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.

*******

3. Diplomacy

Legolas rapped on the door of Thranduil’s office and entered at his father’s bidding.  He was surprised to find Ithilden, Galivion, and Thrior with the king.  If his father’s advisors were there, then whatever Thranduil wanted him for was not simply a family matter. He put his hand over his heart in formal salute to both Thranduil and Ithilden and then stood respectfully until Thranduil gave him permission to sit.

The king came right to the point.  “I am sorry to do this, Legolas, but I must interrupt your leave by sending you on a mission for the realm.”

Legolas felt a flood of dismay.  He needed this leave. He was just beginning to feel normal again.  He glanced at Ithilden. His brother’s expression was guarded, but Legolas knew him well enough to tell that he was not happy about whatever course of action their father was about to take.  So far as Legolas knew, Ithilden had decided how he was to spend his time since he had become a warrior. If Thranduil was taking some decision out of Ithilden’s hands, then the matter must be an important one.  “Of course, my lord,” he said, suppressing his disappointment and returning his attention resolutely to the king. “How may I serve the realm?”

He was rewarded by an approving look in his father’s eyes.  “You will remember that I received a message this morning that the settlement on the Forest River had suffered more flooding in the night.”  Legolas nodded.  He also remembered being glad that the settlement in trouble was not the one in which Celuwen lived.  He would have hated to see Eilian’s plans to visit her disrupted by flooding that would certainly have absorbed the full attention of every Elf who lived there.

“What I did not tell you this morning was that the settlement’s food supplies have been destroyed,” Thranduil went on.  “They have asked us for aid, and we are sending them as much food as we can spare.”

This time it was Galivion’s face that caught Legolas’s eye.  Legolas could guess that the amount of food that could be spared had been a topic of debate at his father’s council meeting that morning.  He had seen how sparsely the Elves around Thranduil’s stronghold were fed; indeed he had seen it at the king’s own table.

“You will lead the relief party, Legolas,” Thranduil finished.

Legolas could feel his mouth drop open and shut it again. He father was directing him to use his precious leave time for a routine delivery mission?  “If you wish it, my lord,” he said weakly.

Thranduil frowned slightly as if puzzled and not altogether pleased by his tone. Then abruptly comprehension seemed to dawn. “The mission is a delicate one, Legolas,” he said gently. “We are not able to give them all the food they have asked for, and I am sending you to explain that.  The fact that you are my son is meant as a sign of how highly I value the well-being of this group of my people even though I cannot give them all they need.”

Suddenly, Legolas was aware that there were far more dire problems than a warrior’s interrupted leave.

Thranduil turned to Thrior, who was eyeing Legolas apprehensively. “Legolas has not had to deal with these matters before, Thrior,” he said smoothly. “Would you explain how our relations stand with the settlements?”

Thrior leaned forward eagerly.  He had obviously been itching to make sure that Legolas understood exactly what was at stake. “You must know, my lord, that the Elves who live in these small enclaves in the woods are all Silvan.”

Legolas nodded. He did know that. His mother had been Silvan, and he thought of himself as Silvan as well.

“Perhaps the fact that your father and grandfather have ruled these Elves seems so natural to you that you have never wondered why Silvan Elves are led by Sindarin kings,” Thrior went on.

Legolas frowned. Surely Thrior knew that history had been part of his lessons as a child.  “They chose to accept my grandfather,” he said stiffly. “The House of Oropher rules with the consent of the realm’s people.”

Thrior nodded.  “Yes, that is so.  And Wood-elves continue to accept your father as king because they believe that he will order matters better than they could do themselves and thus will allow them to continue to live as they prefer to do in a simple relation to the natural world around them.  Many have chosen to live near the caverns, of course, and enjoy the comforts that come with the life that has been crafted there, but I think it is fair to say that almost all of your father’s people regard the life lived in the settlements as their true way of being.”  He looked inquiringly at Legolas to see if he understood thus far.

Legolas nodded. He had not thought of this explicitly before, but what Thrior was saying accorded well with his own sense of how Elves were meant to live.

“However,” Thrior went on, “these settlements are very difficult for the realm to serve and protect in these troubled times, and the Elves who live there sometimes doubt the good intentions of the king.  Their doubt creates unrest and, if it were shared by too many of your father’s people, would make the realm ungovernable altogether.”

Slowly, Legolas nodded again.  He had known of the tension between his father and the Elves from the settlement in which Celuwen lived, but he had rather assumed it stemmed from the fact that Celuwen’s father, Sólith, was one of the settlement’s most influential members, and Sólith hated Eilian.  “So you are saying that the loyalty of the settlement Elves is both particularly important and particularly difficult to gain,” he said, and Thrior looked pleased with his understanding.  Legolas felt the sudden weight of the trust his father was placing in him.  He could not help but be gratified by it, but he was also a little alarmed at the thought of the importance of this task he was being asked to do with no previous experience.

Thranduil took charge of the conversation again.  “Galivion will be going with you, and he will be able to tell the settlers exactly what our stores were and how difficult it was to send even a portion of what they requested.  You will express my deepest concern for these Elves and let them know how close they are to my heart.  If you see any other need we can supply, you will report that to us when you return.”

“Yes, my lord,” Legolas said, although he could not suppress a tiny smile at the memory of things he had heard his father say that suggested that if the settlements were close to his heart, they were occasionally making it burn.

“I am sending two of the Home Guard with you, Legolas,” Ithilden said.  “I have asked their captain to make sure that Annael is one of those who go.”  Legolas gave his brother a grateful smile.  It was obvious to him that Ithilden was trying to salvage as much of Legolas’s leave as he could by sending his friend with him.

“You will leave early tomorrow morning,” Thranduil told him, rising to signal that the meeting was over.  “But you should go with Galivion to supervise the assembling of the supplies.  It would not do for you to appear ignorant of what we have sent or of what we have on hand.”

Legolas saluted again. “Yes, my lord.”  He had had as much leave as he was going to get, he thought ruefully.  He could only console himself with the thought of the confidence his father was placing in him.

***

With great satisfaction, Eilian slung the rabbit carcasses across his horse’s neck.  In these days of scarcity, it would be the height of rudeness to arrive at Celuwen’s cottage without bringing food to be shared.  And as Thranduil had told him, he needed to do all he could to recommend himself to Celuwen’s parents if he wanted them to allow him and Celuwen to become betrothed.  He set himself carefully on his injured leg and leapt up onto his horse’s back.  His hip was aching, but in his excitement at the meeting that was close upon him, he did not care.

Still, he could not help feeling a little apprehensive.  His father’s lecture had not lessened Eilian’s determination to bind Celuwen to him in some way, but it had certainly made clear all the obstacles that lay in the way of their betrothal.  Thranduil’s words echoed in his brain:  “Are you sure there is anything you can do that would make you acceptable to Celuwen’s parents?”  He was all too aware that the answer to that question might be ‘no.’ Sólith would take a great deal of coaxing to accept the idea of Eilian and Celuwen bonding, and Eilian was not sure he was capable of doing the coaxing.  He was willing to do anything he could to make his betrothal to Celuwen possible, he thought, but he also knew his own limitations, and what he could do might not be enough.  He glanced at the string of rabbits on his horse’s neck and blew out his breath. He would start with a gift and see what happened after that.

The day was fading when he saw the first little cottage nestled among the trees.  These Elves had once lived further from his father’s stronghold, but they had consented to move here when they finally accepted the fact that they needed to be within the ring of protection provided by the border guards. Eilian had been to this location twice before and neither visit had been a success. The first time, he had been able to stay only briefly and Celuwen had cried when he left.  The second time, her father had greeted him with the news that Celuwen found his visits painful, and she did not want to see him any more. He had reluctantly gone away.  He wondered now if that had been the truth or one of Sólith’s efforts to keep them apart.

With his heart beginning to beat wildly, he made his way through the widely scattered cottages to the one where Celuwen lived with her parents.  Drawing a deep breath, he took his courage in hand, slid from his horse, approached the door, and knocked.

For a breathless moment, he waited while the trees around him seemed to murmur at his presence. Then the door opened and Sólith stood before him. Eilian could feel dislike flare instantly in his gut.

“Mae govannen, Sólith,” Eilian said, controlling his voice as best he could.

Sólith stood staring at him in startled silence.  “You are not welcome here, Eilian,” he finally said.  “I have told you before that my daughter does not want to see you.”

It was all Eilian could do to keep from shoving him out of the doorway.  “I have had a letter from her inviting me to visit,” he snapped, feeling vengeful satisfaction at the dismayed look that this piece of news produced on Sólith’s face.

“Who is it, Sólith?” asked a soft voice, and Celuwen’s mother appeared behind her husband.

“Mae govannen, Isiwen,” Eilian greeted her.  He held out the string of rabbits.  “I encountered good hunting on my way here.”

She froze for a moment, with her eyes on Sólith. Then she turned back to Eilian with a determined look on her face.  She reached around her husband and took the rabbits. “Thank you, Eilian.”

“Celuwen is not here,” Sólith told him, still barring the doorway.

“Then where is she?” he demanded.  He knew he sounded rude, but his short supply of patience was already at an end.

A gasp from his right made him spin toward it, and there, coming around the corner of the cottage with freshly gathered wood in her arms, was Celuwen.  She stopped where she was and, for a moment, so did he. Then he started toward her, breaking into a run for the last few feet, as she dropped the wood, threw her arms around his neck, and burst into tears.

“I thought you would not come,” she choked out. “I thought you had gotten my letter and there was someone else and you would not come.”

“Hush,” he murmured stroking her hair and holding her trembling body close. “I came as soon as I could.  I would come from the ends of Arda to you.”

From somewhere far away, he heard Isiwen say, “Come, Sólith. Let them be now.”  Then he heard the door to the cottage close.

Birds sang softly in the early evening light, calling to their mates and warning off their rivals.  The faint sound of new leaves slowly uncurling rustled overhead.  The smell of Celuwen’s hair filled his nostrils, and the warmth of her body against his was as intensely sweet as anything he had ever felt.  At length, they pulled apart, and he looked down into her pale, tear-streaked, beautiful face.

“How long can you stay?” she asked anxiously.

He had no obligation other than appearing in the infirmary again in a little less than a week.  “Five days,” he told her, and she gave him a radiant smile.

“Come in,” she urged.  “You must eat with us and stay here too.”  He was not at all sure he was as welcome in the cottage as she seemed to think, but he allowed her to take his hand and lead him toward the door. They had gone only two steps when she stopped.  “What is the matter with your leg?” she demanded.

He blinked.  After his day’s ride, his hip did hurt, but he knew from encounters he had had with other Elves in the last two weeks that his walk looked almost normal and that most people noticed nothing.  “I was wounded,” he told her. “That is why I could not come sooner.  But I am better now.”  She frowned but said no more and they went into the cottage.

The cottage was tiny, with a small central room in which the family cooked, ate, and worked during the day, and doors to the right and left that he knew probably led to two very small sleeping chambers.  Isiwen sat at the table, in the process of preparing the rabbits for cooking, and, Sólith sat near the fire with his arms crossed over his chest. They both looked up, and in unison, their eyes went first to Celuwen and then to him. Isiwen’s look was guarded, but Sólith’s face was red and his lips were pressed tightly together.  There was no mistaking his hostility. Eilian was suddenly aware of how inescapable Sólith’s presence was in the little cottage.

“Sit down,” Celuwen urged him, and he looked at the chair near Sólith, the only vacant chair in the room.

“Did you bring the wood, Celuwen?” Isiwen asked.

“I will get it,” Eilian said immediately. “And then I must see to my horse.”

“Thank you,” Isiwen said.  “It will be a while before evening meal is ready any way.”

Feeling like a coward, he bolted out the door and went to the corner of the cottage to gather the wood that Celuwen had dropped.  This is not going to work, he thought rather desperately. Adar is mad if he thinks I will ever be able to get Sólith to approve of a betrothal between Celuwen and me. He drew a deep breath.  Get hold of yourself, he counseled.  It is Celuwen who matters, and she was glad to see you. You can deal with Sólith later.  The thought of Celuwen’s unrestrained welcome sent a flood of warmth through him, and his heart beat faster at the simple sight of her when he carried the wood inside.

Celuwen was helping her mother with the rabbits. In the little room, he had to brush past her to put the wood near the fire, and the light touch of his hip against hers made them both jump slightly. She smiled at him uncertainly and then lowered her eyes. Eilian’s blood began to sing, and then he turned to see Sólith glaring at him.  He froze for a moment and then hastily made his way back outside to see to his horse.  “We are not worried about sitting in a tiny box of a room with Sólith without drawing our dagger, are we?” he murmured to the horse, as he brushed him down.  The horse flicked his ears casually in response and showed no sign of worry at all, but then he was eating out of doors.

At length, his desire to see Celuwen outweighed his repugnance at being in the same room with her father, and he went back into the cottage.  With as casual an air as he could muster, he took the chair next to Sólith and settled back to ignore him and watch Celuwen help her mother cook their evening meal. 

Celuwen was, as she had always been, a pleasure to watch.  With her thick braid swinging down the center of her back, she moved from fire to table to cupboard, her slender form bending and stretching to lay out the plates and tend the roasting meat. And to his delight, she kept stealing little glances at him and then smiling and looking away. From the corner of his eye, Eilian could see Sólith frown, but he did not trouble to suppress his own widening grin.

Yet, as he watched Celuwen, he was also naggingly aware that something was wrong.  There was something altered in her appearance.

Then Isiwen surprised him by saying, “Sit down, Celuwen. You have done enough now.”

“I am not tired, Naneth,” Celuwen protested. Isiwen looked doubtful but said no more.

Celuwen did look tired, Eilian decided, more tired than either of her parents. He knew that life in the settlement could not have been easy in the past winter, but there was something about Celuwen’s appearance that alarmed him.  Her face had a transparent, luminescent quality, as if her fëa was very close to the surface.  A memory of a very small Legolas in the days after their mother’s death flitted across his mind, and suddenly, Eilian recognized what he was seeing and started in alarm. The look that Celuwen had now was the one that Legolas had had then, and Eilian was suddenly filled with the same terror he had felt when he feared his little brother would fade away from grief.

As if in response to his start, she turned toward him.  A faint flush spread over her face, and she took a step in his direction.  “I am so glad you are here, Eilian.”  Isiwen scanned her daughter intently and then glanced at Eilian and something in her face eased.  Even Sólith uncrossed his arms, as if he was relaxing slightly, and let out a long breath.

“We are ready to eat,” Isiwen announced.  Celuwen went out the front door and brought in a stool that had stood just outside it.  She set it by the table so there would be enough places to sit, and although she objected, Eilian hastened to take it and hold one of the chairs for her.  Still worried by what he had seen, he kept an anxious eye on her as the platter of roast meat and the salad were passed from hand to hand.

At least her appetite is good, he thought, watching her help herself to the food.  “Now that is an improvement,” said Isiwen approvingly, looking at her daughter’s plate. “We should hunt for more rabbits tomorrow.”  Eilian looked at Isiwen and then at Celuwen.  Then the state of things tonight was better than usual, he realized.  And a sudden, joyous thought occurred to him. What if Celuwen were better because he was there?

As if feeling his eyes upon her, Celuwen turned to him.  She had opened her mouth to speak, but when their eyes met, she seemed to have to stop to catch her breath. “You were wounded?” she finally asked.

He nodded. “Yes, just before I got your letter.”  He threw a smug glance at Sólith, who was watching them with his eyes narrowed.

“But I wrote that three months ago!” she exclaimed. “It was three months yesterday.  Have you been healing all this time?”

He saw that Sólith looked suspicious.  “Yes, I have,” he said emphatically.  “The scimitar was poisoned, but the healers say I am all right now,” he hastened to add, seeing her look of alarm.

She put her hand on his forearm, and from the spot where she touched him, heat radiated through his body. He held absolutely still, lest she remove her hand, and she tightened her fingers.  “Must you go back to that?” she asked, anguish in every word.

And now they were at the heart of what had always been their problem. “Yes,” he said simply. “I must.”  He put his hand over hers, holding it in place.  “But I am here now,” he said.  They looked at one another, and he suddenly found himself fighting for breath. For a moment, there was no one else in the room. Then he became aware that her parents were both watching them, Sólith with disapproval and Isiwen with what appeared to be amused dismay. He released Celuwen’s hand, and she pulled it quickly away. They turned their attention back to their meal, careful not to touch again.

When they had finished, he insisted on helping Isiwen wash the dishes. “Will you stay for the night?” Isiwen offered politely when they were through.  “We have no bed to offer you, I am afraid, but there is space in front of the fire where you could sleep warmly.”

He looked at the spot on the floor near the fireplace, ten feet from Celuwen’s sleeping chamber on one side and ten feet more from that of her parents on the other.  The thought of sleeping so close to her left him slightly dizzy. “I think I will camp outside,” he finally managed. Everyone in the room let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

“Good night,” he said and opened the door.  His eyes swept over Sólith and Isiwen to stop for a long moment on Celuwen.

“Wait,” she said.  “I will come out with you for a moment or two.”

He stood aside to let her pass him and go out first, aware of the fact that even the brush of her skirt against his legs made him tremble.  He had his arms around her as soon as the door had closed behind them.  She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and he bent to kiss her. There was nothing playful or light in the meeting of their lips.  He pressed his mouth hard against hers and then slid his tongue along it, begging for the entrance she was quick to grant, as if she had longed as much for his taste as he had for hers.  Then he pulled her to him and planted a string of kisses down her neck toward the base of her throat.  Beneath his mouth, he could feel her pulse beating as wildly as his.

After much too short a time, she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away.  “Five days,” she said. “We have five days.”  And with a laugh of pure joy, she turned and ran back into the cottage, leaving him to find his pack and blankets and such sleep as he could when his whole being ached for her.