hay.  “I had to tie him to keep him from taking off.”

“You mean literally leaving?” Elrohir asked, quite truly astonished, for it was rare for an Elven mount to go anywhere without his rider.  He approached the white.  “Whoa boy,” he soothed.

Celon quieted at Elrohir’s touch.  Fluffy was perched on the wall between the stalls of Celos and Celon watching the goings on with interest even as he washed his face with his little paws.

“Where is Celos?” asked Elrohir, thinking he probably knew if not where the stallion was, with whom he was with.

“I do not know, Elrohir,” Aradol answered.  “He was gone when I arrived.”

“El must have taken him,” Elrohir sighed.  “Ada will slap us back into the healing rooms for sure if he finds out.”   He looked out at the quickly gathering clouds gauging his options.  Either he could wait here for his Ada to discover Elladan’s adventure or he could go find his twin and they could face their doom together.  There really was no choice, he chuckled to himself.  If he was going to be stuck back into the healing rooms, he might as well get a good ride out of it.  Besides, he and El always faced everything together.  The twin quickly untied Celon’s neck and jumped onto his back. “No, Fluffy,” he spoke to the kitten, who was making ready to jump onto the horse’s back with him, “you must stay here.”  He backed Celon from the stall.  “Let us go find our brothers, my friend,” he said, patting the great white’s neck.   

O-o-O-o-O

Elladan rode for what seemed like hours neither paying attention to where he went nor guiding Celos in any particular direction.   The stallion, thrilled to once again be reunited with his master, seemed to have sensed Elladan’s mood and given them both a good workout. 

The twin slid from Celos’ back and sank onto the rocky ground.  The tall trees were shrouded to a misty grey and all around him seemed as fogged and cheerless as his own heart.  It was as though a great river of ice was running though his veins as he struggled to fight off the realization of what was happening within his body.  He held up the damning arm, flexing and re-flexing the hand as though by force of will he could make the grip what it should be.

So far he had been able to keep his condition from his father, but Elladan knew that it was just a matter of time before Elrond noticed the disability.  It was only the distraction of all else that had bought him this much time.  Once it became known to more than himself, Elladan realized that he would have to own the truth that until now he had disclaimed.

Bitterness rose in the twin, matching the violence of the gathering clouds.  A deep rumble rent the air as jagged pieces of lightening crisscrossed the sky, but the deeply troubled elf ignored the show of light.  Elladan had been a warrior for centuries and survived uncounted orc battles.  How could it have come to this?  Questions swirled in his brain until he pushed at his own temples as though he could squeeze the nagging words from his very brain.

How could he defend Imladris...his home, if he could not even grip his sword or a bow properly?  How could he allow Elrohir to fight beside him when he could not defend his twin as he always had?  How?  How?  How?  The questions would not stop ringing in his mind until the first bitter tears of self pity stung his eyes.

And that, he realized immediately, was the worst thing of all.  In all the years since his mother’s attack and sailing, Elladan Elrondion had felt many things, but self pity was not one of them.  He was ashamed to feel it now.  As the heavy rain finally escaped the clouds, Elladan looked up with torment in his eyes and heart, wishing that he could be rinsed clean of these feelings, but redemption was not to be found in the falling torrents.

Mirkwood

The candles burned down dimming the room even more as Thranduil sighed contentedly.  Beside him, Legolas glanced at his father.  “It has been too long since we enjoyed the stars together.”

A shadow crossed the King’s face as he looked down at Estel and then at his son.  “I used to view the stars with my father...real stars, not the ones we are forced to see now.”

It grieved Legolas to see his father so saddened.  Legolas had never known Mirkwood when it was Greenwood the Great...had never seen it at its full glory, but what they had managed to defend against the dark one he loved.  It may be just a glimmer of its former glory, but Legolas loved every foot of it and would gladly die defending it.  “No King could have saved more of our home than you have!”  He sat up so that he could look his father in the eye.  “I swear to you, Adar, one day arda will be rid of Sauron and together, you and I will gaze upon stars unmarred by Mordor’s fume.”

Thranduil’s hearted melted anew, for ever was his Greenleaf a joy.  “I see Oropher’s fire you in, my son, tempered by your mother’s good sense.”

“Do not forget a liberal peppering of his father’s ego,” chimed in Nárë, awakening from his nap at the foot of the bed.

“So,” snorted Thranduil, “the swordmaster of Mirkwood finally rouses from his sleep!”

Nárë sat up, stretching his arm above his head as he did so.  “Does my liege mock me?” he inquired with a crooked grin.   

“Ada?”  Estel’s sleep filled eyes batted as the child sat up.  “Ada?”

Thranduil smiled. “No child, your Ada is not here.”

“King Adar?”

“Yes, Estel, you are in Mirkwood with me and with Legolas,” the King soothed, as the confused child was finding his bearings.  “You slept so hard that you have forgotten where you are.”

Estel rubbed his eyes with the heelof his hand and gave a lusty yawn, bringing a chuckle to the three elves.

“For such a small child that was a very big yawn!” Legolas teased.

His eyes wide as saucers, Estel was suddenly wiggling like a worm on a hook.

“I know what that means,” said Legolas quickly.  “Come Estel, I shall take you to the privy.”  The prince held out his arms and the child was handed to him by a grateful King, who would have been vastly uncomfortable to have been anointed.

As Legolas took Estel into the adjoining chamber, Thranduil settled back against the pillows.

Nárë quirked an eyebrow at his friend.  “You look far too contented.”

“I have just passed a peaceful night with my son by my side,” Thranduil opined.  “One could hardly do better than that!” 

Before Nárë could answer a bloodied guard entered the chamber.  “My lord, we are under attack!”

TBC

Translation

Firith: Autumnal Equinox

Healing Hope

Chapter Forty Six

Trust

“To be trusted is a greater accomplishment than to be loved.” Roger MacDonald

As a grim faced Falathar entered the room behind the messenger, Thranduil rose from the bed in one fluid motion, followed closely by Nárë. “Report!”

The young warrior, now mindful of his abrupt pronouncement, bowed respectfully to his king. “My Lord, orcs are pouring from Dol Guldur. They were first encountered by our scouts as they passed the Narrows. Reinforcements were gathered from other scouting parties but the enemy has proven overwhelming.”

Thranduil frowned. “How long have the border scouts been fighting the orcs?”

“Three days now, my Lord,” responded the warrior.

“And only now did they think to inform the court?” asked Falathar, clearly astonished at the turn of events.

Thranduil held up his hand to halt his chief of guards before he could continue. There would be a time and place for those questions at a later point, after the battle had been won. He kept his gaze on the nervous warrior. “Continue, Andien, and then I want you to seek aid from the Healers.”

“Yes, my Lord,” nodded Andien. “Our warriors were able to hold up the enemy, but they have broken out and crossed the Men-i-Naugrim, the Old Forest Road.”

“So close?” breathed Nárë.

“Aye, Master Nárë,” responded Andien. “We are attempting to hold them at the Emyn-nu-Fuin, but we must have reinforcements.” He slumped against Falathar, who supported the elf as he continued his report. “The wounded will be arriving shortly.”

Legolas and Estel emerged from the privy to the palpable tension in the room. Estel’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the wounded elf.

Thranduil met the eyes of his old friend. “Nárë, perhaps you would be so kind as to show Estel your weapons room.”

“Aye,” nodded the Noldo. “Come Estel; you are in for a treat.” He held out his hand for Estel, but the boy drew against Legolas as though afraid to let go. Nárë knelt in front of the frightened child and met his eyes. The calmness of his countenance seemed to soothe the boy. “I still have the sword with which I taught Legolas to fight when he was an elfling.”

“Will you teach me, too?” asked Estel, intrigued by the thought.

“I will, but first you must trust me.” He continued to look into the boy’s eyes. “Can you do that, Estel?”

Biting his lip, Estel took a deep breath and nodded. He let go of Legolas’ hand and stepped over to where he could look up at Thranduil. “I will fight too, King Adar; if you need me.”

Thranduil spared a smile for his youngest warrior. “You do Mirkwood proud Estel, but for now you must concentrate on learning your skill from Nárë.”

Estel stood as straight as he could and executed a perfect bow. “Yes, King Thrandue.”

“Come along, my little warrior,” said Nárë, leading him from the room.

After Estel left the room Legolas turned to his father. “Adar, what has happened?”

Thranduil took the slumping warrior from Falathar. “Falathar, call out the guard.” He turned to his Greenleaf, his voice husky with emotion. “Legolas, gather your weapons and go with Falathar; he will explain what has happened.”

“Yes, Adar,” Legolas had fought many battles in the defense of Mirkwood, and he met his father’s eyes with calm determination.

“Legolas, send back word as soon as you have assessed the situation,” stressed Thranduil. “I must know whether to have the families residing outside the caverns gathered inside.”

Legolas was momentarily dumbfounded by his Adar’s words. “The situation is that grave?” The eyes of his father and the wounded Andien were all the confirmation he needed. Gathering his knives and bow, Legolas bowed to his father and left to follow Falathar.

“Now, young one,” Thranduil addressed Andien, “let us get you to the healers.”

The Hidden Valley

Elladan Elrondion was numb. How long he sat in the pouring rain, as the skies vented their anger, he was not even sure and cared even less. Faithful Celos stood as close to his master as he could, as though attempting to shield the young elf from the torrents or perhaps simply lending his support.

As the thunder grew distant and the rain lessened to fitful drops, the heavy mist once again shadowed the land, obscuring the trees in ghostly murkiness.

Celos nickered softly and Elladan winced as he roused himself from his stupor. Absentmindedly rubbing his shoulder, Elladan became aware of the sudden silence of the laden forest. Alert now, all thought of pain and pity aside, the elf rose to his feet, berating himself for leaving the haven of his home without even a weapon. He was, after all, outside the confines of Imladris proper where orcs and wild animals could be about.

As much as he hated the idea, Elladan swiftly mounted Celos prepared to flee, if no other course were left to him. The pain in his shoulder was fierce now, but the warrior forced himself to block it out and focus on the area around him. He had let down his guard, but Celos had not. Elladan stroked the soft neck of his steed, speaking softly to him as they both focused their attention outward.

Within moments it became apparent what had triggered the reaction in the stallion as Celon appeared as though a wraith in the swirling mists, the sodden young elf on his back looking as miserable as his twin. “El, what are you doing so far out here?” The accusation in Elrohir’s eyes faded as a wave of distress from his twin washed over his consciousness. Elrohir slid from Celon and was beside Celos in seconds, his arms reaching up for his twin. “Brother...”

Elladan found himself in his twin’s arms and together they sank to the ground as Elrohir sought to cradle his brother and bear away some of the pain the elder twin was experiencing. “Why did you not tell me it was this bad?” he asked sadly.

“I could not,” choked Elladan.

“El, you do not have to be the protector of all,” Elrohir admonished softly. “Now you must trust me.” Gently Elrohir pulled Elladan’s head back to rest on his shoulder, murmuring soft words of support in the twin speak that only the two of them had ever been able to understand.

Elrohir’s mind raced as he felt Elladan shaking. His first reaction was one of guilt, which he quickly chased away. How he had missed such evident signs of distress in his twin was not as important now as what he needed to do to help Elladan. His instincts told him that first his brother just needed to be held close, to let loose the self-imposed mantle of responsibility that the elder twin assumed. Elrohir forced himself to relax, allowing that relaxed state to reach out and engulf Elladan. Carefully he massaged the injured shoulder, assessing for himself the degree of pain and injury still held within.

Elladan’s eyes batted as he slid into sleep.

“You stubborn elf,” he whispered, so as not to awaken his brother. “Why did you pretend to be pain free?” Ever so tenderly, Elrohir stroked his brother’s sopping hair back from his face and pressed a kiss to Elladan’s forehead. “I will be the strong one for now, brother,” he sighed, has he rested his head against his twin’s.

As anor sank ever closer to the western ridge, Elrohir continued to hold his sleeping and exhausted brother. Softly he whistled for Celon, who was grazing nearby. The great white lifted his head and immediately came to Elrohir, followed closely by Celos. “Go home Celon,” he urged. “Bring back help.”

Celon’s ears twitched as he looked back towards Imladris and then back to his master, as though reluctant to leave him here.

“Go,” said Elrohir again. “You found him once; you can do it again.”

Celos nudged his twin and moved to stand over the brothers as Celon turned and trotted back down the path.

Imladris

After a lengthy time spent convincing Sariboril to remain in bed for three more days, Elrond had retired directly to his library for solitude. It had been a hurtful day for the Elf Lord, and he wished to gather himself before dinner.

Sitting down at his desk, he was assailed with memories of Arwen playing on the floor beneath the desk. Pushing back, he rose and walked out onto his terrace. Not wishing to be observed, he chose the more private terrace facing the Bruinen. Leaning over the railing, he allowed his fingers to trace the carving in an attempt to focus on the tangible feel of solid wood rather than the memories, which seemed determined to taunt him.

When he finally felt that he had gathered his will, the Lord of Imladris returned to his library. Taking down a journal from high upon a shelf, where he kept it hidden from sight, he sat down and opened the pages to the last entry. Picking up his quill, he dipped it into the ink and began writing words that likely no one would ever read.

My dearest Celebrían...

O-o-O-o-O

Outside, Glorfindel was in the stables preparing Asfaloth. He removed the bells from the bridle, for stealth might be required for this mission. He had seen the look on Elrond’s face and was quite sure that his friend would remain in the library until the evening’s meal. It was his pattern of late, when faced with the ever growing concerns of his family.

Sighing softly, the Golden Warrior mounted Asfaloth and walked him from the stable. “We need to find the twins, my beauty,” he crooned, as he patted the horse’s sleek coat. Glorfindel had hoped that Elrohir would find his twin and bring him back long before now. With the gloom of dusk gathering, he dared not wait longer. He would seek out and return the twins safely.

Asfaloth raised his head and gave it a great shake. Turning towards a lesser used route, the stallion started off at a brisk pace. The warrior had not traveled far when he met Celon coming down the trail. His heart quickened as he realized the stallion was riderless. “Where are they, Celon?” Glorfindel asked as the horse drew up to his side. Celon rubbed noses with Asfaloth as though greeting an old friend and then turned and began leading the Golden Warrior into the forest.

Nárë’s Weapons Room

Seated on the padded floor, Nárë leaned against the wall of the circular sparring room. Lounging back against him, Estel was eating grapes from the Sword Master’s hand. Munching contentedly, Estel leaned his head back against the Noldo’s chest and sighed. “Did you really teach Legolas how to fight?”

Nárë smiled, “Oh yes, young one, I taught him.”

Estel took another succulent piece of fruit from Nárë’s hand and savored the taste. “Umm, that is good.”

“I am glad you like it,” chuckled Nárë. “Are you sure you would like for me to teach you the sword?”

Estel sat up, excitement in his eyes. “Oh yes, Master Nárë; I told King Adar that I would help protect Mirkwood.”

“Very well,” replied the Noldo. “Shall we begin?”

Estel smiled and nodded. “Umm humm.” He used his good hand to push off from the elf’s stomach.

Nárë’s eyebrow hitched as he glanced at the small prints left on his trunk. “Perhaps we should wash that sticky hand first.”

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter Forty Seven

Sound of Silence

“Hello darkness my old friend

I’ve come to talk to you again

Because a vision softly creeping

Left its seed while I was sleeping

And the vision that planted in my brain

Still remains

Within the sound of silence.”

Paul Simon

Hello darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk to you again...

By the time Thranduil got Andien to the Healers, wounded were arriving in great numbers.  The main assessment area was to the immediate left of the entrance, before the series of hollows accessing the cooling waters. This was where the wounded elves were brought first.  The large main room contained a double row of cabinets down the center which contained bandages, other medical supplies, and healing herbs, and was easily accessible to the healers on either side of the room.  These large cabinets acted as a dividing point of the main hall.   The surgical rooms opened from the rear left and the corridor to the patient beds was at the rear right.  In between the main entrance and the rear ones, the cooling hollows opened down the left side of the room while the warming hollows were lined down the right side.  The Healers, led by Thedin, were efficiently assessing the wounded as they were brought in and assigning them priority based upon the severity of their wounds.   Each healer was assigned two apprentice healers as aides.  In a kingdom perpetually at war, the healing routines were essentially well thought out and applied. 

Thedin noticed his king as soon as he stepped through the door and made his way towards the monarch.  “My Lord, are you injured?”

Thranduil, surprised by the question glanced down to see blood smeared across his chest.  He shook his head.  ‘No, the blood belongs to Andien.”

Thedin motioned to his two apprentices to take the injured elf from the King.  As they moved to follow his instructions, Thedin walked Thranduil away from the clamor of moans and voices. Handing the King a cloth with which to clean his chest the First Healer voiced his concern. “We have not seen wounded in these numbers for many years, my Lord; what has happened?”

Thranduil glanced around the room at the controlled chaos and shook his head sadly. “Darkness has fallen upon us once again.”  He shared a knowing look with the healer. “Prepare for more wounded.”  The king squared his shoulders even as those of the Healer sagged momentarily.  Glancing down at himself Thranduil realized that he still wore only his leggings. “I am going to dress and then go to the Throne Room, my First Healer.” The King purposefully used Thedin’s title to remind his friend of his responsibilities and the faith that Thranduil had in him.  “When you have gained a measure of control here, come to me there and perhaps I will have some answers for you by that time.” 

O-o-O-o-O

And in the naked light I saw

Ten thousand people maybe more

It was late afternoon before Legolas made it back to the palace cavern to report to his Adar.  Filthy with black blood and some of his own, the Prince wearily slid from his horse’s back, grateful for the groom who immediately took the animal.  “I will need another mount prepared for me,” he called after the elf.  “I will be returning to the fight as soon as I have reported to the King.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Legolas strode briskly into the caverns.  He could still hardly fathom the extent of the vicious fighting taking place so close to his home.  So far, the elves were holding back the tide of evil, but the stalemate was taking its toll, and now the spiders were joining in the fray.  Even the dreaded screech of the Nazgûl had been heard overhead, undoubtedly signaling either Sauron or Angmar or both were in attendance at Dol Guldur.

With orc armies that could be reproduced at will, the elves were vastly outnumbered, but the skill and cunning of the Elven warriors lent them a great advantage.  Yet the unbridled assault was definitely wearing on the strength of Mirkwood.

The guards outside the Throne Room bowed as Legolas swept past them.  All conversation in the room came to a halt when the correspondents become aware of who it was that had just entered. Every eye followed Legolas as he walked towards the dais.  When he reached the magnificent throne, he went to his knee, bowing to his Adar in reverence.

“Rise, Prince Legolas,” said Thranduil.  The King was now in full battle dress, as befitting the leader of a kingdom under attack.  A small shake of Thranduil’s head stopped Legolas before he could begin his report.   “Clear the room,” Thranduil ordered.  He wanted the chance to hear his son’s report without other ears hearing and carrying tales or rumors throughout the palace.  The arrival of the wounded warriors had badly shaken the populace and Thranduil wanted to know exactly what he was up against before he let the information be more widely known.

Once the room was cleared, Thranduil descended from the dais and motioned for Legolas to follow him into his study.  He preferred the smaller, more intimate room for conversations with his son.  “You are injured, Greenleaf; you should have gone to the healers first.”

Legolas shook his head.  “Forgive me for appearing before you looking like this, Adar, but I did not wish to delay my report.

“You can report as we walk to the Healing Rooms,” responded the King.

“My injuries are all minor,” protested Legolas.  “Besides, I cannot take the time for the healers now.”

That word stopped Thranduil in his tracks.  “The battle goes ill?”

“We are holding them back, Adar, but we need more warriors to continue.”  He took a breath, thinking how best to word his report.  “There are numerous orcs, spiders, and even a Nazgûl.” 

“A Nazgûl?” repeated the King. “That could mean my old friend Angmar is in residence.”  He allowed his mind to wander the halls of old remembrances for a moment.  “Long has he sought to destroy Mirkwood.”

“Why does the witch king hate you so much, Adar?” asked Legolas.

“It is a long story best kept for another day, Greenleaf,” replied Thranduil sadly.  “Now, tell me how many more warriors you need.”

In restless dreams I walked alone...

Erestor tapped lightly on the door before entering at this Lord’s word.  The seneschal carried a tray laden with tea and apple cake, the latter fresh from the ovens.

Elrond carefully closed his journal and inhaled the rich, spicy aroma of the cake appreciatively.   “What is it you always tell Estel?” he questioned.  “You shall spoil your appetite?”

Erestor all but snorted.  “Is it possible to curb that one’s appetite?” 

The Elf Lord smiled at the mention of his youngest and at the thoughtfulness of his friend.  He motioned to the seat across from him.  “Join me, please.”

Erestor poured the genial beverage into the richly crafted cups and layered a thick slice of cake onto his friend’s plate before taking the proffered seat.  “Eat, my Lord,” he commanded, “for it is well past the meal hour and most have already left for their own dwellings.”

Surprised, Elrond glanced towards the terrace to see the darkness well ensconced around the Last Homely House and lanterns gently swaying in the night-time breeze.  “I must have become lost in my work,” he stammered, quite at a loss as to how so much time had passed without him realizing it.  A thought suddenly touched his mind.  “I should see to the twins.” 

Erestor’s face clouded as Elrond started to rise, for he had hoped to steer Elrond from that trail of thought until after Glorfindel’s return.  “The twins are with Glorfindel and will be well cared for while you eat,” he argued.  “Sit and take some tea.” 

The pleading in his voice stroked a chord within the Elf Lord, who after centuries spent with the twins, recognized a diversion when he saw one.  “Erestor, what are you trying so hard not to tell me?”  He frowned as he glanced back outside at the inky blackness.  “My sons are resting, are they not?”

The Seneschal suddenly looked as though he would rather be any place else but standing before Elrond of Imladris.  After struggling to formulate a plausible excuse for their absence, Erestor capitulated and opted instead to simply tell the whole story.  After all, prevarication was simply not an option.  “The twins rode out this afternoon and have not as yet returned.”

Elrond’s eyebrow rose, his eyes never leaving those of his friend.  “Rode...out?”  He walked over to the terrace and reached out with his senses.  “They have been absent for hours.”

“Glorfindel has gone to retrieve them,” said Erestor quickly.  “I am sure that they will be fine.”

“Oh no,” responded the Elf Lord quietly, “they will most assuredly not be fine, but they will be put back into the healing rooms.”

Hear my words that I might teach you

Take my arms that I might reach you...

By the time Celon led Glorfindel back to the twins, Ithil was peeking above the mountains and Eärendil was beginning his journey across the night sky.  The warrior slid from the back of Asfaloth and knelt beside the twins, his eyes seeking those of Elrohir and his hand caressing the forehead of Elladan.

“It was not wise of you to journey so far without your weapons,” he admonished, ever the teacher.  How easy it was for him to look at these two and see not the Elven warriors they had become, but the precocious pair he had loved and trained as elflings.

Elrohir nodded his head miserably.  “I know; I was seeking Elladan and had no idea he had come this distance into the wild.”  Elrohir looked at his mentor.  “Anything might have happened to him!”

“Deal with what is, young one,” counseled the warrior. “Do not cloud your mind with what might have been.”

“You always tell us that,” Elrohir said, unable to keep a small smile from his face even in these circumstances, “right after you tell us not to talk so much.”

“But you never seem to remember,” quipped Glorfindel, as a soft smile of fondness gentled his words.

The warrior could easily read the worry on Elrohir’s face and knew that the twin was using the banter in an attempt to mask his apprehension. 

Elrohir sighed and looked down at Elladan.

“His eyes are closed,” observed the golden one softly. 

 “He has been hiding his true condition from us, Glorfindel.”  Tears gathered in Elrohir’s eyes.  “How was he able to deceive Ada?” 

“Your Adar has had much of late to distract him...too much.” 

Elrohir felt his heart constrict at Glorfindel’s words.  He had been so intent upon finding the source of the threat to Imladris that he had failed to see the distress of his brother and his father.  “How blind I have been.”

“All of your life I have known your heart, Elrohir,” said Glorfindel softly.  The intensity of his voice held the twin’s full attention.  “Your father knows your love, and so does your brother.”

“Now give him to me,” said the warrior, “and let us get him back to Imladris.”  The elf picked up the twin as easily as if he were an elfling. 

Asfaloth kneeled down so that Glorfindel could mount him while still holding Elladan. With a heavy heart, but faith in his father’s love and skill, Elrohir climbed onto the back of Celon, and they started down the rocky trail towards Imladris.

But my words like silent raindrops fell

And echoed in the wells of silence.

“Spread your feet wider, Estel,” instructed Nárë.  “You must use your legs to aid your balance since the cast gives you more weight on one side.”

“I am hungry, Nárë,” said Estel.   He lowered the sword tiredly, for the pair had been working together most of the day.  “May we please eat now?”

Nárë was immediately contrite, realizing that the small human had not the stamina of an elf.  “Of course, Estel, we shall get you something to eat immediately.”  He took the sword from the boy’s hand and replaced it in its holder on the wall.  “Why did you not say something before now?”

Estel looked at the floor, suddenly too shy to speak.

The warrior knelt before the boy.  “There must be complete trust and honesty between us, little one.” He placed his large hand on Estel’s shoulder.  “Humans are not like elves, so I will need your help to better understand your needs.”

Estel blinked in confusion.  He had never been told that he was not an elf.  “You mean I am different than my Ada and Gwedeir?”  Tears gathered in his eyes.  “I do not want to be different,” he stammered in distress.    

Nárë realized his mistake immediately and was heartsick at the questions his comment must be causing.  Of course the child had never considered that he was anything but Elven, why would he?  “Estel, forgive me,” he asked, pulling the child against his chest and hugging him with his arm.  “Do not be distressed.”

Estel was bewildered.  “Is my Ada a human?” he asked in a small voice.  All thoughts of food were gone as he clung to the warrior, terrified because the boundaries of his world had just been ripped away.

Nárë was wishing that he could bite off his tongue rather than continue this conversation, but it was not to be.  He himself had told the child that there must be trust and honesty between them.  He had inadvertently spoken a truth that the child had not known and must now attempt to ease the implications of this knowledge.  The elf pulled back from Estel and looked deeply into the child’s watery eyes.  “Come little warrior; first we eat and then we talk.”

Estel dropped his eyes forlornly, “I am not hungry any longer.”

“A warrior must keep up his strength,” said Nárë.  “You did offer your service to the King of Mirkwood after all.”

“Nárë,” asked Estel, “what does human mean?” 

And whispered the words of silence...

Healing Hope

Chapter Forty Eight

Revelations

“A bad word whispered will echo a hundred miles.” Chinese proverb

Mirkwood

Thranduil paced the confines of his study for several moments after the latest report from the battlefield.  Over and over the words played in his mind...even a Nazgûl.  Could it be Angmar?  The King found himself automatically reaching for his sword.  This was not to be countenanced!  That evil being had cost him too much already; he would not yield one more bit of his land to the darkness.

His mind made up, Thranduil strode from the study and into the great hall where the empty throne now sat.  The room was still emptied from his earlier order, and any sound his soft steps made was swallowed by the cavernous reaches of the chamber.  He stopped at the doorway and motioned to his guards.

“Call out the rest of my personal guard,” he commanded.  “We are joining the fight.”

The guards quickly exchanged a look, bowed, and hurried to do the King’s bidding.

Thranduil summoned an aide who was never far from the throne room.  “Gather inside all of the elves dwelling outside the palace.  I am placing Nárë in command of the last defenses while I am away.

“Yes, my Lord,” the elf bowed, alarm showing on his fair face.  “It shall be as you command.”

Even as the elf hurried to begin preparations, Thranduil spun around and began the trek through the palace to Nárë’s chambers.  The look on the monarch’s face kept anyone from attempting casual conversation.  Instead, heads bowed, most simply took a knee until their King passed. 

Thranduil stopped off at his own chamber before continuing to confer with Nárë.  Quickly he removed the ceremonial sword he had strapped to his side and laid it aside.  Almost with reverence he took down his father’s sword from its place of honor on the wall.  Ever so slowly he pulled the gleaming weapon from its sheath, remembering the last time he’d seen his father yield this weapon.  With purposeful motions he returned the sword to its sheath and attached it to waist.   If Angmar was in this battle, Thranduil would meet him bearing his father’s sword.

Next Thranduil went to Nárë’s chamber and entered.  The elf and Estel were sitting on the bed where Estel seemed to be nibbling slowly on bread and cheese.  The King was too preoccupied to notice the child’s troubled countenance.  “Nárë, I have need of you.”

Nárë was dumbfounded to see Thranduil wearing Oropher’s sword.  “Thranduil?”

“The battle goes ill; I am joining Legolas there.” He glanced quickly at Estel and realized that provision must be made for the child.  “I am placing you in charge of all defenses for Mirkwood.”

Nárë rose from the bed ready to challenge the order. “My place is by your side!”

“Not this time, my friend,” Thranduil said kindly.  “All the out-dwellers are being summoned inside the palace; it may come to siege.”

Nárë glanced down slowly to Estel, his mind racing over all that was happening.  He knew the child had many questions thanks to the unfortunate reference to his humanity, but there was not time for them under these circumstances.  “I will summon an elleth to remain with Estel,” he said thoughtfully, as he sat down next to the boy once again.  “Estel, I am called away to duty, but you and I shall have our talk when I return.”

Estel met his eyes and nodded. 

Even with so much on his mind, Thranduil was puzzled by Estel’s behavior.  The child seemed withdrawn, but perhaps he was simply still disturbed by the bloodied warrior he had seen earlier.  He placed his hand on Estel’s mop of curls and tussled them fondly.  “You will be safe here, Estel.”

Estel’s wide, solemn eyes met his and the child nodded again.  “Are you going to fight, King Thrandue?”

“I am, Estel.”  Thranduil knelt down beside the bed so that he could be on the same level with the child.  He sensed the boy’s confusion but misunderstood its source. “Nárë will be close by.” 

“I know,” Estel answered softly.  He wanted to ask King Adar if he was human, but instinctively knew that now was not the time.  Estel had so many questions that he was bursting to ask, but at the same time he was afraid of the answers and unsure of himself.  All his life he felt loved and cherished by his family and now he simply felt...different.  It was a scary feeling...a lonely feeling, and he still did not understand how a human was not the same as an elf.  Restor said that he ate as much as a mûmak, whatever that was.  Perhaps that was how a human was different than an elf...they ate more. 

Thranduil watched the child’s eyebrows draw together as he pondered the situation.   “I must go, Estel; I can linger no longer.”

Estel nodded and then threw his arms around the King’s neck.  “Be careful, King Adar.”

Thranduil hugged the child close for a moment and then sat him back.  “I will be careful, young one.”  The King rose and motioned for Nárë to follow him.  “Act quickly, my friend,” he said when they were in the hallway.  “I do not know how much time you will have.”

“I do not like you going into battle without me to watch your back,” Nárë growled. “Stay here and let me go.”

“No,” Thranduil shook his head. 

“Why are you so stubborn?” Nárë asked, growing suspicious.  “What is it about this battle that is so different than all the rest?”

Thranduil would not meet his friend’s eyes for long moments as he considered his answer.  “Angmar may be there.”

“I see,” Nárë answered softly, as dread filled his stomach.  “Our old friend...”

“Our old friend,” Thranduil echoed.  “I must go.”  He paused and looked back to meet Nárë’s eyes.  “If I see that we are going to fall, I shall send a messenger to Lórien.”  He took Nárë’s elbow and squeezed it for emphasis.  “You must hold out until help arrives.”

“You just see that you do not fall, my King,” said Nárë.  “I will see to the arrangements here, you have my word.”

With a nod, Thranduil turned and started down the hallway, his mind already on the coming battle.

Imladris

It was close to dawn when Glorfindel and Elrohir finally made it back to the Last Homely House.  They stopped several times during the journey back to attempt rousing Elladan, who had slipped into a deeper version of waking sleep.  Glorfindel had never seen symptoms such as the twin was exhibiting, and Elrohir was nearly beside himself with concern.  The pair had finally given up stopping in favor of getting the twin back to Elrond as quickly as possible.

“Elrohir,” Glorfindel called over his shoulder, “ride ahead to alert your father.”

Elrohir pulled Celon past Asfaloth and rode quickly into the yard.   As the horse pulled up to the front of the house, the twin jumped from his back and raced up the steps.  He met his father in the front hallway.

Elrond had been waiting all night in his study for Glorfindel to return with his sons and had heard Elrohir ride into the yard.  “Elrohir, what has happened?”

“Ada,” Elrohir cried, “Elladan will not awaken.”

Elrond’s calm demeanor soothed his frightened son.  “Take a breath, Elrohir, and explain what you mean.”  He placed his hands on the twin’s shoulders and looked him in the eye.  “Begin at the beginning.”

Elrohir tried to calm his breathing.  “I found him in the wilds,” the twin began slowly. “He has been hiding the pain in his shoulder from us.”

Elrond digested that piece of information.  “What else?”

“I thought he was exhausted when he drifted off to sleep, but we have been unable to rouse him for more than a moment at a time.”

Elrond’s brows drew together, in an action eerily similar to his youngest, as he pondered the twin’s words.   Aware that Elrohir was closely watching him, the Elf Lord smiled confidently at his child.  “We will find out what is wrong with your brother.”

Elrohir closed his eyes as relief flooded his heart.  He was home now and his Ada would know how to help Elladan.

Erestor came down the stairs to stand beside the pair.  “The surgery is prepared.”

“Thank you, Erestor,” said Elrond absentmindedly.

“Elrohir,” asked Elrond thoughtfully, “did you observe any new wounds on your brother?”

“No, Ada,” said the twin, “there were none that I could see, but I did not look further.”

Glorfindel could be heard riding into the yard. The three walked out onto the steps to meet him. 

Quickly, Glorfindel slid from Asfaloth’s back holding Elladan as carefully as he could. 

“Has he awakened?” asked Elrohir hopefully.

Glorfindel shook his head, looking all the while at Elrond. 

“Carry him upstairs, Glorfindel,” said Elrond.  “We need to remove his clothes and look for any new wounds.”

Emyn-nu-Fuin

The battle had begun to blur in its intensity.  As soon as he would dispatch one enemy it seemed that another was there to take its place.  Legolas could not remember a battle more desperate than this one.  He had been fighting nonstop for what seemed like days now and still the orcs and spiders came at them.  There were places where the bodies of the evil beings lay piled in heaps, and still they came.  It was as though the gates of Mordor itself had opened up and spewed forth the foul beings until it was empty.

“Legolas, look out!” called Falathar, throwing his knife at an orc about to attack the prince from the blind side.

Legolas dodged to his left at Falathar’s warning and saw the orc drop, his friend’s knife embedded in its back.   Neither elf had time to acknowledge how close a call that had been because they were both engaged immediately by the determined enemy.

The prince had long since exhausted his supply of arrows and been forced to fight with his knives.  At every lull in the fighting the elves would quickly retrieve their expended arrows to reuse those still in good enough shape to be fired again.  Even with his skill, Legolas had numerous nicks and cuts from the orc blades.  Blood trickled down the left side of his face from where he had been head butted by one of the beasts.  The sight and smell of the blood seemed to throw his enemies into a frenzy of attack, and the prince had been hard pressed at times to fight them off.

Legolas ducked a blow meant to decapitate him and lunged, sliding his knife into the gut of the orc.  Even as he pulled it out, he felt a presence at his back and turned, ready to repeat the action.

“Whoa,” cried Falathar, dodging the knife.  “I have not survived against all these orcs only to be downed by my best friend,” he joked.  “Come on, we are pulling back.”

“No!” yelled Legolas, so that all could hear.  “We retreat no more!”  The look in his eye defied any to disagree.

“Legolas, we must withdraw!” argued Falathar.  “We are being out flanked.”

Legolas was panting with exhaustion as he scanned the battleground.  “We are being driven back,” he said disbelievingly.   Giving in to the inevitable, Legolas nodded his head wearily.  The taste of retreat was bitter in his mouth.   As he was about to give the order, the sound of a mighty battle cry reverberated through the area.  “Adar!” Legolas cried in wonder.

Thranduil quickly sized up the situation and sent half of his troop to impede the flanking action while he and the rest of his warriors shored up the elves fighting on the front.  The fresh influx of warriors buoyed the exhausted elves and gave them new energy.

Legolas took a moment to grin fiercely at his father.  In his golden armor, his flaxen hair flowing behind him, his Adar was glorious.  Most amazing though was the magnificent sword his father was wielding with such fervor.   Legolas immediately recognized it as Oropher’s golden sword.  It was as though his father was a golden vision swooping onto the field of battle like an avenging spirit.  The Valar themselves would be impressed by such a sight!

“Fight!” yelled Legolas, turning once again to the battle.  “No more retreat!”  The prince waded into the fray with renewed vigor, the pain and fatigue forgotten.

Legolas’ Chambers

Estel sat on the bed looking at the elleth standing before him.  He was not sure he liked the idea of an elleth looking after him, and his eyebrows met in the middle as he frowned up at her.  His lips were pursed giving him what his brothers called his stubborn look.

“Now Estel,” she said sweetly, “you need not look at me like that!”

“I do not need a bath,” the boy said obstinately.  Why the very idea of the elleth giving him a bath was appalling.  Estel had never, that he could remember, been cared for by an elleth!  Mistress Sariboril was the closest he had come to feminine caretaking, and she only kept him in bed when he felt bad.  Cook gave him seed cakes and blueberry muffins, never a bath!  “I do not need a bath,” he repeated.  “I promise.”  He smiled at the elleth, whose name was Lariel, to show that he was not being disobedient or disrespectful, only informative.

Lariel smiled at the elfling that Nárë had asked her to watch over. There had not been an elfling in Mirkwood in many years so she was enchanted with the young one. She found his dark curls very interesting, but thought perhaps they were part of his Noldo heritage.  Lariel had spent her life in Mirkwood and never actually seen a Noldo so she had no idea how they might appear.  “Let us get you changed into your sleeping clothes,” she said, helping the elfling remove his tunic.  She pulled it carefully around his injured arm.  When she held up the leggings, the frown reappeared.

“Turn around,” Estel insisted.

Lariel frowned herself.  The Noldor Elves certainly had some strange ways. “Can you manage with just one arm?”

Estel nodded, determined that he would not need the elleth’s help to get on his leggings.

Lariel obligingly turned around, biting her lip to keep from laughing at the sweet, though strange, embarrassment of the elfling. 

After several moments of grunts and gyrations, Estel informed Lariel that she could turn around.  He was smiling proudly.  “See, I told you I could do it by myself.”

“So I see,” she agreed.  “Now it is time for sleep.”

Estel crawled under the covers and stifled a yawn.  “Lariel, how are human’s different from elves?”

“Humans?” Lariel repeated, with repulsion.  She hated humans for what had happened to her brother.

Estel nodded, dismayed at the tone of her voice.

“Humans, thank the Valar, are mortal.”

Estel did not understand what the word mortal meant, but it did not sound too bad.  “How else?”

“Well,” she said, warming to the subject, “they smell bad and they are very stupid.”

“Oh,” said Estel softly. 

“They are cowards and they act impetuously,” she continued. “And, they are not to be trusted, ever.”

Estel frowned as he thought about the elleth’s words.  “I think I will go to sleep now, Lariel.”  He closed his eyes with the damning words ringing in his mind.  “Thank you for telling me.”

“You are welcome, Estel,” Lariel responded sweetly.  “Go to sleep now, and no more talk of humans.”  She left the chamber never realizing that the young one lay pondering her words.

Estel was glad the stars were on the ceiling for he was very lonely this night. 

TBC

Healing Hope

Chapter 49

The Eye of the Tiger

"Once more into the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead! In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.”

Shakespeare, Henry V

Imladris

Once they reached the surgery, Elrond and Glorfindel quickly stripped Elladan of his clothes and searched for any new wound that could account for his unusual stupor.  Mindful of his injured shoulder, the pair carefully scanned every inch of skin for any sign of a bite or puncture. Finding none, Elrond concluded that the original arrow wound to the twin’s shoulder must account for the current problem, though it should not.  “I do not understand,” he mused.  “I thoroughly cleaned the wound and saw no sign of poison.” 

Glorfindel helped his Lord to cover Elladan with a soft blanket and position the twin more comfortably on a bed.  He noticed Elrohir standing in the doorway of the surgery, grief clearly written on his features and called for him to enter.  “Elrohir, did you see Elladan ingest anything unusual?”

Elrond glanced up as Elrohir came to his brother’s bed side. 

“No,” Elrohir shook his head.  “He ate or drank nothing in my presence.”

“Can you think of any substance your brother might have come into contact with in the past week that could account for his present state?” prodded Elrond.

Elrohir shook his head slowly, thinking back over the past days.  “No Ada; we have barely left the house.”

Elrond nodded. It was as he feared.  “Then I must have missed some poison from the arrow wound.”

“But that was days ago now,” observed Glorfindel, his heart dropping at the thought.

“Yes, and it has had all this time to be festering within my son.”  Gingerly, Elrond began to prod the healing shoulder.  He paused to look closely at Elrohir.

“Ion nín, tell me everything you know of your brother’s condition.”  Elrond listened as Elrohir described finding Elladan in tears of frustration and pain and how he then quickly lapsed into unconsciousness. The Elf Lord’s mind processed the information even as his hand brushed back the hair from Elladan’s forehead, soothing and comforting the unresponsive twin.

“I will get Sariboril,” said Glorfindel.  “She is always working on new antidotes.”

“Carry her up the stairs, Glorfindel,” said Elrond.  “I do not want her exerting herself yet.”

“What are you going to do?”  The quietly spoken question came from Elrohir. 

“Until I can identify the poison and create an antidote, there is not much I can do.”  Elrond met his son’s eyes.  “I will re-open Elladan’s shoulder to irrigate the wound; perhaps I missed some bit of foreign matter the first time.” 

Elrohir’s eyes never left Elrond’s.  “We both know that you do not miss things the first time, Ada.”  The twin sighed, his mind racing back over all that he had learned about healing. 

Elrond watched as Elrohir’s face became a mask of determination.

Kneeling down beside the bed Elrohir placed his forehead against his twin’s.  “I will return, El; wait for me.”   Rising quickly, Elrohir turned and strode from the room without looking back.

Elrond sighed as he watched his son leave.  He knew where he was going and how dangerous it would be.

Mirkwood

Estel lay looking at the stars on the ceiling of Legolas’ dimly lit chamber.  He sighed, and tried to find a way to make sense of all he had been told.

A softly cleared throat caught his attention, and the child turned to see Lariel standing in the doorway.  Behind her, elves could be seen moving down the halls.

“I thought you would be asleep by now, Estel,” the elleth remarked, stepping inside the room and closing the door softly behind her.  “Is your arm causing you pain?”

“No,” Estel answered, shaking his head, “but I cannot sleep.”  He sat up and leaned back against the fluffy pillows.  “Would you talk to me some more, Lariel?”

Lariel smiled at the child’s hopeful expression.  “Of course, I will, Estel.”  She walked over and sat on the side of the bed.  “There is a lot of commotion taking place within the palace; perhaps that is what is keeping you awake.”

Estel chewed on his bottom lip as he worked up his courage to ask her the question that had been running over and over in his mind.  “What happened to your brother to make you hate humans?”

The smile faded somewhat as the elleth reflected on what she had been asked.  “It is a long story...”

“I do not mind,” interrupted Estel. “I would really like to know...unless it would make you too sad to talk about it.”

“No,” said Lariel softly, “it makes me more angered than sad, actually.”  She leaned back against the headboard to make herself more comfortable as Estel scooted over to be closer to her.  He desperately needed to feel the warmth of another being.  Lariel slipped her arm around Estel without even thinking about it. 

“What is your brother’s name?” asked Estel.

“Pendan,” replied Lariel.  “Perhaps you can meet him when he is released by the Healers.”

“Is he hurt?” asked Estel, his eyebrows drawing together in an unconscious imitation of Elrond.

“Yes,” Lariel replied softly, “he was hurt by some very evil men.”

“Oh,” Estel sighed.  “Will he be healed soon?”

“I do hope so, Estel,” Lariel said wistfully.  “Now, do you want to hear the story or not?”

Estel nodded.

“Then you must stop asking so many questions until I am finished,” she instructed.  She smiled and touched his nose with her finger to lighten the words.  Then her features grew serious as she began her story. 

“Pendan was sent to Imladris with an important message for Lord Elrond.”

Estel’s face brightened as he thought about home and his Ada.  He missed his family so much.

“On the journey back he was waylaid by orcs soon after he crossed The Great River.  My brother is an able warrior and managed to fight them off, but he was badly injured none-the-less.”

“My brothers were hurt by orcs too,” whispered Estel.  “I left them my sunshine blankey and the Fa-luh-fee that Restor made me to make them feel better!”  Estel frowned slightly when Lariel did not reply.  She seemed to be thinking about something far away as she began speaking again.  

“Pendan managed to get onto his horse and make his way to a human village close by.”  Lariel’s voice hardened as she thought about what happened next.  “Rather than giving aid to my brother, the hairy ones threw rocks at him and chased him away.”

“Who was hairy?” asked Estel, confused by that part of the story.

“Why, the humans, of course,” replied Lariel.  “That is one reason they smell so badly,” she sneered, “because their bodies have so much hair.”  Her lip curled as she thought about the few humans she’d  seen in her life, mostly an assortment of traders that the king allowed to peddle their wares with the Silvans living in Mirkwood.

“What happened to Pendan?” Estel asked softly.  “Did the rocks hit him?”

“Yes,” sighed Lariel, “a good many of them did.”  She shook her head sadly.  “It is a wonder that he made it back here alive, so much blood had he lost.”  Lariel closed her eyes for a moment as though to erase the memory of how pale Pendan had looked.  “Only the skill of the First Healer saved my brother’s life.”

Lariel smiled down at Estel and brushed back his hair, uncovering one rounded ear.  The elleth froze and then drew back as though scalded.  “You....you are a human!” she stammered. Quickly Lariel rose from the bed.  “No wonder your hair is so different,” she said absentmindedly as the distress of finding herself with a human began to take hold of her mind.  “Master Nárë should have told me,” she said bitterly, as tears of anger and betrayal sprang to her eyes.

Estel was too shocked by her revelation to even react to her words.  Slowly he reached up to feel his ear.  To his complete surprise, there was no point.  Why had he never noticed that before? 

“Go to sleep, human,” Lariel spat.  The elleth turned to go, but then forced herself to stop.  She was behaving as badly as the mortals who had refused aid to her brother.  Her mind told her that this child was innocent, but her heart was still too burdened with anger to forgive.  She stopped and faced the bed again.  “Go to sleep, Estel,” she managed to say in a more civilized voice.  “Someone else will care for you tomorrow.”   Lariel turned to go without saying another word.  As she passed the lone burning candle, she blew it out so that the child could sleep, never realizing Estel’s fear of the darkness.  The oak door swung closed, and with it the stars disappeared into the inky blackness.  Only a frightened and confused child remained.

Imladris

Elrond spooned a potion of Anise, Common Rue, and Salvia to Elladan’s lips.  The three herbs were known to the healer as general antidotes against poison.  Until he had a better idea of the exact kind of poison threatening his son, he hoped this would begin acting on the unknown agent.  After each painstaking spoonful, the Elf Lord would gently rub his son’s throat to encourage swallowing.

He could hear Glorfindel making his way upstairs with Sariboril, not because the Golden one’s steps were loud, but because the healer’s complaints were.  Were the situation not so grave, it would have brought a smile to Elrond’s face.

“I told you I did not need to be carted up the steps like a sack of potatoes!” Sariboril protested.  “I am perfectly capable of walking on my own!”

Glorfindel ignored the comments.  Sariboril had been indignant from the moment he walked into her healing wing and unceremoniously plucked the healer from her bed, much to the astonishment of the elleth and her bevy of apprentices.  Glorfindel was too concerned about Elladan to take the time for explanations.  He simply took the steps with such speed that the healer was forced to wrap her arms around his neck.  Even at the breakneck speed, Glorfindel was careful not to jostle Sariboril’s wound.

“You just wait until the next time I treat a wound of yours,” threatened the healer.

Glorfindel snorted.  “When was the last time you treated a wound of mine?”

“Oh you are smug,” growled Sariboril.  “There is always a first time!” she threatened.

As Glorfindel rounded the steps towards the third floor, Sariboril’s natural curiosity got the best of her.  “If the twins have dragged back home injured again...”

“As a matter of fact,” interrupted Glorfindel, “Elladan appears to have been poisoned by something hitherto unknown to us.”

Sariboril immediately stilled.  Despite her bluster and bluff, she loved the twins like she would her own sons.  The healer had never life-bonded, and so the inhabitants of Imladris, especially Lord Elrond and his children, were her family.  “What symptoms does he display?” she asked.  “How long has he been affected?” she continued before he could answer.  “What of Elrohir?”

Glorfindel smiled over her litany of inquiries as he carried her into the shadowed family surgery. 

“All your questions will be answered,” replied Elrond from the circle of light provided by the lamp sitting on the bedside table. 

Glorfindel sat Sariboril on the edge of the bed nearest Elladan, and the healer immediately leaned forward to take the twin’s hand in her own.  “His pulse is quickened,” she observed, “and his temperature is far too cool.”

Elrond nodded.  “He has not awakened from this state for some hours now.”

“Have you checked for new wounds?” Sariboril asked.  “Oh, of course you have,” she answered her own question before Elrond could even begin.  “Glorfindel said something about a new poison; tell me what you know of it.”  Sariboril could be as bossy as she was messy, but she was an excellent healer and Elrond trusted her skills as he did no other.

“The poison must have been on the arrow that went into his shoulder, though I checked at the time I removed it and could detect no toxic substance.”

“No smell or color...” she mused.  “You are sure you did not miss something?”  Sariboril waved her hand back and forth at Elrond’s raised eyebrow.  “I know...of course you did not miss it, but I had to ask.”

“I need to reopen the original wound, but I wanted to wait until you were here to aid me,” Elrond admitted.  “Do you feel up to that strain, Sariboril?”

Sariboril smiled fiercely, “Like I told the Golden-Wonder here, I am perfectly able to be up and around.” 

“Good,” said Elrond.  “Glorfindel, Elrohir is determined to find the orcs who attacked them.”

“I will send a warrior after him,” Glorfindel immediately responded, for he had noticed the twin’s absence as soon as he entered the room.  “Then I will send several more to shadow them.” 

Emyn-nu-Fuin

Oropher’s golden sword was stained black with the blood of the numerous orcs that had fallen prey to the deadly blade. In the light of the full moon, the weapon appeared as silvery as the tresses of its wielder. Thranduil Oropherion, King of Mirkwood, for all his pomp and primping was an accomplished warrior, though his sword arm was sending strong signals to him that he had been neglecting its upkeep of late.

Night time is the province of the orcs, it is often said, but not this night.  This night the elves would rule as the weary warriors put down the stragglers left over from the last wave of attack.  As clouds masked the light of Ithil, the silence of utter fatigue filled the glade. 

Thranduil wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his sword arm, smudging the foul orc offage more than removing it, as Legolas came to stand beside his father. Thranduil, who had long been absent from the overwhelming sights and smells of battle, unashamedly pulled Legolas into an embrace.  All around the regal pair, made no less so by the blood and carnage around them, warriors began kneeling in tribute to their king.  Swords held high overhead, the elves began to chant their king’s name. 

It had been close...so very close...before the arrival of the King with the remainder of his personal guard.  They were not that large in number, but to the beleaguered elves, it had been like a breath of energy, hope, and determination to see their King riding into battle with them.  Such was the devotion of the Silvans to Thranduil.

He had brought them back from the brink of extinction on Arda after the loss of Oropher and so very many of Greenwood’s finest elves.  When all hope seemed lost and the Silvans were brokenheartedly preparing to sail from these shores forever, Thranduil, by the force of his personality and determination, had buoyed and cajoled them, forcing them to believe as firmly as he did in the future of their kind in this place.  He had convinced them to abjure the idea of fleeing to the havens and instead filled them with his vision of the new home they would forge together.