2. Encountering the Unseen

The next morning, Thranduil and his sons gathered for morning meal in the small dining room in the family’s wing.  The room was cheerful with a fire driving away the chill of the spring morning.  Also present was Galenadiual.  This was the first time Eilian had spoken to her since he had left her and her maidservant in the capable hands of one of Mirkwood’s healers six months ago.  Now Galenadiual spoke to thank him for delivering her from the danger into which she had fallen.

“I am happy to see you looking so well, my lady,” he responded, as he helped both her and himself to the stewed fruit and bread that made the morning’s fare.  “How is your maid?”

“Arramiel is with me still and has recovered nicely,” Galenadiual answered. “I am sure that she too will want to thank you.”

Eilian waved away the gratitude. What else could he and his companions have done?

The meal passed peaceably enough in the desultory exchange of family news.  It was obvious to Eilian that Thranduil enjoyed Galenadiual’s presence and that Legolas resented it.  It was also obvious to him that the two reactions were connected.  Thranduil had always liked women, and, unsurprisingly, they had always liked him.  They were attracted by his good looks, his undeniable charm, and his sheer masculinity.  Secure in her belief in his fidelity and love for her, Lorellin had always laughingly accused him of being an incurable flirt.  His friendships with women since Lorellin’s death had been lightly formed, for he was, after all, still bonded to Lorellin.  But he evidently saw no reason to shun the close company of women, and if his closeness had ever strayed beyond the bounds of flirtation, Eilian did not know it.  Of course, this was the first time that one of the women had ever lived in the palace.

Until now, Legolas had been too young to notice his father’s discreet friendships. Evidently that was no longer the case, and his little brother was plainly affronted by Galenadiual’s presence. Perhaps Galenadiual felt Legolas’s hostility because she did not linger over the meal but rose to take her leave, offering excuses of work to be done.

Eilian half expected Thranduil to take advantage of their increased privacy to reveal whatever the matter was that had caused him to send for Eilian, but Thranduil seemed willing to bide his time until Legolas too went about his day’s business.  Thranduil had always attempted to leave his sons at peace in their childhoods to the extent that the troubled times allowed.

Legolas, however, was fidgeting and seemed to be steeling himself to speak.  “I had a letter from Turgon yesterday,” he finally began.

“Is he away?” Eilian asked.

“Yes, thank the Valar,” said Ithilden fervently.  Along with another youngling named Annael, Turgon was one of Legolas’s best friends and was an inspired mischief maker.  Whenever Legolas got into trouble, Turgon was almost sure to be on the scene somewhere. The royal family always breathed a little easier when Turgon was elsewhere.

Legolas glared briefly at Ithilden and then turned to Eilian.  “He is at his family home.” Many of the Mirkwood Elves had ancestral homes at some distance from Thranduil’s fortress.  The perils now infesting Mirkwood had driven most of them to live closer, but some chose to stay in their more remote residences as Galenadiual had done. Still more visited these spots for part of the year. Abandoning them entirely was painful for a people who felt linked to the very trees they had known from birth.

“He has asked me to visit for however long you will allow, Adar.” Legolas looked hopefully at Thranduil.

“I will not allow it at all, Legolas,” was Thranduil’s prompt response.

“But Turgon says that his father is allowing him to join his guard patrols,” Legolas plunged on. His father and brothers all turned startled faces toward him.  Turgon was Legolas’s age, a good ten years too young to be serving as a warrior, especially in the more dangerous areas of Mirkwood remote from the palace. Ignoring his family’s astonishment, Legolas pushed resolutely on to what was obviously the point of this speech.  “I am much better than Turgon both with a bow and with long knives.  For that matter, I am better than either Ithilden or Eilian with a bow.”  Eilian saw Ithilden open his mouth to protest, but then close it again, whether because he recognized the truth of the claim or thought better of entering the tense conversation, Eilian could not say.

“All I do here is train,” Legolas continued eagerly.  “I want to do something useful. You think I do not know because you do not tell me, but I hear things and I know that Mirkwood’s situation is worsening. Let me help to defend it.”

As Legolas had made his plea, Thranduil’s face had reddened, a sure sign the he was irritated. “I have said that I will not allow you to go, Legolas,” he snapped.  “Cease this argument immediately.  Mirkwood does not send its elflings to battle.”

Legolas’s mouth compressed in a thin line as he struggled for control. The word “elfling” had obviously rankled.  Finally he flung down his spoon.  “May I be excused? I have a Dwarvish lesson. That is obviously much more important than ridding Mirkwood of Orcs.”

Thranduil’s tone of voice made it clear that he was brooking no nonsense.  “Govern your tongue, Legolas.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Legolas responded as Thranduil plainly expected him to do.  “I beg your pardon, Adar. I should not have spoken so,” he said rather stiffly.

“I grant you my pardon. You may go.”

Legolas left swiftly, possessing just enough restraint to avoid slamming the door.  There was a moment’s silence. Then Ithilden murmured, “What can Vardalan be thinking, to allow his son to take such a risk?”

Thranduil snorted. “He is a fool. I can think of few Elves whom I would be less likely to trust with Legolas’s safety.”  He toyed with his cup for a moment and then sighed and settled to his purpose.  “As it happens, however, Legolas has raised the matter that led me to send for you, Eilian.  In the last few months, our situation has worsened.  We have lost warriors from three different patrols when the enemy surprised them.”  Eilian thought of the story Legolas had told him the previous evening about the patrol that had been unexpectedly set upon by wargs.  “It is as if our moves are anticipated,” Thranduil went on, “as if the eye of the enemy is upon us, and he sees not only what our actions are but what they will be ahead of time.”

“But how?” Eilian burst in. “How could this be happening?”

“We know not,” Ithilden picked up his father’s story, and like Thranduil, he carefully avoided speaking the enemy’s name.  “Perhaps our enemy is using crebain or wargs as spies, although we cannot understand how these beasts could anticipate our moves.  Perhaps there is some sort of foul magic at work that we do not understand.”

Eilian grappled with the notion.  The thought that their actions might be observed sent a chill up his spine, as if the enemy were in the very room in which he sat. The words of last night’s song came drifting back to him: “Alas, alas, I cannot see the stars.”  He shuddered.

“Have you not seen similar events with the southern patrol?” Thranduil asked.

Eilian considered.  “No,” he said slowly. “Things seem to be much as usual.”  A sudden memory occurred to him of a near disaster that had happened about two months previously.  “Or perhaps there has been at least one such occasion.  Do you remember when you asked us to venture further east to verify reports you had received about increased numbers of Orcs in the area?  Orcs were waiting for us as we came through a ravine. I thought at the time that their attack was just chance, but perhaps our movement was anticipated and the attack was an ambush.”  He looked at his father and brother. “What are we to do about this?” he demanded.  “There must be something that we can do.”

“That is what I wish us to discuss,” responded Thranduil. “We must consider what course of action to take to learn about our enemy’s means of information and then obstruct it.  We three alone must devise whatever plan we can. To involve others is to increase the chance that our efforts will become known and prevented.  I ask you both to think about the matter and then meet in my study to discuss it when I have concluded the day’s business. We must act and act soon if we are not to be too late.”  They all sat for a moment more, struck to silence by the frightening prospect before them.  Then, without another word, Thranduil rose from his chair and left the dining room.

Eilian and Ithilden had risen when their father did. Now they looked at one another.  Finally, Eilian shook himself into speech.  “I think best when I am in motion,” he said. “I need to tell Maltanaur and Gelmir that we will be here some days, and then I will ride to the waterfall.” Thus the brothers parted.

Eilian went first to the cottage of Gelmir’s family but found only his mother at home.  When Eilian asked about Gelmir’s whereabouts, she snapped that she had no idea where her good-for-nothing son was and all but slammed the door in Eilian’s face. Nonplussed, he stood on the doorstep for a moment and then went on to Maltanaur’s cottage where he found his wife and daughter sitting on the grass before the cottage door, playing with the new grandchild. The women required him to admire the baby for a while, and when he had done so to their satisfaction, they directed him to the stables where he found Maltanaur checking on their horses and chatting with the head groom, who was his son-in-law. Eilian congratulated the son-in-law on his new offspring and told Maltanaur that they would remain yet a few days at home. Then he asked if knew where he might find Gelmir to deliver the same message. Maltanaur grinned broadly.

“You will not find him easily, Eilian, and his mother is fit to be tied about it too.”

“Where is he then?”

“You remember those two women we rescued from Orcs when they burned that manor house six months or so back?  The serving maid aproached Gelmir at the party last night. She seemed exceptionally grateful for his heroic actions.  If you want to find him, you will have to find her.”

Eilian laughed.  “In that case, I think that Gelmir might not want me chasing him down. Could you leave a message for him with his mother? I am not brave enough to go back there.”  Having secured Maltanaur’s promise, he readied his horse and then set off to one of his favorite spots, a waterfall about half an hour’s easy ride east from the gates of Thranduil’s hall.

Although Eilian’s thoughts were troubled at first, the ride through the spring forest soon lifted his spirits. These were the trees of his own childhood and they spoke to him welcomingly as he passed.  Much as he thrilled to the adventure of patrolling in the dangerous land to the south of his father’s hall, he had to admit that he frequently longed for the voices that murmured to him now, and he sang back to the trees as he went along. His ride ended in a meadow about one hundred feet from the head of the falls. There he left his horse.

The waterfall dropped perhaps as much as one thousand feet but did so in a series of steps, interrupted by shallow pools. Rocks littered the length of the falls in such a way that it was possible to climb up and down it through the bubbling water.  At the top of the falls, Eilian stripped and then waded in to begin his descent. He scrambled down the rocks along the left side with water running over his legs. At each level of the falls, he stepped into pools that reached his knees or waist. About halfway down was a pool that was chest deep and there he stopped to swim, diving and then rising to float on his back. The water came over a flat shelf here, and he swam over to sit against it so that the water rushed over his dark head.  Finally, his spirit soothed, he climbed back up the rocks and then stretched out in the grass to dry in the sun.  He lay there in drowsy stillness listening to the rush of the water.  A hawk wheeled overhead, the tips of its wings spread like fingers. The wind brought him the scent of new grass and blended with the water in singing a song that called to him with the voices of ancient beings.

As he lay in the grass and listened to the song, part of his mind began to walk in Elven dreams.   It seemed to Eilian that he was still floating in the water but also floating in the wind and that the voices of both water and wind became clearer.  “Look inward, little one,” they said.  “There is no magic here.”  As he floated and listened, a glimmer of an idea worked itself into Eilian’s mind and, as this idea became clearer, he was suddenly fully alert. The notion seemed so clear and obvious that he wondered that he had not thought of it before.  He looked at the sun. He must have truly slept, he realized, because to his surprise it was now dropping in the sky.  He offered one brief prayer of thanks, scrambled into his clothes, whistled for his horse, and rode hastily back to his father’s hall.

He entered Thranduil’s study to find Ithilden waiting. Thranduil entered almost immediately after and waved them to seats.  “Let us hear what ideas you may have had.”

They sat in silence for a moment and then Ithilden spoke.  “I believe that we need to send for Mithrandir.  He has always been a friend to the Elves, and he may be able to tell us the means of this magic.”

Thranduil frowned.  “We may be driven to that,” he admitted, “but I wish to keep our troubles to ourselves if we can. I do not like involving outsiders in our affairs.  Moreover, the wizard’s presence in Mirkwood may draw the enemy’s eye to us, rather than deflecting it. Magic draws magic,” he finished, quoting an old saying.

“I do not believe that we can afford to wait to be driven to it,” Ithilden argued.

“Nevertheless, it is what I would prefer,” Thranduil was not encouraging.  He turned to Eilian.

Eilian hesitated.  Now that he had to put his idea before his father and brother, it seemed less promising. Surely Thranduil and Ithilden had thought of this before.  And Thranduil had never had much use for the dreams and intuitions which Eilian sometimes allowed to guide his actions. He regarded them as part of Eilian’s reckless love of the unpredictable.  “Is it possible,” he finally said, “that the source of the enemy’s knowledge is not magic but a spy among us?”

“A spy?” Thranduil asked. “You mean an Elf?” He was incredulous.  As Thranduil had just finished making clear, he did not like outsiders in Mirkwood.  People sometimes came on legitimate business such as delivering goods that Mirkwood did not produce itself; they were encouraged to finish their business quickly and go.  The only permanent inhabitants of Mirkwood were Elves. That one of his own people could enter into betrayal was literally unthinkable to Thranduil and thus the possibility had not previously occurred to him. Now he considered it, and Eilian could see the moment when his father admitted to himself that such a thing was possible.  The shadow corrupted the woods; it was surely possible it could corrupt the Elves who were tied to that woods.  It would not be the first time that Elves has listened to the lies or promises of the enemy.

With his customary reliance on evidence rather than intuition, Ithilden was working out whether Eilian could be correct.  “You say the southern patrol has had only one occasion when the enemy seemed to anticipate its moves?” he asked. Eilian nodded and he went on. “And that occasion was one in which you were acting on a message from Adar.” Eilian nodded again. Ithilden turned to Thranduil.  “That would be consistent with someone obtaining information here at the palace. Eilian’s people are not usually targets because their remoteness means that they operate on their own most of the time. Someone picking up information here would not know enough to harm them, except when we send directions to them.” He seemed have convinced himself of the legitimacy of the possibility that Eilian had raised.

“We will root out and deal with this traitor.”  Thranduil spat the last word with all the scorn of which he was capable.

“How?” asked the ever-practical Ithilden.

Again, they considered.  Then Thranduil began to lay out a plan.  “We will each create several false stories about planned patrol actions.  We will feed these stories to people who seem overly interested in what we are doing and post watches to see if any of them are acted upon.  That may not tell us who our traitor is because those to whom we tell these stories could pass them on to another, but it will give us a place to start.”

The three spent the next two hours devising stories and planning the distribution of scouts who would report on unusual action in an area a story mentioned. By the time Eilian and Ithilden left the study to dress for dinner, they were all feeling more hopeful than they would have believed possible that morning.

Eilian began to sing lines from the song that Thranduil’s minstrel had sung the previous night, only they had a much more exultant tone today:

Tauron, Lord of Forests,

Come with your hot, bright anger

And crush my enemies.

Ithilden looked at him strangely.  He enjoyed music but, thought Eilian, Ithilden was less likely than most Elves to use it for anything beyond the pleasure of hearing it. Now Eilian laughed at the expression on Ithilden’s face and clapped him on the shoulder. “Bear up, brother,” he encouraged. “The Valar have smiled on us. I am allowed a little song.”