Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 6: From mighty warriors to an elfling’s captives

Bregolas awoke in the predawn morning to find Sadron and Laerion standing a few feet from where he was lying with Legolas cuddled against him.  Wind rushed through the trees and the woods answered in a cacophony of responses that varied from awe and love, to anger and determination.  The air bristled with energy that felt as if thunder were about to roll and lightning about to strike, yet no storm clouds appeared on the horizon.

Sadron and Laerion both held their bows loosely in hand, caught between feelings of threat and the lack of actual danger.  In a tree high above them, a call was sounded.  Bregolas recognized Meren’s sweet treble informing them that a battle was in the offing not far to their southwest.

Bregolas rose, noting that the elves who had served as rear guard the day before had gone to investigate the unease of the forest.  He lifted his sleeping little brother into his arms, and sprang into the low branches of the friendly beech above him.  Sadron and Laerion began moving all the packs into the trees as well, and the horses nickered their response to stay near the river and quiet.

Sadron held Legolas while Bregolas strapped on his quiver and positioned his bow for easy reach.  Bregolas took the sleeping elfling back into his arms then.  He felt a momentary flare of anger that danger would dare to come this close to the home of the wood elves, a momentary flare of anger at himself for putting his little brother in this danger.  He looked at the innocent form cradled in his arms, and thought of the trust that Legolas had that Bregolas would protect him.  Though Meren’s call had indicated the battle to be small and the enemy few, he still gathered Legolas close. He would allow none other to be the final protection between his baby brother and any enemy.

* * *

Elenath moved swiftly through the trees, her bow held ready, and Aranu just several steps in front of her.  She had been on watch when she heard the distinctive sound of orcs, a sound not often heard in the northern reaches of the forest, but one not easily forgotten.  She felt the thrill of anticipated battle race through her, a strange combination of excitement and fear.   Seldom had she battled orcs, and each time had been on the edge of the forest, beyond the Forest River.  She had immediately sent the call back to camp and was not surprised when her captain had been the first to join her.  Her brother, Bregolas, said that Aranu lived for action and excitement. She knew the rest of the patrol followed closely behind them.

Elenath slowed as the sounds increased and watched in amusement as Aranu seemed to force himself to do the same.  He motioned for her to stay where she was, and then crossed to the next tree.  Elenath sensed the other elves taking up positions around her, arrows nocked, as they waited.

The first orc appeared moments later, quickly followed by five others.  Elenath released her arrow at Aranu’s call, and watched as all six orcs were felled, most with multiple arrows, before even one could draw a weapon. The forest had grown silent, and it soon became apparent that no others followed these.

Aranu dropped to the ground, signaling several others to join him.  Two orc throats were quickly slit as the elves ensured all were dead.

“That was hardly a battle,” groused Aranu. “They did not even put up a fight.”

A pyre was quickly built in a clearing and the orcs piled on top, then set to flame.  Elenath joined the others in moving upwind of the smell of burning flesh.

A sudden call came, one foreign and yet known to them. In puzzled caution, the elves moved to the trees, again, nocking their arrows in readiness.  Another call came, and Aranu again did not respond.  Suddenly, three strange elves appeared below them in the clearing, a golden haired warrior moving quickly to the burning bodies of the orcs. He grabbed a branch and poked at the engulfed bodies, as if seeking to extract one.

The warrior quickly realized the futility of his actions, and threw down the branch in disgust.  He looked up into the trees and called, “For days we have tracked them and pursued their captain, in hopes of learning what message he bore north.  Did you at least search the bodies?  Was anything found?”

Elenath was surprised at the cultured yet clearly annoyed voice.  Who was this elf to come into the Woodland Realm and speak to them thus?  To her surprise, Rawien dropped to the ground behind the golden haired one.

“Far you stray from the hidden valley, Glorfindel of Imladris,” he said.  “What interest does an orc captain hold for you that you drive him into the arms of the wood elves?”

Glorfindel turned slowly, his hands clearly visible to all, to face the elf behind him.

“Curiosity and a challenge, Rawien of Greenwood,” answered Glorfindel with a slight bow of his head.  “Word came from the Dunedain of the north that orcs approached from the Ettenmoors. We engaged them in the Misty Mountains, a larger party than anticipated. To our surprise, they crossed the Anduin and again headed north. The sons of Elrond chase another group of five south of here.”

At that word, half of the patrol immediately faded into the trees and raced south. Elenath stayed with Gaelim, for he was her usual assigned partner.

“The captain bore a message,” continued Glorfindel, “a message he was to bear north at all cost.  Our scouts overheard enough conversation to know that his mission was of the utmost priority.”

Elenath was sure that Glorfindel knew that part of the patrol had departed. Aranu had gone too, indicating that despite the many arrows still pointed at the heads of these three strange elves, they were not considered a threat.

“We did not search them, but ensured they were dead and disposed of them in flame,” replied Rawien.

“You could not know he bore information important to Shadow. At least the message can no longer be delivered,” said Glorfindel, a hint of frustration still apparent in his voice.

“And your curiosity cannot be satiated,” replied Rawien.  “Come, old friend, we will escort you to your patrol.”

Elenath watched as Rawien led the three in the direction the rest of the patrol had gone, then settled on to a comfortable branch of the tree she remained in.  She would watch until the flames burned out, then turn over the soil and ash to ensure no sparks remained. Glad for the quiet, she pulled from a pouch in her quiver the small leather bag that Elumeril had sent to her.  She loosened its ties and reached inside, pulling forth the silver ring nestled within.  For a moment she saw her father’s face reflected in the metal.  I do not think you know Gaelim, Adar, but you will like him once you have met him.  Bregolas will approve, too, and that will further convince you.  Elenath was glad that her leave was approaching, for Aranu knew of their love and was sending them home together.  Gaelim would ask her father permission to court her, and only after that permission was obtained would they exchange silver rings.  She did not need the ring in her possession now, but it made her glad to hold it close to her body in anticipation. Elumeril would keep her secret.

Pulling herself from her reverie, she returned the ring to its place and leaped to the ground to begin smothering the ashes of the dead orcs.

* * *

Elrohir led the race into the darkness and knew they were gaining ground as the noise of the orcs grew closer.   Suddenly, he saw yellow eyes before him and a long silver blade arced through the air. He leapt over the blade, feeling the bite of its steel nick the soft flesh of his abdomen, then somersaulted and rolled to his feet. In a moment he was on the orc, yanking its head back by greasy hair and slitting its throat.  

He slumped momentarily as his fellow warriors surrounded him, searching the area for others.  He pushed the orc away from him, noticing as he did so that the orc had serious wounds to his abdomen.

“He was injured and could not keep up,” said Elrohir. “He still has an arrow head in his gut.”

He wiped his dagger in the grass, then rose to his feet. He fingered his slit tunic, then felt his hands pushed away as Tarag lifted the garment to inspect the wound.

“Flesh wound,” pronounced Tarag.  “Jump higher next time.” With that he rinsed the scratch with water from his water skin, and applied the ointment they used on all superficial wounds.

Elrohir snorted and pushed the hands away as soon as a bandage had been placed over the wound.  “Thank you for the advice.  I am sure to try to follow it the next time an injured orc swings a scimitar at me from where he lies dying on the ground. Come!”

They quickly resumed pursuit.  Elrohir whispered to himself four, and knew that soon there would be none.  They would not allow a single orc to escape into the woods.  Somewhere close by, off to their right, Elrohir heard Elladan whistle, and started in surprise when the call was answered by others.  The first hoot came from their northeast and the second from almost directly north of their position.  Elladan answered them both.

“Wood elves,” whispered Meldon.

“These orcs are ours,” answered Elrohir possessively.  “We have chased them and will finish them.”

With that, the Imladris elves found a sudden burst of speed and caught sight of the four remaining orcs as they entered a small clearing in the forest.  The trees seemed to be cheering the elves on.  Elrohir nocked an arrow even as he ran, and loosed it as soon as he was in range of the first orc.  To his pleasure it fell, and he saw another drop in front of it as Tarag’s arrow flew true.  One of the orcs turned in a last stand, and released his only arrow of the short battle.  He died with a feral grin on his face and three arrows protruding from his chest.

Elrohir heard Tarag grunt and fall, and he turned back immediately, leaving Meldon and Lamath to pursue the last orc.  He heard their arrows sing and the cry of the orc as he dropped to his knees at Tarag’s side.

He could see the oily substance dripping down the shaft of the arrow and pooling around the wound in Tarag’s right chest.  The wound was deep, and he had little time to act if he was to save his fellow warrior’s life.

“Hold on, Tarag,” he said firmly, and as soon as he felt Tarag’s hands gripping his tunic firmly, he wrenched the arrow free.

Tarag could not help but cry out in agony as the barbed tip tore flesh when Elrohir pulled it out.  The wound bled freely, burning with the poison, and Elrohir let it bleed.  He emptied his water skin over the wound, diluting the blood and rinsing the poison away from the wound.   When the bleeding finally began to slow on its own, Elrohir packed herbs into the rent flesh and then bandaged and bound the wound.

Tarag had squeezed his eyes tightly shut at the pain, but now as it lessened, as the herbs numbed the wound, he began to breathe easier and opened his eyes.  Elrohir smiled at him.  “Now who is in need of advice, my friend?” he teased.

Elrohir watched as Tarag’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked beyond Elrohir, and Elrohir felt the sudden sensation of knowing there was someone behind him.  He looked up to see Meldon and Lamath holding their bows loosely, and then slowly turned around. 

Multiple arrows were pointed at him by wild looking elves.  The sun was just beginning to rise behind them, bathing them in the glow of the morning’s first light.   One of the wild elves motioned for him to stand, and he did so.  To Elrohir’s surprise, several of the elves quickly fashioned a litter and then carefully loaded Tarag on to it, whispering words of comfort as they did so.  The rest of the elves held their bows with arrows loosely nocked and pointed at the heads of Elrohir, Meldon and Lamath.  One of the wood elves motioned for them to begin to walk forward, and the elves of Imladris did so. The only sound Elrohir heard was that of Tarag laughing with those elves who carried him, and apparently, entertained him.  Confused by their reception, he followed, wondering if Elladan was likewise captured.

* * *

Elladan watched as his twin and the others were led away under guard, disbelief and then anger flooding over him.  He had just decided to climb down from his perch and follow when elves materialized on either side of him.

“Does not our common enemy make us at least allies, if not friends?” Elladan finally asked, anger in his voice as he looked down the shaft of the arrow in his face.

The elf laughed and lowered his bow.  “Yes.”

With that, the elf leapt to the next tree, and motioned for Elladan to follow him.  Elladan looked at the great distance the elf had just jumped, and then at how far down the ground was.  He could walk through the trees where the branches were close together, but these elves raced through the trees as if they were on solid ground!

“The tree will not let you fall,” the elf informed him.

Elladan touched the stately oak, and felt the whispered encouragement flow through the coarse bark.  He walked out on the branch and suddenly found another branch from the next tree in front of him.  Gathering his courage, he began to move through the trees like the wood elves escorting him, not comfortable with their speed yet, but thrilled none the less.

* * *

Elrohir followed the elves carrying Tarag, and found himself warming up to the strange elves carrying his friend.  They spoke to him and touched him often, and Elrohir knew their touch was imparting some form of comfort and healing, for already Tarag looked stronger.  The elves surrounding them had lowered their bows, and soon one fell into step at Elrohir’s side.

“Son of Elrond, what has caused you to leave the hidden valley?” the elf asked.

Elrohir blinked.  How did this elf know he was Elrond’s son? And wasn’t it obvious they were chasing orcs? He looked at the elf incredulously and saw a twinkle in the eye of the otherwise expressionless face. He took a deep breath.

“Chasing orcs that have moved south from the Ettenmoors,” he finally replied. “Their captain bore a message that caused them to flee back northward.”

“He is dead,” the elf answered.

Elrohir looked up in surprise.  “What was the message he carried?”

“I do not know,” the elf replied.  “Regardless, he will not be delivering it now.”

They walked for several hours, the pace comfortable for those carrying Tarag.  When Elrohir tried to take a turn at carrying the litter, they merely laughed at him and told him they would carry his injured friend and to rest, as he had run all night. Finally, they entered a clearing near a small stream and the wood elves set Tarag down in the shade of a large beech tree.  Suddenly, more elves dropped from the trees. At least these do not hold arrows to my head, thought Elrohir.

“Mae Govannen, Elrondion,” spoke a tall, dark haired elf as he approached Elrohir. “I am Bregolas, son of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm.”

Elrohir laid his hand across his heart and bowed slightly to the tall elf, who repeated the action.  “Suliad, Bregolas.  I am Elrohir.”

A slight movement above Bregolas’s head caught Elrohir’s attention, and to his surprise, Bregolas reached above his head and caught an elfling in his arms.  He set the youngster on his feet, and the child looked upon Elrohir gravely from his position of safety on top of Bregolas’s feet, one hand tightly clutching the older elf’s trousers.

“Is he our prisoner?” the elfling asked.

Elrohir smiled at the child, waiting for Bregolas to explain that they were friends.

“What would you do with him as a prisoner?” asked Bregolas.

The elfling looked at Elrohir thoughtfully.  “I would take him to Ada.  Ada would know what to do with him.”

At that moment, three more elves dropped from the trees.  Elrohir saw Elladan with the two wood elves, and felt himself relax with relief at the sight of his twin.  Elladan walked to him, embracing him and then turning to greet those Elrohir had been speaking to.

* * *

Elladan looked down at the elfling before him, and immediately bent forward to greet the child.  The elfling looked at him through wide blue eyes, then turned to look at Elrohir, and then back at Elladan.  A look of utter fear crossed his face and he cried out, “Ai!” as he scrambled to hide behind the big elf.

Elladan felt his feet swept out from underneath him and then dirt and leaves filled his nose and mouth, and he gasped as a knee shoved into his upper back, pinning him securely.  He tried to roll over, but found another weight on his lower legs. He did manage to turn his head slightly, the elf attempting to flatten him allowing him to at least breathe, and saw that Elrohir was likewise occupied a few feet away.  In the ensuing silence, he heard voices.

“Legolas, what is it?” the big elf was asking, the elfling now in his arms, his face buried.

The elfling looked down at the two elves who were pinned securely to the ground, and then back at the one holding him.

“Bregolas, they are the same.”

Bregolas laughed.  “They are twins, Legolas. Twins are sibling born at the same time who sometimes look exactly alike.”

“How does their ada know which is which?”

“Why don’t you ask one of them?”

Legolas slid carefully down the elf whom Elladan had determined to be his brother. He squatted down in front of Elrohir, and the elf sitting on Elrohir’s back allowed Elrohir to raise his head up far enough to look at the elfling.

“Elrohir, how does your ada tell you from that elf?” Legolas pointed at Elladan.

Elrohir smiled wryly.  “I am smarter and better looking.”

Elladan groaned.  “Right, that is why I am having my identical face ground into the dirt and you are not.”

“Point taken,” replied Elrohir.

The little elf called Legolas tapped him impatiently on the head.  “You are not being very cooperative, Elrohir.”

“I do not know how Adar tells us apart.  He just knows.  So does Naneth.  We have never fooled Naneth,” replied Elrohir honestly.

Legolas sat back on his heels, a disapproving frown on his face.  He crossed his arms over his knees and studied the two again.

“I think you need to think of a better answer, Elladan,” laughed Tarag from his pallet.

Legolas brightened when Elladan turned his head to respond to Tarag. Before Elladan could answer, the little elf had moved to him.

“Your name is Elladan?”  When Elladan nodded, Legolas motioned to Elrohir.  “His name is Elrohir?”  Elladan nodded again.  Legolas smiled.  “Why did you not tell me you had different names?  That is how your Adar and Naneth tell you apart.”  Legolas stood and then sat down on Elrohir’s back, next to the elf who still pinned his twin to the ground.

A smile slowly crossed Legolas’s face, and he called, “Rawien!  I have caught more prisoners!”

Elladan turned his head enough to see Glorfindel following another wood elf into the clearing.  He bent his forehead to the ground, relief flowing through him that Glorfindel would explain everything and these wood elves would get off his back, and they could go home to a place where elflings were sane.

“Mae govannen, Bregolas,” greeted Glorfindel as he stepped over the twins.

“Welcome, Glorfindel,” replied Bregolas.  “We are only a day’s ride from Thranduil’s caverns. You are all welcome to stay while your injured warrior recovers.”

“We appreciate your hospitality,” answered Glorfindel warmly.  Without even a look at the twins, still pinned by wood elves and elflings on their backs, he walked off with Rawien and Bregolas.

“Bregolas!” called Legolas. Bregolas turned to look at his little brother.  “What do we do with our prisoners?”

“That is up to you!” answered Bregolas.  “Just remember you are responsible for them.”

“I have to feed you and take care of you,” said Legolas. He stood up and motioned for the elves sitting on Elladan and Elrohir to get up.

Elladan felt himself pulled to his knees by the elf that had been sitting on him, and he stretched and brushed the twigs and dirt from his tunic.  Turning, he saw Elrohir doing the same, but his twin had a slight grimace on his face, and then Elladan saw the cut in his twin’s tunic.

“Are you injured?” he asked, jumping to his feet and taking a step towards Elrohir.  The wood elf let him go, but stayed at his side.

“It is already tended to and healing,” replied Elrohir, brushing him off.

“Stand up,” demanded Elladan.  When Elrohir did, he pushed his brother’s tunic up and looked at the now dirt covered bandage wrapped about his abdomen.  Tinges of blood stained through. He turned to where the other Imladris elves sat together.  “Garthon, please bring Elrohir’s pack and healer’s kit.”

To Elladan’s surprise, a she-elf rose and brought the pack near.  She spread out a blanket on the ground, and motioned for Elrohir to lie down.  Kneeling down next to him, she pushed up his tunic and then cut off the dirty and stained bandage.

“The scimitar that did this was poisoned,” she said calmly.  “It is but a flesh wound and yet it bleeds still. You should not have been lying on your abdomen.”

Elrohir looked at her in disbelief. “I do not recall that I had a choice in the matter.”

“I will see that he is properly cared for, Meren,” said Legolas as he knelt next to her.  “He is my prisoner and I am responsible for him.”

Meren looked at the elfling gravely. “I will help you.  Elrohir needs to rest.  Do not let Sadron sit on him anymore.”

Legolas nodded his head in agreement, and then held the herbs and bandages for Meren as she tended to Elrohir.  Elladan sat near his twin, but was not allowed to help at all.  Meren had Legolas running to do her bidding, finding a clean tunic for Elrohir to wear, bringing water for him to drink and even helping carry a container of water with Sadron, which was used to wash Elrohir. 

“When did you last eat?” Meren asked Elrohir.

Elrohir had nearly drifted off under her gentle touch, and Elladan answered for him.  “Sometime yesterday.”

“Legolas, bring plates for Elrohir and Elladan.”

The elfling jumped obediently to his feet again and ran off to the newly built campfire, where Laerion was preparing food for the elves who had spent the night in battle.  He walked slowly and carefully, bringing Elrohir a plate and then making a second trip for Elladan.

Meren began to sing, and several other of the wood elves joined in her song.  Elladan soon realized the trees were harmonizing with them. He suddenly felt weariness overcome him, and barely realized that the elfling Legolas was laying out another blanket for him to lie on.  He let Meren push him down and then pulled Elrohir close, and drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Elrohir awoke several hours later, and tentatively moved.  He was glad the pain and burning in his abdomen had diminished, and he did feel refreshed.  He scooted away from Elladan, but when he sat up he felt a strange tugging on his feet.  He nearly gasped in surprise, and then fell back to the ground in exasperation.  The elfling was sitting at their feet, which he had tied together.  He had not noticed that Elrohir had awakened, but lay on his belly playing with acorns that were arranged in circles and lines.

“What is it, Elrohir?” whispered Elladan.

“We are apparently still prisoners of the elfling,” answered Elrohir.

“They are awake!” cried Legolas as he leapt to his feet.  “Bregolas, we can go now!”

Legolas abandoned his ropes to race to his brother, and Elladan swiftly untied his own feet and then Elrohir’s. 

“Let me see the wound,” said Meren, appearing soundlessly behind them.  She quickly examined Elrohir, and then pronounced, “You shall ride.”

A short time later, camp was broken and the group began the slow trip back to the caverns. Elrohir found himself mounted on Sadron’s horse, and Tarag rode in front of Meren.  Legolas was on his pony, but everyone else walked, the horses trailing along leisurely behind them.

They stopped to rest and eat again, and finally approached the caverns at dusk.  It was a sight Elrohir had never before seen, for it was not a cave as he might have imagined it.  Light shone out from various openings in the cavern walls, and many entrances and balconies seemed to lead into the cavern or smaller ones nearby. The grounds leading up to the caverns were lit with lanterns, and merry elves danced and sang on the grassy expanse before the entrance to the palace. The trees here swayed and sang with the elves, even more so than they had in the forest.  Elrohir felt that crackling energy again as they drew near, and again he looked to the skies for signs of an imminent thunderstorm.  He dismounted as elves came forth to aid Tarag, who was whisked away by wood elf healers who disappeared as quickly as they had come. Bregolas and the elfling Legolas led the way, with Rawien and Glorfindel flanking them, and the rest of the elves of Imladris following.  As they approached the doors, the guards stepped aside and the doors opened as of their own volition.  Fascinated and excited, they walked forward to meet the elven king of the Woodland Realm.

* * * * *