Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 3:  Surprises

Legolas awoke early, still snuggled in Lathron’s arms.  He rolled on to his back and looked up at his brother, a smile covering his face.  He was glad Lathron was home. Legolas stretched and sighed in contentment, but then something caught his eye – something he had not seen before in Lathron’s room. He crawled to the edge of the bed and slid off the side, then pushed the door of the wardrobe the rest of the way open. A sword. An unstrung bow. An empty quiver with a long sheathed knife in its outer pocket. Legolas touched them, each in turn, then turned back to look at his brother.

Bregolas was a warrior.  Elenath was a warrior.  Ada had been a warrior and still had a sword. Was Lathron a warrior too?

Legolas climbed back on to the bed and kneeled in front of Lathron.  He stared hard at his brother, but Lathron did not wake up.  He lightly touched Lathron’s face, and Lathron stirred, but his eyes did not focus. 

“Lathron!” whispered Legolas loudly. Lathron sighed and rolled over, but still did not wake. Legolas turned to look again at the open wardrobe.  Ada told him he could not touch his sword without permission, but Lathron had not said that. Maybe Lathron would not mind if he only touched the bow, or the empty quiver. He moved to the edge of the bed, temptation pulling him back towards the wardrobe.  He slowly slid down until his feet touched the floor.

“I have you, elfling!” said Lathron with a growl.

“Aiii!” squealed Legolas as a long arm grabbed him around the chest and pulled him up into the air.  He landed on his back on the bed, and long hair tickled his face as Lathron bent over him.

“What are you up to, Legolas?” asked Lathron as he held Legolas down with one hand on his chest.

“I wanted you to wake up!” explained Legolas with a giggle.

“Why?” Lathron tickled the elfling’s belly, evading the small hands that were seeking to stop him.

“Because you have a sword and a knife and a bow and a quiver,” replied Legolas seriously.  “Did you know they were in your wardrobe? Are they yours? Where did you get them?”

Lathron sat down and pulled Legolas upright, straightening his night tunic. “They are mine.”

“Why do you have them?”

“All elves need to know how to protect themselves, Legolas.  And if there were need, I would use my weapons to defend our people.”

Lathron stood, closing the wardrobe door as he walked by to his bathing chamber.  Legolas slid off the bed to follow him.

“Did you have them on your trip? Was it dangerous?” pressed Legolas.

Lathron turned and knelt down before Legolas.  He looked him in the eye and was quiet for a moment, as if he was thinking. “I did have them on my trip, for the times we live in can be dangerous, Legolas.”

“Did you see any orcs?”

“No, fortunately we did not. Do you want to take a bath?”

Legolas stripped off his night tunic as he ran into the bathing chamber. He climbed in the carven tub as Lathron turned on the water and began searching for his favorite bubbles among the jars along the tub’s wide edge. He looked up at Lathron before adding any, but Lathron had his back turned.  Smiling, Legolas dumped in the whole jar.  He splashed in the bubbles as Lathron relaxed in the warm water, and remembered why he liked Lathron supervising his bath.  He never told Legolas he used too many bubbles.

“Lathron, you could come tracking with me and Bregolas and Bregolas would not need to protect you!” announced Legolas. “Do you know how to track too?”

Lathron opened one eye to look at him, and Legolas grinned at him and threw bubbles in his direction.

“I dare say Bregolas is the better person to teach you tracking,” replied Lathron. “I think I will stay home, though, and sleep in my nice bed.”

Legolas frowned and stopped splashing.  He did not want Lathron to stay home while he went away.  He had not liked it when he had to stay home while Lathron was gone.  He wanted to go with Bregolas, but he did not want to leave Lathron.  He swam over to Lathron and wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck and hugged him tightly.

“I will always be here when you come home,” whispered Lathron. “But Adar needs me while Bregolas is gone. I have much work to do too, reporting and planning from all I learned on my trip.”

Legolas did not reply.

“You have not asked me if I brought you anything,” said Lathron, teasing in his voice. 

Legolas perked up.  He pushed away from Lathron slightly, so he could see his face.  He tugged his brother’s long wet hair towards him, pulling the long strands apart. “Did you?”

“I did.  But you must get dressed and have breakfast first, and then I will show you.”

Legolas clambered over his brother and out of the tub, pulling Lathron by the arm.  “Come on, Lathron!  Hurry!”

* * *

Thranduil was seated for breakfast when he heard the patter of small feet and then the breathless voice of his youngest son before Legolas actually burst into the room.

“Ada!  Did you wonder where I was last night?” called Legolas.  He slid through the door, wrapping both of his arms around his father’s elbow.  “I was in Lathron’s room!”

“I rather thought you would be,” answered Thranduil as he kissed the top of the small head. “Sit and have breakfast.”

Legolas climbed up on to his chair and tucked his napkin into his tunic, then surveyed the good things on the table intently.  Thranduil smiled indulgently as his youngest reached immediately for sweet seed cakes, but placed a bowl of porridge next to his son’s plate.  Legolas stuck out his tongue at it, but when his eyes met Thranduil’s, he grinned saucily and immediately placed a spoonful in his mouth.

“Ada, did you know Lathron has a sword and a bow and a knife?” asked Legolas.  He did not wait for a reply, but continued. “Lathron could be a warrior too, Ada, if you needed him. The times we live in can be dangerous,” he finished with a sincere look on his small face.

Thranduil felt his smile fade, and he looked up to meet Lathron’s eyes.  His gentle son nodded at him, almost imperceptibly, and turned his gaze to Legolas.  Legolas was eating breakfast with vigor, seemingly unaware that he had said anything untoward.  Thranduil reached out, caressing and smoothing the hair on the small head next to him. Legolas flashed him a grin in response – a smile that dazzled just like his mother’s had.  The child had lived through a dangerous and uncertain time, yet the parts he most remembered were the good times on the trail home.

“Lathron brought a present for me, too, but I have to finish breakfast first,” Legolas informed him. “But he cannot come tracking with me and Bregolas because he has to help you, Ada.”

“Yes, there is much work for us to do now that Lathron has returned,” agreed Thranduil.  He watched as Legolas returned to his meal with relish, finishing his porridge and all the fruit and cakes on his plate.

Thranduil thought back to his feelings of contentment the night before, and decided his current feelings were not at odds with them.  He was grateful that Legolas was oblivious to the events surrounding his birth. Thranduil glanced at Lathron again, noting that some of the tension that had surrounded him the evening before was now gone. For though Lathron had not been on that fateful journey nine summers earlier, memories, dreams and flashbacks still occasionally haunted both his sleep and waking hours. He had just returned from Esgaroth and a rendezvous west of the iron hills, meeting with some of the same Men who had helped arrange for the ore and goods nine years before.   Lathron was very skilled in negotiating contracts and deals with the Men, and had been adamant that his father not attend the meetings. Thranduil smiled as he thought of his sons’ protectiveness. None of them wanted him to relive that journey that had ended the lives of his wife and son, Alagos, and started the horror of an infant son missing for nearly two years.  Yet Lathron suffered for having gone, though Thranduil suspected he suffered most from being apart from Legolas.  He looked down at his grinning elfling. It was his smile, Thranduil decided.  Legolas had inherited his mother’s smile, an ever present reminder of her.

Pounding on the underside of the table caught Thranduil’s attention, and he reached without looking to grasp the small foot inflicting the noise.  Legolas giggled and squirmed as his father held his foot. “May I be excused, Ada?” Legolas asked.

“Lathron has not yet finished,” Thranduil replied.

“I will stay nearby,” promised Legolas.

“Of that I have no doubt,” laughed Thranduil dryly as he released the foot. Legolas then began bouncing on his chair, his legs swinging back and forth. Thranduil pulled Legolas’s chair back and Legolas slipped to the ground, dancing in place.  “Stay in the garden until we come to find you.”

Legolas spun in a circle and skipped from the room, singing to himself, “Today I get a present, a present from my brother.  Today I get a present from my brother!”

The door closed behind the elfling and Thranduil laughed aloud.   “Is his gift ready for him?” he asked Lathron.

Lathron nodded.  “Yes.  I have a note indicating all was well during the night. He will be very excited.”

Thranduil nodded.  “He will.  He is a little young, younger than the rest of you were, but he will be thrilled and he is ready for it.”

Lathron stood. “Are you ready then, Adar?”

Thranduil stood.  “I am.  And you, ion-nín?  Are you well?”

“I am fine, Adar.  I needed a good night’s sleep, and to see all of you,” replied Lathron.

Thranduil pulled Lathron into an embrace, stroking the dark head and kissing his son on the brow.  “Did you have visions and memory of the places you went?”

Lathron looked away. “I think perhaps they were flashes of the visions I had while Legolas was missing. Though I knew he was safe at home with you, I feared for him.  But I saw only that which I had seen before.”

Thranduil released his son, feeling a remnant of Lathron’s uneasiness, but trusting in his own sense that Lathron was overall well. In the last nine years he had come to understand this son, even to rely on his sensitivity, both in matters familial and in the running of the realm.  “Let us go find Legolas.”

Legolas was easily found, his sing-song voice carrying throughout the garden.

Lathron is home
And he brought me a gift
A present for Legolas
And Legolas is me!

“Lathron! Ada!  Is it time?” shouted Legolas, as he ran to his father and brother. Legolas launched himself at Lathron, who caught him easily.

“Yes, it is time,” replied Lathron.

“Where is it?” asked Legolas breathlessly.

“It is in the stables.”

Legolas’s brow furrowed, as he seemed to ponder what Lathron would have to hide in the stable.  Then, suddenly, they were at the stable doors, and Lathron set Legolas on his feet. The stable master was waiting for them, a smile on his face, and all the elves who worked in the stables had gathered round, as well as a number of warriors.  The stable master stepped aside, and Bregolas walked out.

Thranduil watched as Legolas’s face reflected anticipation and then confusion, and finally utter joy as a small pony followed Bregolas out into the yard.

“A pony!” cried Legolas in delight. He looked from Bregolas to Lathron and Thranduil.  “Is he for me?”

Thranduil laughed. “He is for you.  Come, let us meet him.” He took Legolas by the hand and led him forward. Legolas stopped in front of the pony, which eyed him curiously. His hands clasped over his chest, Legolas could only stare at the pony in wonder and awe.  Finally, the pony lowered his head and snuffled into Legolas’s hair. That drew Legolas from his stunned inaction, and he threw his arms around the pony’s neck and hugged him.

“He is speechless with joy,” laughed Bregolas. 

The pony whinnied and lowered its head further to snuffle his nose into Legolas’s stomach, blowing warm air through the tunic and making Legolas giggle and release him.

“What is his name?” asked Legolas, turning to Bregolas.

“He is for you; therefore you must name him.”

Legolas stroked the pony’s nose as he looked him in the eye.  It was a fine looking pony, a rich brown in color, with a crescent moon shaped silver spot above his eyes.

“Cúron,” answered Legolas.  “Pony, your name is Cúron. I am Legolas.  You are mine and I am yours!”  The pony whinnied in response and Legolas turned so he stood next to the pony, leaning against the pony’s sturdy side, to face his family. “Can Cúron come tracking with us?”

Thranduil looked to Bregolas and Rawien, who had spent part of the evening and the morning evaluating the pony. Both nodded.

“Yes, Cúron may go with you,” answered Thranduil.

Legolas returned his attention to the pony, and Thranduil watched as the warriors and stable hands each came up to Legolas and Cúron, introducing themselves to the pony and congratulating Legolas for his good fortune.  The wide grin never left his son’s face, and if anything, Legolas reveled in the attention of these people he so admired. The stablemaster nodded to Thranduil, and then called to Legolas, “Come, Master Legolas.  We will teach you how to take care of Cúron and get you used to riding him.”

Legolas turned to his father for permission, and when it was received he jumped and called out his joy as he took the bridle and led his pony back to the stable.

Bregolas fell into step with Lathron and Thranduil as they returned to the palace. “We will leave tomorrow morning. Our pace will be slow enough for the pony to keep up, although Legolas will ride with me, for the most part.  We will spend a day or two in the forest, while Rawien rides ahead with the scouts to meet the Northern Patrol.  Depending on how quickly his trip is made, we may wait and return with him.” Bregolas turned to Lathron.  “We will be gone three to four days, Lathron. Are you sure you do not wish to ride with us?”

Lathron smiled.  “I may ride out to meet you on your return trip, depending on how quickly we can settle these contracts and distribute the goods we purchased.”

Thranduil watched the conversation between his oldest sons, noting that Bregolas also seemed to be assessing if something was amiss with Lathron.  Thranduil made a note to himself to question Bregolas later.

* * *

Elladan followed the orcs as they moved quickly through the night. Their speed both amazed him and supported his belief that these orcs were on an important mission.  By his estimation, they were covering nearly two to two and a half leagues every hour, despite the rough terrain. Their course had veered to the northeast as they hugged the edges of the mountains. They came from the north; why do they return that way? Elladan asked himself. If they bear a message to the south, to Dol Guldur or Mordor, they would not reverse course because they met opposition. On the contrary, the leader had indicated they continued with their mission.  Something in this situation is not right, he concluded.

Tracking the orcs had not proved difficult, and Elladan had to remind himself to proceed with all due caution.  The orcs appeared to be unaware that anyone was following them, yet he would not underestimate their cunning.  He was still alone, although Garthon would soon catch up with him, and the enemy could trap him if he was not careful.

A whiff of a foul odor came to him on the breeze, and he slowed from his run, stopping and climbing into a nearby fir tree. Yrch.  Their odor was immediately recognizable.  Now is a good time for a rest, Elladan decided. He settled himself on to a wide branch near the trunk of the tree, and willed himself to relax and rest. The sound of a heavy foot on the ground below him a short while later caused Elladan to freeze in place. Though he could not see the creature, slight grunts and the sound of a heavy foot on the branches told him an Orc was climbing the same tree he was in.  He had thus far remained downwind of the orcs, but soon the orc would sense his presence. It might have done so already if he had not been so dirty.  I never thought to be so glad to be this filthy, he though bemusedly, as he looked down at his muddy tunic and trousers. They seem to know and find the scent of elves as offensive as we find them.

He climbed higher, taking great care to be silent. He was lighter than an orc and could potentially climb higher. However, if the orc became aware of his presence, the additional height would bring him only temporary relief.  He could not stay aloft forever.  While he kept his hearing focused on the sounds below him, his eyes began searching the darkness for any other routes of escape. The fir trees grew close together here, and where their branches intertwined, but were not dead from lack of light, he could cross from one tree to the other.   If the branches are strong enough, he amended his thought.

The sounds below him were growing in volume, and then suddenly all was quiet. He heard the Orc sniff and was almost sure he could feel the excitement radiating from the beast.   The sounds of climbing resumed. He knows I am near, but he does not know I am above him, Elladan suddenly realized.  He could barely make out the creature’s form in the branches far below him, and the orc still looked outward and not upward.  Nor has he sounded a call.  He knows not if I am alone or part of a large group, and seeks to have all his information before notifying his captain.

Elladan chose a sturdy branch and began to move laterally towards a nearby tree.  He moved cautiously, testing the branch’s strength before each step.  Ahead, he could see a branch slightly to the left and higher than the one he was currently on.  He would swing on to that branch, and then climb to the ground, again downwind of the orc. His plan in place, Elladan reached for the branch and heard the wood crack as the old bark split under his weight. He froze, motionless, listening for any noise behind him. A slight grunt and sniffing told him the orc had heard the noise too. Suddenly, the orc snarled and sounded a guttural call, and an instant later an arrow flew past Elladan’s head, lodging several feet beyond him in the trunk of the tree.

He sprang on to the branch, heedless now of the noise.  He sounded his own call, and answered himself a moment later, and then heard a response from Garthon, followed moments later by a second call from Garthon.  He pulled his dagger from its sheath at his hip, and threw it at the next movement he saw from the tree beyond him.  A grunt of pain confirmed he had scored a hit, although the orc did not fall.  He moved to the other side of the tree trunk, using it for a shield against future arrows. Watching for any movement from the other tree, he began slowly moving downward

He heard a whistling sound before a dagger embedded itself in his upper arm.  Unable to contain all response to the pain, he heard his own sharp intake of air but managed to make no other noise. He yanked the dagger free immediately, sniffing it but smelling only his own blood.  He allowed the wound to bleed freely, to help cleanse any poison that might have been on the knife.   Taking a deep breath, he moved down another branch, watching the other tree.  As the moon sunk against the horizon, it shone through the tree branches, perfectly highlighting the orc between him and the moon.  Elladan reacted swiftly, pulling his bow into hand and nocking and releasing an arrow an instant later.  He heard a sharp cry at the same moment that he saw the figure in the moonlight jerk back from the force of the impact, and then the creature fell into darkness, the sounds of its body crashing against tree limbs marking his passage as he fell through the branches.  Elladan let out a sigh of relief and leaned back against the tree.

A sharp pain on the outer side of his right thigh caused him to release his own small cry, and he pulled the arrow from his leg with one hand even as he was pulling an arrow from his own quiver with the other. There was a second orc below him on the ground!  He nocked another arrow of his own, firing at the same time as the orc on the ground. He moved immediately after shooting, a skill learned in battle to evade incoming arrows, but his line of sight never left his quarry.  He felt a surge of satisfaction as his arrow penetrated the orc’s eye, and then another searing pain as the orc’s arrow grazed his shoulder.

A call sounded to his east, close by, and Elladan answered immediately. Moments later, Garthon was below him, checking to ensure both orcs were dead and moving ahead a few hundred yards to see if more orcs were returning to help.  Elladan began lowering himself from the tree, and then Garthon was back, helping him down.

Elladan would have sunk to the ground right below the tree, but Garthon did not allow it.  He slipped an arm around Elladan’s waist, and guided him away from the dead orcs, to a better location on higher ground. Elladan looked at the climb before him, agreeing with the position, but groaning at the thought of climbing it with the pain in his leg and arm.

“Hold on,” whispered Garthon. He knelt in front of Elladan, and then lifted him up and over his shoulder, wrapping a strong arm across the back of Elladan’s knees to hold him steady.  Garthon then leapt gracefully and lightly up the steep path, his movements barely jostling Elladan.  He chose a well protected spot and gently lowered Elladan to the ground.

“Thank you,” grunted Elladan softly.

Garthon removed Elladan’s tunic carefully, cutting it off him around the wounds to his upper arm and shoulder.

“Knife to arm, arrows to leg and shoulder,” Elladan informed him tersely.  “I do not think the knife was poisoned, but the arrow wounds burn.”

Garthon immediately cut Elladan’s trousers away from the leg wound, and then began cleansing them with water from his water skin and applying the antidote paste they all carried. “None of the wounds look bad,” he announced.

A faint sound was heard that blended in with the night, but Garthon jumped to his feet and climbed quickly to a rocky outcropping and answered with a series of cricket chirps. Elladan smiled as he heard both elves and crickets answer.  A half hour or a little more and the rest of their party would be with them. 

“Why did the orcs not come to the aid of their scouts?” Garthon asked as he landed lightly next to Elladan again.

“I do not know,” replied Elladan, and he realized he felt grateful for conversation to take his mind off the burn of the orc poison.  “They were not that far ahead of me, and the call certainly had to be heard.  Whatever their mission, they seem intent on completing it and not even the joy of killing a few elves is enough to turn them from their purpose.”

“Tonight we will be grateful for that,” said Garthon. He looked at Elladan intently for a moment.  “These orc scouts were skilled.”

“Very,” agreed Elladan.  “I had just reminded myself to take care, to not underestimate them.”

“Perhaps our signals threw them.  They might have fled believing a whole patrol of elves was nearly upon them.”

“That is the unfortunate part of this business of war with them – we must assume our tactics worked – or guess why they failed – and we really do not know.”

“Keeps our jobs exciting,” said Garthon dryly.   He pulled Elladan’s waterskin over his head, and opened it.  “Drink some water.”

Elladan realized he was thirsty and drank of the water.

“Anor rises soon.  We will have to rest and resume tomorrow, if you are able.”

“These wounds will heal quickly.  I need only a few hours of rest.”

“Elrohir will decide,” Garthon informed him with a smile.

Elladan smiled at the mention of his twin’s name.  He closed his eyes and felt deep within himself for his bond to his twin.  I am well, Elrohir.  No serious injuries, he communicated without words.

* * *

Elrohir breathed a sigh of relief and willed his heart to slow even as his feet increased their pace until he drew even with the lead elf. Elladan was injured, but not seriously.   He had heard the communications, the chirps and songs telling him that their scouts were under attack, and then minutes later that they were safe, at least temporarily.  Glorfindel had increased their pace to a full run, hoping to arrive in half the time it would have otherwise taken them.  They would be worn when they arrived, but the alternative could not be considered.  But he felt the message from Elladan himself, not transmitted through Imladris signals, not even a message of words, but a feeling and sense that he was going to be well.

They maintained their quick pace, arriving on schedule and following Garthon’s directions to their location.  Elrohir leapt over a downed tree and landed at his brother’s side. He did not immediately speak, nor did his twin.  Elrohir instead began inspecting the wounds, undoing Garthon’s temporary measures and then pulling his healer’s kit from his pack to treat the wounds properly.  A slight sigh of relief slipped from his twin as Elrohir applied a numbing solution to the irritated wounds, and he smiled as Elladan relaxed. 

Glorfindel dropped Elladan’s pack near them, as the scouts’ packs had both been brought by others in the patrol. Elrohir helped Elladan change into fresh clothing and someone else brought them food as the sun rose.

Glorfindel listened to Elladan’s tale with a gleam in his eye. “You did well, Elladan,” he finally said.  “I do not know what is so important to the Orcs that they did not stop to engage us, but if it is important to them, then it is important to us.  We follow at dusk.”

Glorfindel rose and began moving among the members of the patrol.  Guard shifts had already been arranged and, further below them, two elves were tossing the remains of the orcs over the side of a ravine.  They would not risk giving away their location by burning the bodies.  Then, those elves not on guard settled down to rest.

Elladan did not need to be told that he must sleep to allow his body to heal, and his eyelids had drifted close as oft was the case when he was injured.  Elrohir curled protectively against his side, and also gave in to his need for rest.

* * * * *