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The Warrior  by daw the minstrel

I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine.  I gain nothing other than the enriched imaginative life I assume he meant for me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

4. News from Home

“Take care, Legolas.  You are dear to me and, indeed, to all of us.  I would have you come home again having done your duty, but free from harm.  Believe me when I sign myself, Your Most Loving Adar.”

Legolas looked up from the letter and gazed off into the distance, seeing not the woods around the Border Patrol camp but the familiar trees that edged the green in front of his father’s palace.  When the messenger had brought dispatches this morning, he had also brought letters from home, including this one from Thranduil.  Legolas had been thrilled when the letters were put in his hands, but now, suddenly, he found that he was actually blinking back tears.

This is stupid, he thought fiercely.  I wanted to be away from home, and I got what I wanted.  I am glad to be here, glad!

Determined to shake his loneliness, he got to his feet, scaled the tree to his flet, and gathered his dirty clothes together.  His patrol group was scheduled to start a round of sentry duty tonight, so he had time to wash his clothes today, and he might as well take advantage of it.  He seized a bar of soap, scrambled down the tree again, and went off toward the area of the stream that was set aside for doing laundry.  He found Tinár, Fóril, and Beliond already there, like him making use of this break in their group’s routine to catch up on necessary chores.

He hesitated a little when he saw them, though, for he had hoped to attempt this particular task in private.  The truth was that while he had occasionally rinsed out some item of clothing while on a novice mission, he had never actually been responsible for washing his own clothes.  Indeed, he had never even seen the palace laundresses washing them.  So far as he knew, he dropped his dirty clothes in a basket, and within a few days clean ones reappeared in his cupboard.

Fóril glanced up at him and grinned. “Join the party, Legolas.  There are plenty of rocks left.”  He slapped an unidentifiable wet garment against the rock near which he was crouched, sending a spray of water toward Tinár, who glared at him but said nothing.

Legolas smiled back at Fóril, whose bee stings had long since faded, although the company’s jokes about them had not.  He dumped his clothes near a flat rock at the water’s edge, squatted down, and began vigorously sloshing them around in the water.  He looked surreptitiously to his right, where Beliond had leggings spread out on a rock and was rubbing soap into the muddy knees.  Spreading one of his tunics out carefully on the rock, he began imitating Beliond’s actions.

From across the stream, Tinár took up a conversation that Legolas’s arrival had evidently interrupted.  “Gewiel is concerned that if she makes all the decisions about the wedding feast by herself, some parts of it may not be satisfactory, so in her letter, she told me that she is waiting until I come home on leave to finish the arrangements.”

Legolas looked up at him.  “Gewiel?” he asked.

“His betrothed,” said Beliond dryly.  Legolas glanced at him, startled.  Was that a gleam of humor he saw in his keeper’s eyes?

“Yes,” said Tinár complacently.  “We will be wed in the fall.”

Legolas tried to picture a maiden who would willingly choose to bond with the boastful Tinár and found that he could not.  Beliond was now beating his leggings against the rock, so Legolas picked up his soapy tunic and did the same thing.

“Do you intend to be in charge of your household then?” Fóril asked Tinár, and Legolas was absolutely certain that Fóril was teasing him. Tinár, however, did not seem to notice.

“Certainly,” he answered.  “Gewiel is timid and needs guidance.”  From Legolas’s right came a small, snorting sound, and he turned quickly toward Beliond but could see no change in his stoic countenance.  He himself could not help smiling, but he also felt a little sorry for the oblivious Tinár, who clearly did not know he was being baited.  He deliberately changed the subject.

“I had a letter from my brother Eilian today, Tinár,” he offered.  “He says that Galelas is in his patrol and is doing well.”  Beliond looked sideways at Legolas but said nothing.

“Is he?” said Tinár sounding bored.  He wrung out his last tunic and spread it carefully over a bush to dry in the sunshine.  “I will see you all back in camp,” he announced and strode away with his self-love completely intact.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Fóril spoke. “If ever you are seeking advice about romance, young one, you would do well to avoid asking Tinár.”  Legolas grinned at him.  Tinár simply made it too hard to feel sorry for him for very long.

“Like many an Elf before him, he may find that marriage is not quite what he expects,” Beliond said, surprising them both.  Legolas turned to him wonderingly, but Beliond was looking at the tunic in Legolas’s hand. “You need to rinse that tunic again, Legolas.  You did not get all the soap out of it.”

Fóril and Legolas both looked at him.  “Will you help me with my laundry too, Nana Beliond?” Fóril asked happily.

Beliond glared at them, but Legolas could have sworn there was humor hidden in his eyes.  “I will help you both to baths in the stream if you do not show more respect,” he huffed.

Fóril laughed, and Legolas found himself smiling too.  A jest.  Beliond had made a jest.  Who would ever have guessed that he could?  He rinsed his tunic, careful to get all the soap out this time.

***

“My lord,” said the leader of the Elven settlement, “our desire is to make our people as safe as possible while still keeping the woods in the possession of Elves.  To withdraw to your stronghold would be to cede the forest to the enemy, and we do not want to do that.”

Thranduil gave him a long, level look.  He sympathized completely with the Elf’s goals.  If Thranduil could have his way, the Shadow would be gone and Elves would live in every corner of the Woodland Realm.  But the Shadow was not gone, and to the king, pretending that it was represented foolishness of the highest order.

“What is you are proposing?” he asked.

The settlement leader shifted a little and then glanced at the Elf who accompanied him.  Thranduil recognized this second Elf as Sólith, who had always been adamant about living in one of the increasingly unsafe settlements scattered about the woods and who was also the father of the maiden Celuwen, whom Eilian had courted off and on since they were children. Thranduil liked Celuwen and thought she would be good for his sometimes impetuous second son, but he did not think that Eilian and Celuwen would be in a position to bond at any time soon, not if Eilian continued to live up to his duty to the realm by serving as a warrior far from home.

Sólith cleared his throat.  “My lord, you know that Lord Eilian was in the settlement in the spring.”  He paused to make sure that this was so, and Thranduil nodded rather apprehensively.  The settlement had been attacked by Orcs while fighting a forest fire, and Eilian had been captaining the Southern Patrol which had gone to fight them.  Thranduil could not imagine what Eilian’s presence in the settlement might have to do with any plans its leaders might make, but with Eilian, one never knew.

“He suggested that we move the settlement to another part of the woods,” Sólith said and then waited for the king’s reaction.  He evidently thought of Eilian as being as unreliable as Thranduil sometimes did.

Thranduil kept his face carefully impassive, although he could feel his anger rising.  If Eilian had been making unauthorized promises on his father’s behalf, Thranduil would have his hide.  “Did Eilian propose a new location?” he asked coolly.

Sólith looked encouraged by the king’s neutral tone.  “He suggested that we move east of your stronghold or perhaps north of the Forest River, but those are not the areas that need defense from the Shadow.”  Sólith’s tone was urgent.  “We wish to move to a spot west of here but well north of where we are now, and we would like to know what kind of support you would be able to give us if we did so.”

Thranduil relaxed somewhat. Eilian had apparently made no commitments, and the advice he had offered was sound, although he had still been interfering in matters that were not his concern.  “How far west of here?” he asked.

“We have found a spot we like about twenty leagues due west,” Sólith said, beginning to sound excited. “We would still be south of the Forest River, but we would be farther from Dol Guldur than we are now.”

Thranduil frowned. “Twenty leagues would place you beyond the area made more or less safe by the border patrols.”

“But we are not needed within those boundaries, my lord,” Sólith argued.  “Our presence matters most when we are outside them.”

Thranduil shook his head firmly.  “I could not promise to guard you or help you in other ways if you are that far distant.”

Sólith’s mouth set in a stubborn line, and the settlement leader stepped in before he could speak again.  “We ask only that you consider our request, my lord,” he said.  “Surely you would be willing to make some effort to help us move away from danger.”

Thranduil eyed him impatiently.  He had no intention of giving in to the request these Elves were making, but he did not want to send them away just yet either.  He hoped to take advantage of this occasion to get them to behave more sensibly and move inside the area protected by the border patrols.  “We will talk of this matter again,” he declared.  “And we urge you to take a week or so to look at the lands that lie closer to our stronghold.  Those are the areas in which you should be seeking a new home.”

Sólith opened his mouth as if to speak, but Thranduil waved the two settlement Elves away and one of the guards moved to escort them from the Great Hall.  Thranduil leaned back in his chair.  These settlement dwellers were as stubborn as Dwarves!  How had the sensible Celuwen ever been produced by the thick-headed Sólith?  He amused himself for a moment by picturing Eilian with Sólith as his father-in-law but sobered quickly at the thought of his son.

Eilian’s shadow sickness both grieved and worried him. He fervently hoped that his son’s new posting in the north was giving him the time he needed to heal.  He found the thought of his normally cheerful second son being bent by shadow almost too much to bear.

He sighed and allowed his thoughts to drift briefly to Legolas.  The youngling had been so excited about his first posting as a warrior.  Thranduil could only trust that his training and courage would see him through the dangers toward which had he so enthusiastically rushed and bring him safely home again.

“My lord,” said the advisor at his elbow, “the chief forester begs an audience with you.”

Thranduil brought himself back to the present.  “Show him in,” he said.

***

Ithilden entered the quarters he shared with his wife and son.  “Ada!” cried a childish voice, and Sinnarn jumped up from the floor where he had been crouched stacking blocks.  Ithilden recognized the game.  Sinnarn could stack the blocks for only so long before he had to knock them down again.  “Can we swim now, Ada?” Sinnarn asked excitedly, running toward him.

Ithilden caught him up and tossed him squealing into the air.  “We can swim,” he agreed happily.  He had worked through the time he would normally take for mid-day meal so that he could leave the warrior fields early and spend an hour or so teaching his son to swim.  He set Sinnarn on his feet again.  “Go and get towels from the linen cupboard,” he instructed, and the child ran off down the hall.

Alfirin had stood smiling at the two of them. Now she came forward and kissed his cheek.  He caught her around the waist and buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her.  Even now, after ten years of marriage, he could not believe how fortunate he was.  He had not known he was lonely until Alfirin entered his life.  He had not known he was missing joy until they had had Sinnarn.

Alfirin pulled away and looked up at him.  “It is so hot that I think I will swim too while you have Sinnarn.”  By custom, males and females swam in pools off the side of different parts of the river.

Ithilden smiled hesitantly.  “Are you sure you would not prefer simply to bathe?” he asked tentatively. “You would have more privacy.”

She pursed her lips slightly and regarded him.  Apprehension gripped him.  He might not have been married long enough to lose his wonder at his good fortune, but he had certainly been married long enough to recognize the suspicious look on his wife’s face.  “I like visiting with the other wives and maidens. Why is it that you never want me to swim, Ithilden?”

To his astonishment, Ithilden could feel himself blushing, an event so rare that he could not remember the last time it had happened.  “I am ashamed to tell you,” he finally confessed.

She cocked her head.  “Surely it cannot be that bad.”

He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out, so he was forced to try again.  “When I was a youngling,” he began bravely, “it was considered great fun for the young males to spy on the maidens while they were swimming.  I strongly suspect that the practice continues.”

A slow smile grew on her face. “Do you mean that you were among the young males who peeked at the maidens?” she inquired sweetly.  Miserably, he nodded, and to his astonishment, she laughed out loud.  “Did you think only males engaged in that sport, my love?” she asked, amusement suffusing her voice.

He stared at her.  “Yes,” he said weakly.  His notion of the world took a sudden lurch.  “Are you telling me that the maidens spy on the males?” he asked incredulously.

She broke into gales of laughter and flung her arms around him.  “My poor, respectable love,” she managed to gasp out.

Reflexively, Ithilden put his arms around her, but his mind was busy.  He was centuries older than Alfirin and had given up spying on swimming maidens along about the time he became a novice, so he had never watched Alfirin at play in the pools, although the thought of doing so sent a sudden thrill through him.  But she could have watched him. And she and Eilian were the same age.

A question formed in his mind and trembled on lips to which he finally decided it was better not to know the answer. Comparisons were always insidious. His wife was watching him with sparkling eyes, and suddenly she laughed and patted his cheek reassuringly.  “Have I told you today how much I love you?” she asked.

At that moment, Sinnarn came back into the room, towels overflowing from his arms and trailing down the hall.  Alfirin caught them up, folded them, and handed them to Ithilden, keeping one for herself.  “Have a nice swim,” she said, opening the door for them.  “And do not worry. I will keep the maidens away.”  She grinned at Ithilden as he led his son out into the hall, leaving him to wonder if he would ever completely know this Elf he had taken as his wife.

As they reached the door leading out the royal family’s quarters, they met Thranduil coming in.  Sinnarn’s face glowed with delight when he saw him.  “Grandfather,” he cried, “we are going swimming.  And Nana is going to keep the maidens away because,” he paused and groped for a reason. “Because we do not like them,” he finished triumphantly.

Ithilden choked on a spurt of laughter, and Thranduil raised an inquiring eyebrow.  “Your nana is a sensible wife,” he said and smiled blandly at Ithilden.  “Have a nice time.”  He went on down the hall toward his office, and a bemused Ithilden led Sinnarn toward the pool used by the male Elves.

The pool lay on the wide side of a sweeping bend in the river and was sheltered by rocks from which, on this hot day, older children were jumping into deeper water and creating huge splashes.  Several adult males were also relaxing in the cool water,  all of whom called greetings to Ithilden as he led Sinnarn to the far end where the water was shallow and the bottom smooth.  He pulled off his son’s shoes, tunic and leggings and then, with only a quick glance for watchers at the top of the rocks, he stripped off his own clothes and waded in to where Sinnarn was already stamping happily in the shallow water.

He spent the better part of an hour, playing with his son, holding him lightly as he floated and kicked and ducked under the water.  The task was an easy one. Sinnarn was a bold, merry child, who was going to be swimming like am otter by the time the summer was over. Ithilden watched as his son’s dark head emerged from the water and was struck, as he was so often, by his son’s resemblance to Eilian.  And Eilian too had been cheerful and daring.  For that matter, Legolas had been a happy child, at least until their mother died.  He had become more solemn after that.  For a moment, he worried about the two brothers he had so recently sent to stand guard so that there would be a safe place for such things as elfling swimming lessons. Then he pushed that thought from his mind.  His worry would do no good, and he had to send warriors on patrol even if they were his brothers.

At last, the sun told him that the afternoon was drawing to a close.  “Come, Sinnarn,” he called. “Your evening meal will be waiting.”

The child looked as if he would protest, but Ithilden continued to regard him steadily and he thought better of it.  He waded out of the pool, while Ithilden dried himself and reached for his clothes in what he assured himself was no more haste than usual.  Then he dried and dressed Sinnarn too and, hand in hand, they walked home.

They entered the antechamber before Thranduil’s Great Hall to find Annael waiting on a bench there.  He jumped to his feet and saluted at Ithilden’s entrance.  “Hello, Annael,” Sinnarn chirped happily.  “I went swimming.”

Annael smiled at him, but his eyes were serious.  “I have message from my captain for you, my lord,” he told Ithilden.  “Your aide said I should bring it here.”

“Is the Lady Alfirin within?” Ithilden asked the guard at the door to the family quarters, and on being told that she was, he handed Sinnarn over to the guard to be escorted to his mother. Then he took the folded parchment that Annael handed him.  What he read made him, too, serious.  The Home Guard had found two small spider colonies in the southeast part of their territory.  They had killed those they found, but their captain was sure that the creatures were infesting the territory of the eastern Border Patrol too.

Ithilden looked up at Annael.  “Have you been fighting spiders, Annael?” he asked.  The youngling nodded soberly.  Ithilden resisted the urge to pat his shoulder.  Annael was not here as Legolas’s friend, whom Ithilden had seen grow up, but as one of the realm’s warriors.  Ithilden did not want to act as if he did not recognize what Annael now was.

“Tell your captain I will send word to the Border Patrol,” he sighed, and Annael nodded and left.  Ithilden started toward his chambers, where he would find pen and parchment to write the dispatch to Todith.  It looked as if Legolas, too, might be fighting spiders soon.  Ithilden thought he would need to tell Thranduil what was happening.  His father would never forgive him if he sent Legolas into danger without telling him.  But then, he might find forgiveness difficult in any case.  Would he be able to forgive someone who sent Sinnarn?  He turned away from that thought and went to do what his duty called for him to do.

***

“Come in,” called Thranduil in response to the knock at his office door, and Ithilden entered.  His hair was neatly braided, but it was wet.  “How was the swimming lesson?” Thranduil asked, waving him into the chair in front of the desk.   Thranduil had heard Sinnarn chattering in the hallway a little earlier and had smiled to himself, although he had continued writing his letter to Eilian rather than going to join his grandson as he really wished to do.

Ithilden smiled.  “I am sure that Sinnarn will be happy to tell you all about it, so I will not spoil his account by telling you now.”

Thranduil laughed.  If given half a chance, Sinnarn would undoubtedly tell him every detail of his afternoon.  As Ithilden’s face grew serious, however, Thranduil grew sober too. Evidently his son was here on business.

“I need to tell you about a message I am about to send to Todith,” Ithilden said, and Thranduil could feel himself stiffening in apprehension.  “The Home Guard has found two spider colonies within their territory to the southeast. I have asked Todith to see if the source of the colonies is in the Border Patrol’s area.”

Thranduil froze for a moment and then let out a breath he had not known he was holding. For a second, he trembled on the edge of telling Ithilden not to send the message, but he knew immediately that he would not act on the impulse.  Of course Ithilden would ask the Border Patrol to hunt for the source of the spiders. The patrol was needed and Thranduil’s wishes could not alter that fact. To think otherwise was foolish. He had let Legolas go to the Border Patrol and now he had to let his son act as the warrior he was trained to be.

Ithilden was watching his face.  “He will be fine, Adar,” he said gently.

Thranduil grimaced. “Of course he will. Thank you for telling me.”  He looked down at his letter.  “Is there anything you need to tell Eilian?  I will be sending a messenger tonight.”

Ithilden looked relieved by the change of subject. “I do have something to send.  I will have it ready.” Thranduil nodded, and Ithilden stood and left the room.

Thranduil sat immobile for a moment after Ithilden had gone.  Knowing that he needed to respect Legolas’s move toward independence, he had not asked Beliond to send him reports, but he wished now that he had.  He wanted to be reassured that his son was doing well and was ready to face battle with the enemy.  He smiled wryly as he recalled his meeting with Beliond. The Elf had not been pleased with the task Thranduil had given him.  “Surely you can find someone who is better at tending the young, my lord,” Beliond had asserted, bitterness edging his voice.

“I do not think so,” Thranduil had responded thoughtfully, and the assignment had been made.

Thranduil sighed, pushed his worries for Legolas aside, and turned again to his letter to Eilian.

***

Eilian walked silently along between the trees, looking for signs of intruders into his father’s realm.  He had spent the two weeks getting to know his patrol’s duties, its territory, and the strengths and weaknesses of its warriors.   Happily enough, he had been able to interpret this to mean that he needed to accompany one of the small groups that were constantly scouting their territory. If he were honest with himself, he had to admit that searching the woods struck him as a far more desirable task than sitting in camp and establishing duty rosters.  He would have to do the routine tasks when they reached the campsite this evening anyway, but in the meantime he was soothed by his passage through the forest.

The trees were beautiful here, he noted wistfully.  In contrast to those in the south of the forest, they were healthy and straight, and their leaves rustled overhead in multiple shades of green.  Their song was contented too.  He reached out and touched a beech tree as he passed, aware of the strong life flowing through it and its concerned attention to his presence.  I will be fine, he silently assured it and, in this sylvan setting, he could almost believe he would be.

He came upon a stream, glanced up to check the position of the sun and then sounded the signal that would draw the rest of the group to him.  One by one, they emerged from the trees and reported that they had seen no sign of trouble.

“We will rest and eat our mid-day meal here,” he announced, and they moved toward the stream or into the shade to sit, take off their packs, and draw out the dried meat and fruit they had brought with them from their camp.  Eilian settled beneath another beech tree, leaning back against it and allowing it to sooth him. 

“Captain!” called a sudden urgent voice and he was on his feet again immediately, moving toward Galelas from whom the shout had come.  The young warrior was standing near the edge of the stream, looking intently at the ground, and had now been joined by several other patrol members, including Maltanaur.  “Look,” Galelas urged, as Eilian approached.  He looked down at the ground to see tracks that looked like those of a wolf but were far too large to be those of an ordinary one.

“Wargs,” breathed one of the other warriors.

Maltanaur crouched to examine the tracks.  “Only one, though,” he said and then squinted up at Eilian.  “One animal drank here and then went back in the direction from which it came.”  He pointed north.  Eilian could feel his breath quickening, but he glanced at the young faces around him and deliberately slowed it down.

“Look around and make sure there was only one,” he ordered. They scattered to obey, but found no other tracks.  “Follow it,” he instructed, and they began stalking the Warg, still scanning to make sure it had been alone.  They had been near the northern edge of their territory when they found the tracks, and they soon determined that the tracks went straight north, beyond their area.  They followed them for another mile or so, but then Eilian stopped them. They should go back to camp and send word to Ithilden, he knew.

With Maltanaur beside him, Eilian stood for a moment staring north, every nerve in his body longing to follow the Warg.  “There was only the one,” Maltanaur ventured.

“Where the Warg howls, there also the Orc prowls,” responded Eilian, quoting an old saying.  He sighed and then reluctantly turned to face the rest of the patrol. “We will go back to camp,” he said.

They arrived in camp just as dusk was falling.  “I was beginning to worry,” Lómór told Eilian.  “I expected you back earlier.”   Eilian told his lieutenant what they had found.

“I will need to write to Ithilden tonight,” he added. “We can send the message in the morning.”

“A messenger came from the king today,” Lómór told him, indicating an Elf who was resting near the fire.  “We can send it back with him.”

Eilian nodded. “Good.  Are there dispatches for me then?”  Lómór fetched a letter and a small package from the flat rock on which they had been stowed. Recognizing his father’s handwriting, Eilian sat down near the fire to read the letter in case it contained anything he should respond to when he wrote.

“My dear Eilian,” it began, “I hope that this letter finds you well and happy.  Know that I think about you many times each day, always with the wish that your heart has eased and your own glad spirit has been returned to you.”

Eilian found that he was moved by the loving tone of this opening, but he was less pleased when his father changed to telling him of events that had happened in his absence and took up the tale of the demands of the settlement Elves.

“I regret to say that you appear to have overstepped your authority as a captain and given what amounts to political advice to these people.  You should know better by now, Eilian.”

He groaned, closed the letter, and rubbed his temples.  Fortunately it was Ithilden to whom he had to write tonight. He would send appropriately penitent remarks to his father at another time, when he might, perhaps, actually be feeling repentant.

Someone stirred next to him, and he realized that Galelas was there, dividing his attention between a plate of food and a letter of his own. Eilian had yet to have gained a very clear sense of Galelas as a warrior, although he knew that Galelas was not much older than his little brother Legolas and, like Legolas, was away from home for the first time. According to his lieutenant, Galelas had come to the Border Patrol from the Home Guard only three months earlier.

“Are you well, captain?” Galelas asked tentatively.

With an effort, Eilian smiled at him. “Yes.  It has simply been a long day.  You did well spotting those tracks.”

Galelas brightened perceptibly, started to say something, and then stopped himself. “Thank you,” he finally said, and Eilian smiled to himself. He was willing to wager that Galelas was enough like his brother, Tinár, to have been tempted to brag a bit about his woodcraft, but, much to Eilian’s relief, he had stopped himself.  Eilian did not need to have to cope with a younger version of Tinár.

“You have a letter too, I see,” Eilian said, changing the subject.

Galelas grimaced slightly. “Yes.  My adar tells me that my brother is doing well.”

Eilian blinked at him and then smiled slightly.  “Letters from home are not always all they are reputed to be,” he observed dryly, and, in response, Galelas gave a twisted smile. Eilian turned his attention to the little package that was still in his lap.  It was addressed to him in Ithilden’s small, neat script.  He unfastened the wrapping and sat for a second staring at what lay within.  Suddenly, he began to laugh, and Galelas turned a puzzled face toward him as he held up the rune of protection that Ithilden had sent him.

“On the other hand,” he crowed, “sometimes one’s family can actually be quite endearing.”  Galelas looked skeptical, but Eilian tossed the necklace in the air, caught it again, and then rose to go whistling off to his flet to write a letter telling Ithilden about the Warg.

***

AN:  The saying about Wargs and Orcs that Eilian quotes is taken directly from Book II, Chapter 4, of The Fellowship of the Ring.





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