Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 5:  Land of the Wood Elves

Legolas stirred and shifted slightly in response to the slight tugging of the rope still tied about his wrist. Without waking, he rolled on to his side, allowing for a little more slack on the line.  His movements shifted the blanket covering him, however, and the cool morning air tickled the exposed skin of his bare legs and arms. He reached to tug on the blankets, but the rope tied to his wrist did not allow for the movement. Murmuring in his sleep about the cold, he buried his face in the blanket below him.

Bregolas leaned against a tree just a few feet away from his small brother, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched Sadron tease Legolas.  Sadron had actually untied the rope from his arm during the night, stood watch, helped with breakfast and bathed in the nearby stream in the early morning light.  Now, his duties tended to for the morning, he had reattached himself to his favorite elfling.

“Does he still awake cheerful?” asked Sadron.

Bregolas grinned as recalled the times he had awakened to the beaming smile, sparkling blue eyes and tousled blond hair of his youngest sibling.  A sudden memory came to his mind of Legolas awakening the first morning after the terrible battle that would have claimed all of their lives, had Bregolas’s troops not arrived when they did.  Bregolas had watched over him most of that night, as he lay snuggled in Tathiel’s bandaged arms.  He had awakened and squirmed loose from her at first light, then looked at Bregolas with dawning memory of meeting him the day before.  When Bregolas had held out his arms, Legolas had come slowly, first touching Bregolas’s finger and then his hand, before finally allowing Bregolas to pick him up.  As Legolas sat on his knee, small fingers had brushed across Bregolas’s chest and then touched his cheek and hair, until Legolas had finally proclaimed, ‘brothers’ and snuggled up to him.

“Yes,” he answered as the memory faded. “He might awaken annoyed, but his smile is never far off.”

“Good,” answered Sadron mischievously.  “Alagos did not. One had to be very careful when tormenting him, always leaving room to move quickly up or away, for he was very fast.”

Bregolas laughed aloud as he thought of his brother Alagos, known for his quick responses and what Bregolas had often thought was an exaggerated reaction to the teasing of his fellow warriors, for he enjoyed the resulting chaos his reaction caused.   Alagos had been killed on his first assignment as a warrior, going to the Halls of Waiting with his mother on the day of Legolas’s birth.  Sadron had been his friend, and his love and protectiveness of Legolas stemmed from that friendship. Guarding the king’s youngest son on a short tracking expedition would ordinarily draw only the young and inexperienced warriors to whom the least exciting assignments might fall, but there had been many volunteers for this trip.  Sadron, Laerion, Meren and Rawien had all been part of the rescue party that brought Legolas home.

Sadron took a short length of rope, loosely tied Legolas’s feet together, and then settled himself above Legolas’s head, and using a feather, began tickling his cheeks and neck. Legolas’s nose wrinkled, and he twitched several times and finally moved away from the annoyance disturbing him.  He turned over, burying his face back in the blanket.

Bregolas grinned at Sadron.  “Pretty ineffectual. If this is how you tormented Alagos, perhaps it was your effort that annoyed him.”

Sadron laughed.  “This one is still a sweet little elfling.  I cannot tease him too badly.”

Rawien had been listening from near the campfire and he snorted in disgust at Sadron.  Walking over, he knelt at Legolas’s feet and checked the rope bound about his ankles. He pulled the sagging stockings up about the small ankles and ensured they were between his skin and the rope.  Then, grasping the rope in his hand, he swung Legolas up into the air by the ankles.

“Ai!” shrieked Legolas at the rude awakening. His arms flailed and then tried to push up the night tunic that had fallen into his face so he could see who had him. Instead, the night tunic was pulled over his head, leaving his chest bare and him only wearing short leggings.  He squealed again when cold water landed on his back, and then whoever was holding him turned him, allowing cold water to hit his chest as well.  A gentle swat on his backside led to his next indignant yell, and then he was flying through the air.

Bregolas caught him easily, turned him over his knee and gently swatted his backside again. He allowed the elfling to sit up then, and his gaze was met by wide eyes and an expression that seemed torn between laughter and outrage.

“Bregolas!” cried Legolas, confused.

“Good morning, elfling!” replied Bregolas as he kissed his brother on the forehead.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Bregolas!” Legolas’s response was turning into outrage.

“Hmm….that must be a ‘no’ answer,” replied Bregolas easily.

Legolas turned to see the others of the camp watching him.  Rawien was standing before him, arms crossed over his chest and smiling smugly.  Sadron was laughing, a cup still in his hand.  Confused, Legolas turned back to Bregolas.

“This is what happens to a warrior who sleeps in while on a mission,” Bregolas informed him.  “The other members of the patrol consider if any remedial action is warranted, and if they decide it is, they carry it out upon wakening the errant warrior.”

Legolas furrowed his brow.  “But I did not know this!” he cried. “I would have asked you to wake me early!”

Bregolas stood, lifting Legolas with him. “The first morning it happens to all guests in a patrol, for it is their initiation.  You are now an honorary warrior of the Woodland Realm.”

A smile slowly broadened on Legolas’s face.  He turned again to face the others in camp, who were all grinning at him now.  He clapped his hands.  “I am warrior Legolas!” he crowed in delight.  He turned back to Bregolas.  “Can I have a sword now?”

A chorus of ‘no’s’ echoed across the campsite, and Legolas grinned, for he had known what the answer would be.

“Come, elfling, we saved you a little bit of breakfast,” invited Sadron. 

Legolas slid down Bregolas and turned to run to Sadron, but was tripped by the rope still harnessing his feet together.  Bregolas caught him and tossed him to Sadron.

“Oh, yes, there is the matter of who the prisoner is this morning,” said Sadron as he caught Legolas.  “I escaped while you were sleeping, and now you are my prisoner!”

Legolas clapped his hands again.  “I shall escape and catch you again!” he promised.

Bregolas watched as Sadron untied Legolas’s feet and led him off to take care of his morning needs, and then helped him dress and provided him with breakfast.  He found himself remembering the sketches Sadron had made of Legolas on the trip home, before Bregolas had joined them.  The first ones were done in Dorwinia, based on Sadron’s memory of finding the lost ones in the hills west of the Sea of Rhûn.  The first sketch was of the four of them, so tired, dirty and thin from their terrible time in the cold, starved and pursued by orcs.  Bregolas knew it was tucked away in a cupboard at home, a picture Thranduil rarely looked at, for the sorrow and fear in all of their eyes was too much for him to bear.  Another picture was his father’s favorite, of Legolas sitting in their camp near Dorwinia, his mouth stuffed full of food, both hands full and his lap as well.  That baby was now a little elf, sitting again near a campfire with warriors about him. One thing that had not changed from then to now was the love and care those warriors showered on the little elfling. A tear slipped from Bregolas’s eye as emotion welled up within him, and he felt a strong hand come to rest on his shoulder.

“Your mind dwells this morning in memory,” said Rawien softly.

Bregolas looked at the gold band on the hand that comforted him, but it served only to deepen the emotion that flooded him when he considered who wore the matching ring. Rawien would soon have his own elfling, a child who would be like a sibling or close cousin to Legolas. Bregolas’s eyes drifted back to the giggling elfling now wrestling with Sadron, who was attempting to bind him again as prisoner.  They were motioned to silence by Meren, who pointed up into the trees.  Moments later, Laerion, Sadron and Meren had carried Legolas high into the beech tree to see the nest of baby birds that Meren had heard calling to their mother.

“Seeing him among warriors reminds me of much,” admitted Bregolas. “I take for granted seeing him with Tathiel, for she is always a presence in his life.  I should not do that. Seeing him in a camp again, with warriors, reminds me of the sacrifices made for him and the ellyth and Tathiel. He is too young to appreciate those sacrifices, but we are not.”

Rawien smiled in understanding. “Tathiel knows without doubt the place she has in your family. Do not worry that you need to say words often, for the actions of your family speak clearly. The same is true with Eärundra and Tinánia.  They think of her as a beloved aunt and she is esteemed in that status by their family. It is also clear that Legolas will grow to serve as a warrior in the realm. Through his own sacrifice of service, he will show appreciation for those made for him.”

“Adar is grateful you chose to have a child at this time,” said Bregolas with a wry smile.

Rawien laughed aloud.  “So I have been told! But the deeper meaning is understood too.  Few children have been born since shadow returned. The birth of a child shows our hope for the future. I am grateful in return for the support shown to us. Tathiel’s strength wanes,” he admitted.

“We know,” replied Bregolas.  No other words were needed.  Tathiel had given much to the three children she had sustained during those two years, and most particularly to Legolas.  She now provided sustenance to the child growing within her, and Rawien ensured that she drew as much strength from him as possible.  Still, she was often weary. Bregolas knew that as much as Rawien desired a child, he loved Tathiel more. This short trip was one of the only ones he would take during her pregnancy, and only because she insisted he go, because she was concerned he would become restless from staying so near to the caverns all the time.  Bregolas laughed to himself, for he suspected that she had insisted Rawien accompany this group because she wanted to ensure there were enough people looking after her little Legolas. The circle of care was then completed, for at the palace, Thranduil himself checked in on her daily and ensured that she was waited on and well cared for.

High in the beech tree, Bregolas could see Legolas’s arms wound around Sadron’s neck, the rope now in good use securing them together as Sadron moved gracefully about the high branches.  The baby birds had been consoled while waiting for their mother to return, a squirrel had been visited, and now it appeared that Legolas was meeting the tree formally.

“The scouts are ready to continue on to meet the Northern Patrol,” Rawien interrupted his thoughts.  “I shall return by tomorrow night.”

Bregolas walked with Rawien to his horse, ensuring Elumeril’s package for Elenath was enclosed in a bag, along with other letters and packages for members of the patrol. He smiled when he saw a note being sent to Bellion from Tinánia.

“Her latest archery scores,” said Rawien.  “He always wants to know. He and Meren are two of our best archers, and he still predicts Tinánia will surpass Meren.”

“She might,” admitted Meren from the tree above them. “She is quite good and not even a novice yet!”

A whistle caused Rawien to sit at attention and a moment later he caught a bundle of elfling in his arms.  “Well, look what the squirrels are tossing out of the trees now!”

Legolas giggled.  “Sadron tossed me, not a squirrel.”

“Be good, Legolas.  Tathiel said she wants to hear how cooperative you were when you get home,” said Rawien as he hugged the elfling.

“I will,” agreed Legolas as he was tossed again, this time back to his brother.

“I think at the next summer solstice games we should have a new contest called ‘toss the elfling’.  Participants will take turns seeing how high or how far they can throw Legolas,” suggested Laerion from the tree branch where he sat with Meren and Sadron.

Legolas groaned.  “I cannot wait until I am too big for everyone to keep throwing me!”

“May that day be a long way off,” said Bregolas quietly.  “Safe trip, Rawien.”

Rawien waved as he headed out with the scouts.  Those left in the camp watched until the canopy of trees embraced him and the group disappeared from sight, but the song of the trees carried for some time the tale of the passage of their well known captain.

“Are you ready for a tracking lesson, Legolas?” asked Bregolas.

“Yes!” Legolas snapped to attention.

“We will hope to find a deer to follow, but if not we will track Sadron,” said Bregolas as the warriors above their heads disappeared into the trees. Laerion and Meren would stay ahead of them, alert to any possibility of danger, and two others would remain behind them, guarding the camp and their backs.

Legolas watched with fascination as his brother slid his quiver and bow on to his back, and then wrapped his sword belt about his hips and slipped his knife into its spot.  His blue eyes glowed with near worship as he looked upon his brother transformed into a warrior.

“Come.  We will start near the river, where the deer often come to drink, and see if we can locate their tracks,” said Bregolas, and he led Legolas out into the forest.

The trees sang as they passed, claiming this wood elf child as their own.

* * *

Garthon’s whistle from near the shore caught Glorfindel’s attention, and he moved swiftly south to join him.

“A boat!” said Garthon as he pulled his prize farther up the bank.

“An ugly boat,” commented Glorfindel as he looked on the orc barge with disgust, “but better than swimming.”

Garthon flashed him a grin and then tossed his captain’s pack onto the floor of the vessel.  After Glorfindel and Nathrion had climbed aboard, he shoved the boat into the water and leapt aboard himself.   They paddled quickly into the current, and headed south and east across the river.

“There,” said Glorfindel softly, pointing at a spot on the far shore.  The hoot of a night owl sounded and all three elves couldn’t help but grin in response.  “The orcs head north.  If we are quick, they will meet us and find themselves snared between our two parties.”

“The only direction they can head will be east, into the forest,” replied Nathrion.  “Wood men or wood elves – which do you suspect will be waiting for them?”

“We are north of the woodmen’s lands.  Wood elves perhaps, once they penetrate deep enough into the forest.”

“We are soon to find out,” replied Glorfindel as their swift strokes grounded the barge.  He jumped to shore with his pack in hand and called softly,  “Come!”

Garthon responded to the hoot of the owl, and in his mind’s eye he could see the glee on his fellow scout’s face.  Soon they would trap this remnant.

* * *

Elladan led the chase as they followed the remaining orcs to the north and east, swiftly covering the grasslands and entering into the canopy of Mirkwood.  The trees were not shadowed here, except for those cast by Ithil through the branches and leaves that had unfurled with the coming of spring.  He remembered the tales Glorfindel told him in his childhood, of how the wood elves could speak to the trees.  The few wood elves he had met had seldom spoken at all.  He had met them at Council meetings in Lothlorien and Imladris, but never in their own territory. Perhaps here they shared their words with the trees and with people, and he would see them in their true light.

He called his position to those behind him, and was pleased to hear Garthon answer him as well.  He, Glorfindel and Nathrion had crossed the river north of them, and were moving in from the west.   He grinned as he saw the clear trail before him, the fleeing orcs doing little to conceal their passage.  They had entered the trees at the western edge of the forest, and Elladan lightly touched the tree that seemed to reach out to him. “Mellon,” he assured the young birch, and then dashed past. To his surprise, he thought he heard a singing call in a voice he had never heard before!  He stopped in his tracks, his ears stretching unconsciously to hear that sound again.  Silence met him, and his heart fell slightly. He caressed an older oak. “That you would speak to me would be my desire,” he whispered.

When no sound followed, he shifted his mind consciously back to his task. “I have orcs to attend to, old one,” he said softly.  “Fare well!”

He resumed his hunt, then, his feet flying noiselessly through the mould of the leaf covered ground.  Suddenly he heard a growing crescendo of sound, like that of a symphony made up only of wood instruments. His heart leapt again, for though he did not understand their song, he knew the trees were speaking to him.  He concentrated on the stately woods, sending his thoughts to them, informing them of the coming of others who also were seeking only the good of the forest.  He raced onward, the trees seeming to guide him along one path, and then another.  Trusting in their good will, he soon found himself deep within the forest, and the sound of orcs grew near.

A beech tree seemed to hold a limb out to him, and he leaped on to the branch.  He could feel life coursing through the wood, and though he had felt this in the trees of Imladris, he had never felt such a connection to the tree itself.  He climbed high, amazed that the branches seemed to be perfectly placed for swiftly climbing feet. 

From his position high above the earth, he could see for many leagues.  Just beyond him, the orcs were again splitting into two groups.  He could not tell which group the orc captain now led, but he heard the tone of the trees change as the orcs moved onward.  He leaned against the beech, touching his thought to its lifeforce, and he heard the trees lament that a young one was nearby.

Elladan climbed swiftly down, amazed at how deep into the forest he had come so quickly.  He hooted twice, then again once.  Answers came quickly, a chirping cricket and a croaking frog.  Elrohir was continuing east into the forest and Glorfindel would follow the group heading north.  Elladan chose to continue on the path that the tree had lamented. Whatever young one was near, he would ensure no harm came to it.  His heart lightened, he flew down the path that seemed to open before him.

* * *

Glorfindel led Garthon and Nathrion northeast into the woods just beyond the Forest Gate.  Based on the direction Elladan had indicated the one group had gone, he hoped to angle in and run nearly parallel to the orcs, then intercept them as their paths crossed.  He set a steady pace, hoping to make it half way to the Forest River by morning.  The elves were lightly burdened and all were swift-footed and uninjured.  Glorfindel felt a swell of excitement grow within him, for seldom had any of Imladris’s elves ventured into the Greenwood.  The trees were truly alive here.  He could hear the murmurings and see the swaying of limbs not caused by wind, and the activity made him feel as if the forest recognized them as friends.

“The air feels charged with energy, like before a thunderstorm,” said Nathrion, awe in his voice.

“This forest feels like a great living thing, as if the trees were part of a greater whole,” added Garthon. 

“It is different in the south,” Glorfindel reminded the two younger elves. “There the trees are no longer friendly, but poisoned and darkened by shadow.  It is said that they no longer aid the wood elves, but ignore them, and even hinder them.”

“Shadow is truly an evil force, then, to turn beautiful woods such as these into something twisted and traitorous to the elves who have long cared for them.”

“Aye,” agreed Glorfindel. “That it is.”

They continued their run through the trees, the trees singing to them and guiding them to paths that even elven eyes would have had a hard time seeing in the dark. It was near dawn when Glorfindel signaled for them to halt and rest. As they sipped from their water skins and nibbled on lembas, Glorfindel heard a bird call that made him smile.

“At least fifteen leagues,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we will squeeze the orcs between some wood elves and ourselves.”

* * *

Elrohir led his small group of elves directly east into the forest.  Elladan had veered slightly off course, and Elrohir had sensed something strange and different in his brother’s demeanor, though his concerns were based on feeling and not words.  He would follow the course his brother had indicated the orc party had gone, heading in a course that would intersect the path that led eastward in from the Forest Gate.  His memory of the lay of the land suggested that the orcs might seek the Emyn-nu-Fuin, the Mountains of Mirkwood, darkened by shadow.  Even Thranduil’s people had moved north, away from the evil that lurked there and into refreshing and clean lands. Yet the trail of the orcs headed north as well, and not to grounds where they might hide in shadow.

Another call sounded, and Elrohir felt some relief to realize that Elladan was again near them, and that he had the orcs in sight.  The orcs were leagues ahead, intent on their northward course.  Elladan’s information came with an increasing sense of urgency, an urgency and excitement that Elrohir could feel in the forest around him.  They needed to intercept the orcs before they delved any deeper into the land of the wood elves.

* * *

Thranduil rose from his chair and walked from his study to the front entrance of his caverns.  He sensed Lathron near him, and together they stood facing to the northwest, Thranduil intent on the word from the forest.  The trees were buzzing with a mixture of excitement and danger. He closed his eyes, and concentrated all his thought over his land.  In an experience he was unable to describe to any, greater than even that which his father, Oropher, had ever known, he felt as if he were lifted high into the branches and harnessed all the power and energy of the trees about him.  He flew over the land, unseeing, yet not unfeeling.   He could sense his children out among the wood: Celebrinduil was south of the caverns, his fëa calm and at rest; Bregolas and Legolas were farther north, and he could tell that Bregolas was at attention and alert; and farther north again he sensed his oldest daughter, Elenath, and felt the strength of her fëa growing in harmony with those around her. The trees passed on tales of danger and pursuit, of new presences in these northern woods, of beings not known to the trees.  Here the information conflicted, some trees reporting fear and distaste of strange and dangerous creatures, and others reporting joy and excitement at the presence of creatures of light and good.

Thranduil projected his power and dominance out over the land, and the trees rejoiced at the presence of their king.  Their murmurs rose in crescendo in response.

Satisfied, yet still full of unease, Thranduil opened his eyes.  Lathron had stepped away from him slightly, his eyes full of wonder and fear.

“Adar?” he asked softly.

“Do you sense that Legolas is in danger?” Thranduil asked him abruptly.

Lathron shook his head.  “No, Adar.  Yet I remain uneasy.”

Thranduil listened again to the forest. Whatever evil had entered his land, it could and would be contained soon. He walked into the garden, beckoning Lathron to follow him.  “Come and sit watch with me.” 

The King sat in the darkness until dawn came.

* * *

 mellon.........friend