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Spring Awakenings  by daw the minstrel

I borrow characters and situations from Tolkien but they are his. I draw no profit other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

2.  Trouble in the Settlements

The long spring afternoon was waning and rain clouds were gathering when Eilian and Legolas rode back into the stable yard.  Eilian could not remember ever having been so glad to reach the end of a ride.  Legolas had soon slowed his from his initial gallop, but he had then led Eilian on a lengthy jaunt through all the nearer parts of the forest.  At first, Eilian had thought that his brother was intent on putting Eilian’s ability to ride to as thorough a test as possible, but when Legolas threw back his head, laughed aloud, and began to sing, he had realized that his younger brother was also reveling in simply being in a healthy forest where the trees sang in contentment.

With a grimace, he had remembered that Legolas had just returned from his first posting in the realm’s south where the forest moaned with distress or worse, stayed silent altogether.  It had been many years since Eilian had experienced the shock of what the south was like and then come home to the further shock of normal life.  Judging from his own experience, he knew it would take Legolas a day or two to learn to live normally again, to relax from constant vigilance and accept the slow way time flowed when battle and death were not daily companions.  In many ways, it was a change that Eilian still had difficulty accepting, which was why he constantly insisted on being posted back south again.

For a while, Eilian had enjoyed being out in the woods again too. He had been confined for far too long, first to his bed and then to the palace.  But then his hip had begun to throb, and with every jolting stride his horse took, the pain had gradually intensified.  He had controlled his movements and the look on his face as carefully as he could, but he had still worried that Legolas would notice his discomfort and tell their father that Eilian should not be riding.  If that happened, Eilian resolved, he would not accept Legolas’s judgment and would ride anyway, but he would have to either deceive Thranduil or defy him to do it, and the consequences of either course of action would be unpleasant enough that he would prefer not to take them.

A stable hand came running to take their horses.  Ordinarily, Eilian preferred to care for his own horse, but this afternoon, he wanted to get back to his chamber, check his wound, and then soak in a hot bath before he subjected himself to the sharp eyes of his father.  But when he slid off his horse, the pain that stabbed through his left leg surprised him enough that he could not entirely suppress a gasp. Legolas turned abruptly toward him from where he too had just dismounted.

“What is the matter?” he demanded sharply. “Does your wound hurt?”

“No,” Eilian lied quickly. “You would be groaning too if you had not sat a horse in three months before the ride we just took.”

Legolas’s eyes narrowed, and Eilian was hard put to meet them, but he forced his face into as cheery an expression as he could manage and returned Legolas’s gaze with what he trusted was a steady look.  At length, Legolas sighed and looked away, with one hand absently patting his horse’s neck.

“My lords?” the attendant said tentatively, and Eilian surrendered his horse.

“Come,” he prompted Legolas. “I want to see what hot water will do for my sore backside and then I want to talk to Adar before evening meal.”

Legolas joined him in walking toward the palace. “You will ask him for permission to go and visit Celuwen?” he said in what was more statement than question.

Eilian nodded, all his concentration on keeping his walk as normal as possible. When Legolas said nothing more, Eilian glanced at him and found him regarding the path thoughtfully.

When they had almost reached the bridge, the storm that had threatened increasingly all afternoon suddenly broke loose.  A few fat drops of rain struck their bare heads and plopped onto the ground, and then the skies opened and a waterfall of cold spring rain poured down on them.  Eilian braced himself, assuming that Legolas would run the last hundred yards or so to the shelter of the Great Doors, but his brother kept walking at a steady pace. As if feeling Eilian’s quizzical gaze upon him, Legolas raised his eyes to Eilian and smiled faintly. “A little rain will not hurt us,” he asserted.

Eilian blinked.  Like most Wood-elves, he usually enjoyed rain, but under ordinary circumstances he would not have chosen to be out in this freezing downpour.  Before he could say anything, however, they had crossed the bridge and entered the palace with water dripping from their cloaks and hair.  They surrendered their cloaks to the attendant who came toward them with a cry of dismay as soon as they entered the family’s wing and then started down the hallway toward their chambers.

“Good luck with Adar,” Legolas said, opening the door to his own room.  Eilian nodded, too preoccupied with making it to his own room to respond.

Once in his chamber, he hurriedly unfastened his leggings and shoved them down to inspect his hip.  The wound was aching enough that he was almost surprised to find that it looked the same as it had when Belówen had examined it earlier in the day.  It is just pain then, he thought.  A bath will help.  And he made his way toward his bathing chamber, shedding wet clothes as he went.

***

Thranduil looked up from the dispatch he was reading at the sound of a knock on the door to his office. “Come in,” he bid, and Eilian entered the room.

“May I speak to you for a few moments, Adar?” he asked.

“Of course.” Thranduil waved him toward one of the chairs in front of his desk and watched as Eilian walked steadily across the room and seated himself.  He had been expecting Eilian to approach him like this for several days now, ever since his son had begun to be more mobile.  He sat back in his chair and waited for Eilian to begin.

Eilian drew a deep breath.  “I would like your leave to go and visit Celuwen.”

Unsurprised, Thranduil nodded.  When Eilian had first come home, he had had a letter from Celuwen clutched in his hand, but he had been too weak to read it.  In the frightening days and nights that followed, Thranduil had been at his bedside almost constantly, and to his immense gratification, he had been the one whom Eilian asked to read the letter out loud to him on those occasions when he was able to ask for anything at all.  He had known for years that Eilian loved this maiden, and her letter had made it clear that she loved him in return. The only question now was what they should do about it in the face of the duties and dangers surrounding them both. Or rather, that was the only question if one assumed that Eilian was well enough to travel to the settlement in which Celuwen lived.

“I spoke to Belówen after he saw you,” Thranduil said. “He tells me that you may not be able to ride any distance for a while.”

“I did well this afternoon,” Eilian asserted. “I will probably have a few sore muscles because I have not ridden in a while, but my wound looks just as it did.”

Thranduil studied his son’s set face and decided that he needed more than Eilian’s word for his readiness to ride. “Legolas rode with you, did he not?” he asked. When Eilian nodded, he instructed, “Ask one of the servants to fetch him.”

Eilian opened his mouth as if to protest and then thought better of it and went to the door to speak to a servant in the hallway. He resumed his seat to wait in silence until there was a brief tap at the door and Legolas entered in response to Thranduil’s command.

“Did you want me, Adar?” he asked, eyeing Eilian questioningly.

“Yes,” Thranduil said crisply and then turned to Eilian.  “Eilian, would you wait in the hall for a few moments, please?”  Eilian looked startled and then slowly rose and made his way to the door.  Thranduil did not miss the fact that he rolled his eyes at Legolas as he passed him.  Legolas started to grin and then suppressed it when he saw Thranduil watching him. The door closed behind Eilian.

Thranduil turned to Legolas. “You observed Eilian as you rode together today?”  Legolas nodded.  “I want you to tell me whether you think your brother is ready to ride as far as the settlement in which Celuwen lives.”

Legolas hesitated.  “I saw nothing that would indicate otherwise,” he finally said. Thranduil raised an eyebrow and waited in silence, and Legolas grimaced. “I think his leg pains him,” he added reluctantly, “but the settlement is only a day’s ride away, and it is inside the area patrolled by the border guards, so he is unlikely to run into any problems.”

Thranduil considered this answer.  “Very well,” he nodded.  “You may go. Send Eilian back in.”  His youngest son bowed slightly and then left the room. A second later, Eilian entered with a cautiously hopeful look.  Legolas had undoubtedly given him some sort of encouraging signal, Thranduil thought. He gestured Eilian back into his chair.

“So may I go?” Eilian asked.

Thranduil paused.  “What is it you intend to do when you get there, iôn-nín?” he asked gently.

“See Celuwen,” Eilian said immediately. “Tell her that I did write to her and that I have not found another maiden.”  The resentment he felt for whatever Celuwen’s father had told her and had done was obvious.

Thranduil picked up the jeweled dagger he used as a letter opener and began toying with it.  “Is that all?” he asked.

“I will have to see what she says before I know what else I can do,” Eilian said.  Then he drew in a deep breath. “Would you object to a betrothal, Adar?”

Thranduil put the dagger down and regarded him in silence for a moment.  “No, I would not.”  Eilian’s anxious face dissolved into joy, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Thranduil put up his hand to stop him. “I would not object to a betrothal, Eilian, so long as I know that you have thought seriously about your actions.  You know as well as I do that such a betrothal would probably have to last longer than the customary year.  You are away for all but a few weeks during a year, and bonding would be most unwise under those circumstances.”

“I do not see why,” Eilian protested.

“Then you are not thinking,” Thranduil responded sharply.  “What is Celuwen to do when you are away?  Is she to live here by herself?  Is that fair to her?  Would she stay with her parents?  How would you feel about that, Eilian?  You and her adar are hostile enough to one another. Moreover, you might recall that a marriage is the joining of two houses as well as two people.  Her parents have to approve of this match too, unless she wishes to break from them, which I assume she does not.  Are you prepared to do what is necessary to make yourself acceptable to them?  For that matter, are you sure there is anything you can do that would make you acceptable?”

Eilian’s mouth was set in a stubborn line.  “Her parents would come around,” he asserted.

Exasperated, Thranduil brought his palm down hard on his desk. “That is exactly the attitude I was afraid you would take.  You have no right to force Celuwen into such a situation.  And there is another consideration that should shape your action too,” he went on. “You know that the Elves in the settlements are sometimes difficult to govern.  As my son, you must take care not to push them further away from my care.  I have a responsibility to them, and, because of who you are, so do you.”

Eilian’s eyes were on the floor.  “Are you denying me permission to ask her to wed?” he asked without raising them.

“Have you heard me at all, Eilian?” Thranduil asked sharply.

“Yes.”  He still did not meet Thranduil’s eyes.

Thranduil hesitated for a moment and then sighed. “You have my permission to ask her to wed if her parents will consent.”

Eilian let out a deep breath and then rose.  “I will get ready to leave immediately,” he announced.  His face was impassive.

“You will leave tomorrow,” Thranduil interposed.  “In case you have not noticed, it is raining and you have been ill.  A good night’s rest will not come amiss, especially since you are obviously in pain and you will not want to take herbs to dull it enough to sleep while you are in the forest.”

Eilian grimaced but nodded.  “Yes, Adar,” he said, sounding almost suspiciously submissive.

Thranduil watched him leave the room and fervently hoped that his mercurial second son might finally be mature enough to sort matters out with this maiden.

***

Legolas started hurriedly down the hallway toward the dining room.  He had overslept and was late for morning meal. His bed had seemed unbelievably comfortable after sleeping for the last three months first in hollowed out mounds of snow and then on blankets spread over wet ground.  When he reached the door to the dining room, he met Eilian coming out.

“Good. I did not want to leave without saying goodbye,” Eilian said.

“You are leaving for Celuwen’s settlement then?”

“Yes. And, Legolas, thank you.”

Legolas did not have to ask what Eilian was thanking him for.  Legolas had told their father that he had seen no problem with Eilian’s ability to ride, and that was true. And while it was also true that he had not looked very hard, Eilian had done well enough the previous afternoon that Legolas did not have the heart to stop him from going on this trip.  He grimaced now. “What are brothers for?” he asked lightly.

Eilian laughed and went off toward his chamber to collect his belongings while Legolas entered the dining room.  “I am sorry I am late,” he apologized, but Thranduil seemed unconcerned.

“You must have needed the rest,” he said.  Legolas could not help smiling to himself as he recalled the years of his childhood and youth when lateness to meals was an offense for which he had often been scolded. Apparently a warrior home on leave merited different treatment.  He helped himself to porridge, ignoring how thin it was.

“There is honey for the porridge,” Alfirin told him, holding the ceramic bowl out to him with both hands as if it contained something precious.  Legolas took it from her gratefully.  During this winter with the Southern Patrol, he had eaten many meals consisting of porridge alone, and honey was a luxury unheard of there.

A servant entered the room with a message that he gave to Thranduil.  “I am sorry, my lord,” he said, “but the Elf who brought the message said it was urgent.”

Thranduil broke the seal, read the message, and groaned.  “Last night’s rain apparently swelled the river enough to do real damage at the settlement near the forest’s edge.  And just as I predicted, they are demanding our help.”  He looked at Ithilden.  “The help they are asking for will not be easy to provide. I will need to meet with my advisors this morning.  Will you see to it that they are summoned?”

“Of course,” Ithilden answered and rose immediately.  He bent to kiss Alfirin’s cheek. “By your leave,” he said to Thranduil and left the room.  Legolas had always been grateful that it was Ithilden and not he who had to sit through meetings with Thranduil’s advisors.  He had occasionally been required to attend for some reason or other and when the meetings were not excruciatingly boring, they were tense with arguments. It used to amaze him that his notoriously impatient father managed to survive them, but he had gradually come to appreciate the considerable amount of wily diplomacy that Thranduil exercised at these gatherings.  Thranduil was not bored at the meetings because, whether the advisors knew it or not, he was always in control of them, and he was never bothered by the arguments because he simply ended them whenever he chose.

“What are you going to do today, Legolas?” Alfirin asked, as the rest of them were finishing their meal.

He could feel a smile spreading over his face. “I am going to visit Annael and his family.  He is off duty this morning.”

When Legolas had sent word to his friend that he was home, he had gotten an immediate invitation to call as early in the day as he could manage because Annael had to ride out on a Home Guard patrol in the afternoon.   Thus, he set off for Annael’s cottage immediately after leaving the dining room.  Although there were worrisome clouds in the west and north, the storm of the day before had passed, and watery spring sunshine was now filtering through the branches of trees that were just beginning to leaf. Legolas sang to them as he walked along, rejoicing in their company, just as he had done the previous afternoon when he had ridden with Eilian.  After the twisted forest of the south, the woods here were startlingly alive.  Legolas could feel tension draining from back muscles that he had spent the last three months tensing again attack from any direction at any time.

The door to Annael’s cottage flew open before he had a chance to knock on it, and Annael’s mother stood on the doorstep with her hands out to greet him. “I saw you from the kitchen window,” Elowen smiled, pulling his head down to kiss his cheek. “How are you?”

“I am well.”  Legolas embraced her fondly and then stepped back to look at her.  Like nearly every Elf in the realm, Elowen was somewhat thinner than he remembered her, but the contented look on her face had not changed. “You look wonderful,” he told her, and she laughed and drew him into the cottage.

As they entered the hallway, Annael came from the sitting room to clasp arms with him.  “Mae govannen,” they said simultaneously and grinned at one another. They had been friends for as long as either of them could remember.

“Go on in,” Elowen urged. “I will get tea.”

“Do not bother,” Legolas told her hastily. “I just finished morning meal.” He certainly did not want to consume any of Elowen’s supply of tea.

The three of them went into the sitting room, where Annael’s wife, Beliniel, sat sewing.  Legolas greeted her as happily as he had the others.  The only family member missing was Annael’s daughter, Emmelin, who was one of Thranduil’s foresters. “Where is the third female who governs your life?” he asked his friend.

Annael laughed.  “Emmelin is out checking some of the fish traps they have been able to set since the streams and ponds began to thaw.”

Legolas sat down to pass the morning with these friends, sensible once again of how strange it felt to be so at ease.

***

Thanduil entered the small council chamber and seated himself, signaling to his advisors as he did so that they might take their chairs too.  “I received a message this morning from the settlement that lies on the Forest River just inside the realm’s borders,” he began without preamble.  Last night’s rain drove the river over its banks there again, and a large tree whose roots had been loosened by the previous flooding toppled over.  Unfortunately, when it fell, it knocked down a second tree that had been thought far enough from the river to be safe, and in this tree was the flet where the settlers had stored their food supplies.  By the time they realized what had happened and waded through the water to rescue what they could, most of their supplies had been swept away.  They now have food for only a few meals and have asked us to send what food we can spare, particularly for their children.”

He swept his gaze around the table, noting his advisor’s reactions to this unwelcome news.  Their dismay was only too evident, and they sat in stunned silence for a moment.

“My lord,” Galivion finally said, “we have no food to spare.  Indeed, the supplies we have are scarcely enough to feed those living here near the stronghold until we can count on having game and grain enough to replace them.”  It had been Galivion’s task to manage the centralized food store that had been established when the winter had stretched on and the scarcity of their supplies had become evident.

“But we cannot just ignore the settlers’ request,” Thrior objected.  “We have worked too hard to bind them to us to risk alienating them now.”

“It does not matter what risk we take by ignoring their request,” Galivion objected.  “We cannot meet it. We do not have the resources.”

“How much food do we have?” Thranduil interposed before his two advisors could begin arguing with one another rather than attending to the problem at hand.

Galivion did not even hesitate before he began reeling off an inventory of the amount of acorn meal, dried meat, and root vegetables stored in the caverns.  “That would constitute about three weeks’ supply,” he added, “assuming that we continue to ration it out in the same way we have been doing.”

Thranduil grimaced.  He had known what their supply levels were, of course, for Galivion reported them to him each day, but somehow hearing them spoken about in such a plain manner made their paucity more evident.  They all sat for a moment in grim silence.

“Will we need to continue supplying people in the same way?” Thrior finally ventured.  “Fish are available again now, as are geese and ducks.”

“We might be able to supplement our supplies with hunting,” Galivion conceded.  “Indeed, I had counted on our doing that soon because we have so little left in any case. But we would be taking a great risk, for we cannot be certain how plentiful game will be after the hardships of the winter.”

“I could ask the Home Guard to send some of its warriors out in hunting parties,” Ithilden suggested.  “Doing so would thin our defenses, of course, and the Orcs are hungry too.”

“Do so,” Thranduil directed, grateful as always for Ithilden’s sensible presence.  He turned to Galivion. “Can the rations be reduced for a few weeks?”

Galivion looked distressed.  “The adults would probably be able to manage for a few weeks,” he said, “although in truth people are on short enough rations as it is. But we could not reduce the amount for the children.”

“Of course not,” Thranduil agreed, “but there are children in the settlement too.”

“We cannot send as much as they have asked for,” Galivion maintained.

“How much could we send if we reduce rations for adults and assume that hunters will bring home meat each day?” Thranduil asked.

Galivion hesitated.  “Not knowing how successful the hunters will be, it is hard to say,” he said reluctantly, “but we could perhaps send as much as two-thirds of what they request.”

Thranduil nodded. “Do so,” he instructed.  “You will deliver it to them yourself.  Ithilden will send guards as well.”  His oldest son nodded and added to the list of notes he always kept at these meetings.

“My lord,” Thrior said in distress, “we will need to make an effort to convince the settlers that we have done all we can.  They must not see our failure to send them all they ask for as a sign of neglect on our part.”

Thranduil considered Thrior’s claim and came to the reluctant conclusion that he was right. He would have to make some gesture to demonstrate how much he cared for the well-being of the Elves in the settlement.  A possibility suddenly occurred to him that made him flinch.  And yet he could not see that he had much choice.

“I will send Legolas with those who deliver the food,” Thranduil said slowly.  “He can explain our position, and the fact that I send one of my sons to them should convince them that I am taking them seriously.”  Ithilden’s head turned sharply toward his father at this piece of news, but he said nothing, and the other advisors too considered the idea in silence for a moment.

“Legolas has shown himself to react well to stress when acting as a warrior,” Thrior allowed.  “He has no experience in diplomatic situations though.”  He glanced toward Ithilden.  “Would it be possible for you to go, my lord?” he asked.

“Ithilden is needed here,” Thranduil said before Ithilden could answer.  “The defense of the realm is his first responsibility.  Legolas will do well, I believe, and for everything, there is a first time.”

He rose, drawing everyone else to their feet too.  “See to it that the supplies are ready to be sent by tomorrow morning,” he told Galivion.  “These people will be hungry.”

His other advisors bowed and withdrew, but Ithilden lingered. “Adar,” he said carefully, “Legolas has only a single week’s leave, and he needs the time to rest.  I cannot extend the leave without delaying that of someone else in the Southern Patrol, and that would be unwise and unfair.”

“I am aware of that,” Thranduil said heavily, “and I regret it, but I am afraid it is part of the burden Legolas must bear because of who he is.”

Ithilden looked as if would say more but did not. “I will go and start the hunting parties,” he finally said, and then formally saluted and withdrew.

Thranduil sat down again for a moment or two.  He had been speaking the truth when he said he regretted having to send his youngest son to deal with flood and hunger when he was supposed to be recovering from service to the realm that had already worn him down so that he wondered at the small joys of everyday life.  Thranduil had seen how Legolas reacted to the tiniest of comforts in the last two days.  The thought of taking him away from them was almost unbearable.





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