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See the Stars  by daw the minstrel

4.  Parents and Sons

 

30 years previous

 

The entire southern patrol had ridden pell-mell into the clearing in front of Thranduil’s fortress, their horses showing the strain of a long, hard ride. Eilian slid from his mount and raced across the bridge and up the steps with Maltanaur close behind.  Eilian’s eyes were darkly circled and wild with grief.  Maltanaur seemed to be concerned as much about Eilian as about the death of Queen Lorellin at the hands of Orcs. When Eilian had joined the southern patrol, Thranduil had made it clear that his training and his safety were Maltanaur’s responsibility.  Eililan was his responsibility still, whereas the death of the queen had occurred four days ago and was beyond his power to mend, although not, he grimly vowed, beyond his power to avenge.

 

At the door stood one of Thranduil’s advisers, braced for this encounter with Lorellin’s second son.  Before Eilian could speak, he gave his news.  “Lords Thranduil and Ithilden left yesterday with every warrior who could be spared.  The king bids you and your companions to follow at all speed.”

 

“Yesterday,” Eilian repeated, knowing what would have had to occur before Thranduil could leave.

 

“Yes, my lord,” said the adviser. He looked at Eilian steadily. “They left immediately after the funeral.”  Eilian flinched.  He had been absent when his mother was attacked and had not even been there when her fëa was commended to Mandos’s care and her body reduced to ashes. He pushed the idea from his mind.  Now was not the time for self-indulgent grief; now was the time to make sure his mother’s murderers paid for their actions.

 

He turned to Maltanaur. “How long before we can be ready to go?”

 

“It will depend on what horses we can muster.  I will see to it at once and come to you.”  He turned and went back to the other members of the patrol, shouting orders as he went.

 

Eilian made his way toward the family quarters, intent on choking down what food he could before they were underway again.  He hadn’t been hungry since Thranduil’s message had come, but he was an experienced enough campaigner by now to know that starving himself would do neither him nor those who relied on him any good.

 

Before him now, however, stood Nimloth, Legolas’s caretaker and caretaker to Eilian and Ithilden before him.  “I need you to come and speak to Legolas, Eilian,” she announced.

 

“I must get ready to be underway again as soon as we can,” he protested, trying to step by her.  “I have no time for Legolas right now.”

 

“You must come. I can not manage him.”

 

At this frightening admission, Eilian paused. Nimloth was one of the most capable people he knew, and he had never seen her at a loss. Reluctantly, he followed her into Legolas’s chamber. Despite Nimloth’s best efforts, the room was ordinarily littered with toys and the sticks, stones, and other debris that Legolas managed to drag in from the outside.  Today it was tidy, looking almost as if its small occupant were not there.  And indeed, in a way, he was not.  Legolas lay curled up motionless on his bed, clutching a ragged blanket that Eilian thought he had put aside a year and more ago.

 

“Look who is here, lovey,” crooned Nimloth.  “It is Eilian.”  For a moment, Legolas did not react. Then he lifted his head and focused his dull gaze on his brother. Recognition suddenly lit up his small face and, gathering himself into a crouch, he leapt with a cry into Eilian’s arms.

 

The elfling’s weight was negligible, but Eilian was unprepared for his jump and staggered a bit.  Then he settled into the rocking chair near the hearth, cradling his little brother in his lap.  With his face buried in Eilian’s chest, Legolas began to pour out his grief in almost hysterical phrases that Eilian could barely understand through the sobs.

 

“She is dead, Eilian.  Nana is dead.  And Ada burned her.  He would not let me see her, and then he burned her. How can she come back if she is all burned up?”

 

Eilian hesitated. Death was not natural to Elves as it was to Men.  How could he explain death to this grieving elfling when he didn’t understand it himself?  “That was just her body that Ada burned, little one. Nana’s fëa wasn’t there any more. She is gone to the Halls of Mandos.”

 

Legolas did not appear to have heard him but rushed on in horrified confession. “I was naughty, and I was angry because she would not take me with her, and I said that I wished she would get eaten by an Orc.  And it happened!”

 

Eilian was appalled.  “No, no, little one. Your being naughty had nothing to do with this.  You could not have wished the Orcs away, and you did not wish them on her.”  Legolas looked up at him, his face wet with tears, slime running from his nose.  Eilian swiped at his face with the blanket.

 

Ada and Ithilden left. They went to hunt the Orcs that killed Nana. But what if the Orcs kill them too?  You will not go, will you? Stay here with me, Eilian! Do not go.” Nimloth and Eilian looked at one another over Legolas’s head.  They both knew that staying was not an option.

 

Forgetting his own grief for a moment, Eilian clutched the elfling to him, rocked him, and murmured what reassurances he could.  As Legolas’s muffled words finally faded into shuddering sighs, Nimloth put a chunk of bread into Eilian’s hand.  “See if you can get him to eat,” she urged.  Eilian broke off bits of the bread and, coaxing Legolas into opening his mouth, fed him like a baby bird.  With one hand clutching his blanket and the other wrapped around one of Eilian’s braids, Legolas slipped into silence and then into a light sleep, his eyelids half lowered over glazed blue eyes.  Eilian detached his little brother’s hand from his braid, laid him on the bed, and stood looking down at him.

 

“He will not sleep long,” said Nimloth.  “Nightmares will wake him. And that is the first he has eaten.” She looked at Eilian. “I am worried,” she said, and Eilian knew the danger she saw.

 

Eilian studied the sleeping Legolas and offered a silent prayer asking for forgiveness for what Legolas was bound to see as another abandonment. Within two hours, he and his companions had set off to follow their king.

 

Ten days later, Thranduil and his two oldest sons rode back into the courtyard at the head of an exhausted but grimly triumphant group of warriors. Their swords and clothes were stained with the black blood of many Orcs. As they dismounted and then began to scatter, Nimloth appeared at the top of the steps holding Legolas by the hand. Eilian had not spoken to Thranduil about Legolas’s distress, for Thranduil had been deep in his own grief and savage need for vengeance, and, in any case, he would not have been able to do anything about Legolas so long as they were from home.  But Thranduil had seemed to sense the elfling’s trouble without being told.  Weary and filthy as he was, he had climbed swiftly up the stairs, swept his youngest son into his arms, and disappeared with him into his own chamber.

 

In the silent Great Hall that night and for many nights after, Legolas had sat on his father’s lap clutching his disreputable blanket.  It had been months before he had moved first to sitting next to Thranduil and leaning against him, and then to playing quietly on the floor near him, occasionally patting one of Thranduil’s elegantly shod feet. His family had breathed sighs of relief the first time that his friends, Turgon and Annael, had lured him off to visit a litter of puppies. Life would never be the same, but it would go on.

 

***

 

Eilian and Legolas had walked along in silence for some time, each wrapped in his own thoughts.  They were now approaching the doors of their father’s hall. “How do you get in and out without being noticed?” Eilian asked curiously.

 

Legolas’s shot his older brother an impudent grin.  “I walk in and out the doors, of course.”

 

“But then surely Adar knows of your wanderings,” Eilian protested.  “The guards keep track of anyone entering the king’s hall.”

 

“The guards keep track of outsiders entering the king’s hall,” Legolas corrected. “I live here. And besides, I am just a youngling.  They scarcely notice me.  I will bet that they never record your comings and goings either.”

 

“If you are wise, brat, you will not be betting on anything again for a while.”

 

Legolas flushed but led the way through Thranduil’s doors.  Just as he had predicted, the guards saluted Eilian and seemed not to see Legolas at all.

 

Eilian marveled and then had a disturbing thought.  If familiar figures could slip in and out of the palace so easily, a spy would do well to become a member of the household.  He resolved to speak to Thranduil about the guards’ habits as soon as he could.  He only hoped he could do so without betraying Legolas.  His younger brother had enough problems right now.

 

They entered the corridor along which the private rooms of the royal family were ranged.  “I think perhaps that I will accompany you to your chamber, little brother.  I am not entirely sure that I trust you to get there on your own.”

 

He opened the door to Legolas’s chamber with a flourish and then followed him in, running into him as he stopped just inside the doorway.  “Do you have to stop right in the way?” he asked irritably, and then froze.  Seated near the fire, his elbows propped on the arms of the chair and his fingers steepled together in front of his unsmiling face, was Thranduil.

 

He contemplated them in silence for a moment until they both shifted uncomfortably. “Where have you been?” he finally asked.

 

“In the glade,” Legolas answered, sounding rather as if he were having trouble drawing a deep breath.  There was no question of lying to their father, not unless they wanted to make things very much worse than they already were.

 

Thranduil immediately turned flashing eyes on Eilian. “You took him to the glade?” he asked in outrage.

 

Before Eilian could deny the charge, Legolas jumped into the fray. “Eilian had nothing to do with it.  I went on my own. He found me there and brought me home.”  Thranduil regarded him steadily for a moment, and then turned to Eilian.

 

“I would have thought that you had outgrown the glade by now, Eilian.  Your friends may have time to tarry in childish pursuits, but you do not.  You have responsibilities for Mirkwood that require your attention now, not years from now.  Moreover, without your example, Legolas might not have gone to that place.”  Legolas moved as if to protest, but Thranduil silenced him with a look.  Eilian felt heat flood his face, but he said nothing. He feared that his father’s accusation was only too true.  “You may go,” Thranduil finally said.  And giving Legolas a last sympathetic glance, Eilian left the room.

 





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