I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enlarged imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

5. Glimpses

Thranduil awoke with a start and lay for a moment in his dimly lit chamber trying to determine what had pulled him so abruptly from the dream path along which he had been walking.  He felt as if he had forgotten something or perhaps mislaid it.  Something was absent that should have been securely tucked in his safekeeping.  But what?

He rolled onto his side and gazed at the fire that burned low in the grate.  It had been months since any of the inhabited parts of the palace had been without fires, for the cold of this Long Winter was penetrating even into the normally temperate caverns.  The forest still yielded enough fuel to keep his people warm, but they were having to go further and further afield to find it without harming healthy, living trees.  His people might yet be driven to cutting these trees down, but they would not do so without pain, and Thranduil would mourn the forest’s loss along with them.

He thought again of the late-night meeting he had had with his advisors over the dwindling food supplies.  They had proposed gathering all of the food into a central storage and then rationing it so that at least all of the children would be well fed. The adults could survive for longer with less to eat, but the little ones needed nourishment to grow properly.  He did not like to interfere with his people’s management of their own supplies and thought they would see to the welfare of the children on their own if they were reminded of the need to do so.  But his advisors’ plan was well thought out, and he would have to tell them quickly if they could act upon it, or it might be too late to do much good.  He sighed.  Problems always looked worse in the night, he reminded himself.  He should set this one aside to consider in the light of day.

He tried again to think of what might have awakened him, and suddenly he realized why he was disturbed.  He caught his breath sharply.  The bonds he had with his children told him that one of them was in trouble, and without even trying he knew which one it was.  Something was the matter with Eilian.  He sat up and reached for his night robe.  He would not sleep again tonight.

Given his middle son’s daring habits and the nature of a warrior’s life, this was far from the first time that Thranduil had felt terror tug at his heart on Eilian’s account. Eilian had frightened him beyond reason from the time he was small.  Thranduil had tried to restrain his son’s impetuousness by every means at his disposal:  advice, punishment, close supervision, anything he could think of.  But the only person who had ever really had an impact on Eilian’s behavior had been his mother.  His desire to please her had made him curb his own impulses in a way that nothing else ever had.  Lorellin had always argued that Eilian was doing his best to earn Thranduil’s approval too, but Thranduil had never been able to see it, particularly not when Eilian had been younger.

In recent years, Thranduil thought that Eilian had become more responsible in his role as a warrior and captain, but he still did not trust his son to take sufficient care of his own skin.  Now he drew on his robe and went to sit in the chair nearest the fire.  He took up the poker, stirred the flames, and added more wood.  Then he sat back, leaned his head against the chair, and closed his eyes for a moment.  How cruel love was, he thought.  It tore away any armor one might don against grief, and, in the bodies and spirits of those one loved, it made one vulnerable to all the mischance that was possible in a dangerous world.  He would sit vigil this night for the child he did not understand but loved anyway, in the depths of his heart beyond those in which understanding was necessary.

***

“The storm is passing,” Maltanaur announced.  “How many Elves will you send with me to search for them?”

Sórion glanced quickly around at the warriors who were sheltering from the storm in the thick evergreen grove.  When the storm had grown worse, he had ordered them to let the last of the fleeing Orcs go and take refuge here.  The battle had probably gone on longer than it otherwise would have because Sórion had realized that he was in command only when Maltanaur had finally told him that he could not find Eilian anywhere.

Maltanaur had not seen Legolas either, for that matter, and Sórion counted himself lucky that Beliond had been sent back to camp before Legolas’s absence was discovered, or he would have had both keepers breathing down his neck.  He was surprised that Maltanaur had waited as long as he had, but he supposed that the wily old warrior was far too experienced to go haring off in the middle of a blizzard, even if he was frantic over the loss of his charge.

And on the verge of anger, too, Sórion could see, although he thought that Maltanaur’s incipient fury was probably caused mostly by worry.  But if at least one of Thranduil’s sons was not injured now, they would both be by the time Maltanaur got through with them.

“I need to send a guard of at least six warriors back to camp with the three newly wounded ones,” Sórion said.  “The rest of us will form the search party.”

“I will be in command of it,” Maltanaur said flatly.

Sórion nodded.  Maltanaur and Beliond usually behaved as if they were under the command of Sórion and Eilian, but everyone knew that in matters of Eilian’s and Legolas’s safety, they answered only to Thranduil.  “I will send the wounded on their way, and then we await your orders.” He went to see to his warriors as quickly as he could.  If one or both of Thranduil’s sons were injured, it would be best to retrieve them with all speed.  The storm was abating, but the cold still bit deep, and too many Orcs had escaped in the confusion of the battle for Sórion to feel comfortable leaving two warriors on their own, even under the doubtful assumption that they were both hale.

***

Legolas slid along the front of the ridge outside the cave, moving as far away from the entrance as possible before running across the snow and taking shelter in the evergreens.  The snow was beginning to lessen, and although enough was still falling that his light tracks would be filled in short order, he did not want leave any more sign than he had to that someone was in the cave.

Outside of the cave, he could hear the Orcs more clearly. They were a mile or so away, coming from his right and heading for the cave.  The band was on the small side, but it was big enough.  The sound of their tramping was muffled by the snow, but he guessed there were between ten and fifteen.  His mind worked frantically, trying to think of how to draw them away from where Eilian lay helpless.

With his heart beating wildly, he ran so that his path would cross that of the Orcs as far as possible from the caves.  The noise of their passage grew louder, carried toward him on the wind along with their smell.   The fact that he was downwind from them meant that they would have to rely on their eyes and ears to know where he was, and that gave him an advantage, for he thought he could let himself be heard and seen or not, just as he chose. But what would draw them after him?

They should see a crippled Elf, he thought suddenly. They should think I will be easy prey, and if the storm is beginning to let up, perhaps they will want food more than they want shelter.  His stomach twisted again as he thought of the bones in the central cave.  I will need to be careful, he thought.  If anything happens to me, Eilian is not going to survive.

He was now directly in the path that the Orcs were following, but he moved slightly across it so that they would be between him and the caves and thus would have to move away from Eilian to follow him.  Then, with his heart in his throat, he waited in the shadow of an evergreen for the Orcs to approach.

As he waited, his thoughts drifted to the story his brother had been telling him of those hot summer days when he had first been a novice and the Shadow had begun to make itself felt again in Thranduil’s realm.  Despite his tension, he could not help smiling slightly to himself at the wild young Elf his brother had been.  He was not at all surprised by the recklessness Eilian had attributed to himself.  His father had always discouraged such stories being repeated to Legolas, probably fearing that he might want to imitate the brother he loved so uncritically.  But Legolas had overheard enough over the years to know that Eilian was seldom as careful as he should be of his own safety.

He had to admit, however, that he was a little shocked by the lack of concern about the return of the Shadow that Eilian had evidently displayed.  How could his brother have been so untroubled by the presence of a threat that was one of the central facts of Legolas’s life?  Legolas could not remember a time when he had not seen fighting the Shadow as part of his duty both as the son of the Woodland Realm’s king and as someone who was outraged by the damage the Shadow did, even apart from the personal suffering it had caused him in the form of his mother’s death.  But Eilian had been raised in a time of peace, he reminded himself, and he had been young when the Shadow returned to Dol Guldur.  It was really no wonder that he failed to understand just what that return really meant.

His ears told him that the Orcs were drawing near.  In the snow and the dark, he had to let them get much closer than he liked before he could be sure they would see him.  He forced himself to stand still when every nerve in his body cried out for him to move, to get to where there were trees he could scale, to put as much distance as he could between himself and his much more numerous enemy.  As he peered through the snow at the shadowy outline of the first Orc, he suddenly realized that if he wanted them to see him, he was going to have to stay within a distance that was within reach of their bows.

For the first time, he felt a tremor of fear.  With determination born of long training, he shoved it aside.  He would simply have to be careful, he told himself.  He drew a deep breath, nocked one of his precious few arrows, and stepped out from the trees long enough to send an arrow winging its way into the throat of an Orc who carried a bow.  Then he whirled, with his cloak flying out in as eye-catching a motion as he could manage, and set off through the trees, limping as obviously as possible.

Behind him, there was a moment’s stunned silence, and then, with a roar, the Orcs came after him.  An arrow flew past his left ear, and he began moving a little more quickly, weaving among the trees to make himself a more difficult target.  Another arrow sailed sailed into a tree over his head, making his breath quicken, and for a moment, he was forced to leap ahead where he was reasonably certain that the still-falling snow would veil him from the less acute eyes of the Orcs.  He nocked another arrow and fired it the minute he could be certain of hitting another Orc archer. Then he once again let himself be seen and hobbled away with the enemy in pursuit.

I have to lead them far enough away that they will not go back to the cave, he thought, but I cannot stay away from there for too long.  He spurted forward again over the top of the drifts and then waited for the Orcs to wade through the snow and catch up so that he could use another arrow.  He loosed the shaft and then slid into view and deliberately tripped, trying to make himself look vulnerable.  Eilian would have enjoyed this game, he thought bleakly.  I will have to tell him about it. And then he wondered, How is Eilian now?  Has he moved enough to start the bleeding again?  Did all the Orcs follow me?  He could not know the answers to these questions, but he also could not stop asking them.

***

Eilian lay as still as he could, listening to fading sound of Orcs drifting to him over the moan of the wind.  Be careful, brat, he silently urged.  Take no chances.  I see that you are a warrior.  You have nothing to prove to me or anyone else.

And surprisingly enough, he meant it.  As he had told the story about himself as a novice, one part of his mind had been busy noticing what Legolas had managed to do while he had been unconscious.  They were sheltered and reasonably warm and his wound had been tended to.  Eilian knew his little brother well enough to guess that Legolas had probably anguished over each of those things, but he had done them and then had wrapped them both in his cloak and asked for a story.

Eilian smiled to himself a little wryly.  He had felt distinctly odd letting Legolas take care of him.  His care for his little brother was one of the most constant forces in Eilian’s life, and he could feel its shape changing, even as he clung to it.  You will never be grown up enough for me to stop protecting you as much as I can, little brother, he thought, so there is no point in even trying.  He found that certainty satisfying.  What was the meaning of anything if he could not keep those he loved safe?

Then his anxiety bubbled up again.  He most assuredly was not protecting Legolas at the moment.  Be careful, he repeated to himself. Be careful.

He shifted slightly.  Although he knew that movement would worsen his bleeding, the pain in his hip made it very difficult to stay still.  He had not told Legolas about the pain. His brother could do nothing to alleviate it, so there was no point in upsetting him.  He squirmed in an effort to find a more comfortable position and then stopped himself as best he could.

Think about something else, he told himself, and immediately his mind went to Celuwen.  He was only too prone to thinking about Celuwen even when he tried not to, and talking to Legolas about her had brought her uppermost in his mind.  Naneth knew what the matter was with her and with me too, he thought wryly.  His mind began to drift, and he pictured again how the young Celuwen had looked when he had followed his mother’s advice and gone to speak to her after completing the next day’s tedious work in the armory.

~*~*~

As Eilian approached Celuwen’s cottage, he rehearsed in his mind what he would say.  He would tell her that he and Gelmir had missed her the other evening and that he hoped she would sit with them and dance with him at the solstice feast the next evening.  And if she said she would not, he would ask her why.  He and she had danced together at feasts from the time they could first toddle.  If she refused him that, then he thought she owed him an explanation.

He emerged from the trees to find both Celuwen and her father on their cottage roof repairing the thatching.  He stood for a moment looking up at her.  To make it easier to move about on the roof, Celuwen had tucked the hem of her skirt into her belt on one side.  As it moved in and out of the drape of her skirts, the long line of her leg was visible in glimpses halfway up her thigh.  And suddenly, Eilian’s breath caught and he felt an unexpected stir of desire.

It was not as if he had never seen Celuwen’s legs before, he told himself a little desperately.  Indeed, he had seen her naked.  After all, they had slept in one another’s homes when they were little.  Moreover, he and she and Gelmir had defied the conventions that said that males and females swam in separate pools and gone to a pond in the forest to swim together.  But then there had been that day when she had hesitated while undressing and had finally dived into the water still wearing her shift.  And in an unspoken accord they had never referred to, he and Gelmir had left their leggings on.  That had been the last time that Celuwen had gone to the forest pool with them.  It had been years ago, he realized and with the thought came the admission that they had been different then.  This maiden who was now before him surely could not be the elleth with whom he had played.  And yet she was, and that too, made him breathless.

Celuwen turned and caught sight of him standing below.  “Hello, Eilian,” she called and, after looking to her father for permission, she climbed down the ladder, untucked her skirt, and came to speak to him.  Her face was flushed from the heat, which must have been even worse on the roof, and he watched in fascination as a drop of sweat trickled down the opened neck of her gown to disappear between her breasts.  He suddenly realized that she was looking at him quizzically and waiting for him to speak.  He tried to swallow but found that his mouth was too dry.

“I came to ask if you will sit with Gelmir and me at the solstice feast tomorrow,” he finally managed to get out.

She looked pleased.  “Of course I will.  Do you have to eat with your parents?”

Eilian nodded.  In the last year, his father had begun requiring him to sit at the high table and form part of the pageant of royalty while the feast was in progress.   “But I will be free to do as I like once everyone is finished eating,” he told her.  “I was hoping we could dance together.”  Her eyes were grave now, and they looked at one another for a moment as if they had things to say that had not occurred to them before.

“Go on inside now, Celuwen,” her father’s voice interrupted them. “Your naneth needs your help with evening meal.”

“Yes, Adar,” she said without taking her eyes from Eilian’s.  And then she flashed him a smile and ran into the cottage.

Eilian found himself face to face with Celuwen’s father and felt color rising to the roots of his hair.  Celuwen might not have known what he had been thinking, but her father certainly did.  “Goodbye, Eilian,” her father finally said, and taking the hint, Eilian turned and fled.

***

Eilian shifted impatiently.  His father was talking to one of his advisors who had brought a report and was now bending over the king listening to instructions. Indeed, this advisor was the third one who had interrupted the feast so far, and the royal family had been late arriving at the feast because Thranduil had been shut up with his council until the very last minute and beyond.  Eilian assumed that they were still conferring about whatever was happening near Dol Guldur, but the only thing he knew for certain was that his father appeared worried and was assuredly short tempered.

His mother smiled at him from his father’s other side.  She could read him quite well and knew he was eager to be released so that he could join his friends.  The advisor bowed and withdrew, and Thranduil turned back to the feast.

“The musicians are ready and waiting for your signal to begin, my lord,” Lorellin told him.  Brought back to something that was important to his wife, Thranduil gestured for his minstrels to begin the music that was a significant part of his people’s celebration of their oneness with Arda.

Eilian leaned toward his father. “Adar, may I be excused?”

“Not yet,” Thranduil answered.  His tone was peaceable enough, but there was also a note of warning in it, and Eilian bit his lip.  His father wanted to talk to him about something and was waiting for the right moment to do it.

Hand in hand, two elflings came running up to the high table.  “My lady! My lady!” one of them cried.  “Come and dance with us!”

Eilian could not suppress a grin, and a glance at his father told him that Thranduil was smiling broadly as Lorellin rose and ran lightly around the table to clasp hand with the elflings and dance away into the crowd of Elves now moving onto the green.  Thranduil had often enough told the story of how his first glimpse of her had been at a feast where she was dancing with an elfling.  Children frequently sought her out at feasts even now that she was queen.

They watched her dance for a moment in companionable silence.  Then Thranduil said, “I understand that you have behaved recklessly at training.”  He turned his sharp grey eyes on Eilian, who could feel color rising into his face.

“Did Ithilden tell you that?” he asked resentfully.

“No.  He should have but he did not.  However, you should not be surprised by now to learn that many people run to tell me of events great and small, particularly when they know those events will be as important to me as your well-being is.”  Thranduil’s face softened a little.  “You are precious to your naneth and me, iôn-nín, more precious than you evidently are to yourself.  Do you want to make your naneth unhappy?”

Eilian grimaced.  Thranduil certainly knew where to turn the knife.  “No,” he responded.  And in truth, his father’s expression of affection moved him far more than a scolding would have done.

“Then do not do things that would frighten her if she knew about them.”  Thranduil’s tone was firm now, and all Eilian could do was nod.  “You may go,” his father told him and Eilian rose, bowed, and started off toward Gelmir and Celuwen, whom he had spotted sitting together at the other end of the green.

He had gotten about halfway to his friends when he realized that he had forgotten the delicately colored stone he had found in the garden that day.  Celuwen liked such stones and arranged them in different patterns in her family’s cottage and out of doors too.  He turned back to retrieve it from where he had left it next to his plate at the high table, but the dancers were so thick now that he was forced to go around the edge of the green and approach the high table from behind.

His mother had returned from her dance with the elflings and now leaned against his father, laughing and telling him of things they had said that amused her.  Neither one of them noticed Eilian’s approach.  His mother turned her joyous face toward his father, and Eilian’s heart leapt at the sight of her.  He would be more careful in the future, he resolved. He did not want to make his mother unhappy.

“We should have another baby, Thranduil,” Lorellin said in a low voice.

Thranduil gave a short laugh.  “So you have said before. And I have said before, do you not think we have enough problems raising the child we have?”  He sobered.  “Besides, the times are bad and I am afraid they are about to get worse.  I am not sure we should be bringing another child into the world just now.  Eilian is likely to have to use every single warrior skill he is learning, and having even two sons doing battle with the enemy is more than I can bear to think about.”

Eilian stood hesitantly behind them and finally decided that he would give the stone to Celuwen another time.  He withdrew as silently as he had come and walked pensively toward his friends.

~*~*~

Eilian’s mind was wandering slowly along the corridors of memory and dreams.  On some level, he was aware that the fire was dying and the cave was growing colder.  The wound in his hip was throbbing, and although he knew he was to keep still, he could not help moving.

Someone was whistling a signal that meant he was to come out, but Legolas had said to keep still.  He and Legolas were hiding.  The other elflings were searching for them.  For a second only, he wondered at the fact that Legolas was with him, playing this game, but then he was swept up in the joy of fooling his friends.  Someone called his name and Legolas’s too, but he kept still, just as Legolas had told him to do.

The voices faded away, and he drifted for a while in silence.  He was growing quite drowsy and he thought he might just take a little nap.  His last thought before he fell into deep sleep was that Maltanaur was going to be amusingly angry when he realized how well Eilian had fooled him.

*******

AN:  If you want to read about Thranduil’s first meeting with Lorellin (when she dances with elflings), that event is told in Nilmandra’s story “First Celebrations” which is here at Stories of Arda.