I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain nothing other than the enriched imaginative life I assume he expected me to gain.

Thank you to Nilmandra for beta reading this.  The rest of you cannot imagine what a difference she makes.

*******

8.  The Path Home

Alfirin leaned closer to Ithilden and kissed him.  For a long, dizzy moment, he simply savored the gentle pressure of her lips against his. Then he tried to put his arms around her and realized that he was somehow pinned down. But when he struggled to free his arms, Alfirin faded and suddenly his eyes snapped into focus, and he found himself staring at a very familiar carved chest with a row of books lined up on top of it.  He was in his own bed in the palace, he realized, and only then remembered his father insisting that he be moved here from the infirmary.  Ithilden had lain quietly, with Thranduil on one side of his bed and the healer on the other, knowing quite well who was likely to win the argument. He had not been at all surprised when the healer had finally flung up her hands in surrender.

Ithilden knew he was more relaxed in these familiar surroundings, but he could not help regretting the fact that the healer’s daughter was unlikely to walk into his sleeping chamber in the palace. In the infirmary, he had seen her only the once that he knew of, but he had hoped she would be present every time he had awakened for a brief interval from the drugged sleep in which the healer had kept him.  Of course, given the fact that he had disgraced himself thoroughly the one time he had seen Alfirin, he was not surprised that she had not come back.

“Are you awake?” an excited voice asked, and Legolas moved into view.

“I believe I am,” Ithilden said, smiling at him. He could not think of an occasion when he had been happier to see his little brother, for this was the first time he had laid eyes on him since he had sent him off on his own to get help.  Ithilden tried to reach a hand out to touch him but found that his arms were pinned by a very tightly tucked blanket.

“Do you want something?” Legolas asked, on seeing him try to move. “A drink maybe? You should tell me if you have to throw up.”

“My stomach feels better,” Ithilden told him. “I do not think I will be sick.” He laughed softly at the look of relief on Legolas’s face.  He was relieved enough himself at the easing of his nausea.

Ithilden slid his eyes as far around the room as he could see. “Are you taking care of me by yourself?” he asked in surprise.

Legolas nodded happily.  “I have done it before too, but you were asleep.”  His face sobered a little. “Adar let me because I knew how from working in the infirmary, but also because it was my fault you were hurt.  I am sorry I did not listen to you and mind you better, Ithilden.  Adar says I can learn a lot from you, and he is right.”

With what seemed to require much too much effort, Ithilden freed his left hand from the blanket and reached out to grasp Legolas’s shoulder.  “I do think you would have been safer if you had done as I told you, but I should have been more patient and explained the situation to you better.  You behave well when you understand why you are supposed to do some things and not others.  And, Legolas, I need to thank you.  You saved my life by shooting that last spider.  And then you were brave enough to fetch the antidote and run for help by yourself.”  Legolas flushed and looked shyly down at the floor, but Ithilden could see he was gratified by the praise.

The door opened, and Thranduil entered the room.  “Ah! It is good to see you awake.  How do you feel?”

Ithilden hesitated for a second before saying, “Much better.”  In truth, his right arm and left leg ached abominably, but he had no intention of admitting that. He hated being drugged into oblivion.  Even during the few minutes he had been awake talking to Legolas, he had begun to fret over what might be happening in his office.  If he could manage it without interference from the healer or his father, he thought, he would send for his chief aide and ask for a briefing.

Thranduil smiled at him indulgently, and not for the first time, Ithilden had the eerie feeling that his father knew exactly what he was planning. Thranduil turned to Legolas. “Did you say what you have been waiting to say to Ithilden?”

Legolas nodded.  “I told him I was sorry.”

“Good,” Thranduil approved.  “Your tutor just arrived, so you need to be on your way.  You can come back when your lessons are over.”

“Yes, Adar,” Legolas said and started toward the door, but Ithilden called him back, drew his head down, and kissed him on the forehead.

“Thank you,” he said simply.  Legolas grimaced at the kiss but was still smiling faintly when he left the room.

Ithilden turned to Thranduil. “How is he?” he asked soberly.

“He is doing well enough,” Thranduil said.  “The first night he was home, he woke up terrified several times, but last night he was up only once.  He has the resilience of youth.”

Ithilden frowned. “I should have heeded your warning and kept better track of him, Adar. I let him wander into danger. I am so sorry.”

“He told me that he left you even when you told him to stay,” Thranduil shrugged.  “Do not blame yourself too much.  I have lost track of him a time or two myself.”

“Did he tell you I actually slapped his bottom?” Ithilden asked. He had felt guilty about hitting Legolas almost from the moment he had done it.

Thranduil frowned. “No, he did not,” he said slowly.  “I would prefer that you not do that again.  I have never thought that Legolas was a child who would mind better for being spanked.”

Ithilden considered how resentful Legolas had been over the single slap and had to concede the point.  “I will certainly try not to, but he can be unbelievably maddening,” Ithilden admitted.  “I am afraid he needs to have the fear of the Valar put in him at regular intervals.”

Thranduil laughed.  “I usually found that with you and Eilian fear of me was enough.”

Ithilden laughed too and then hesitated. His father normally accepted no interference in his management of Legolas.  “He seemed to need to have orders explained to him in a way I had not anticipated,” he finally ventured.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow.  “Are you trying to tell me something?” he asked a little acerbically.

Ithilden smiled wryly.  “If this trip has taught me nothing else, it has shown me how well you deal with Legolas, Adar.”  He drew a deep breath.  “Nonetheless, he does follow instructions better when he understands the reasons behind them.”

Thranduil sat for a moment, with his face impassive, and then he looked away. “Your naneth used to say the same thing about you and Eilian,” he said finally.  He looked back and smiled slightly.  “She was almost always right.”

A light knock sounded at the door, and Gwaleniel entered.  She greeted Thranduil and then came to lay a hand on Ithilden’s brow.  “How are you, my lord?” she asked.  “Your color is better today. Do your arm and leg ache?”

“No,” he lied emphatically.  His father snorted softly, and Gwaleniel eyed him and then smiled.

“You would do better to sleep a little longer,” she said and opened her bag and took out a packet of herbs.  Ithilden groaned.  His office was going to have to manage a little longer without him.

***

Ithilden paused in the shade of the oak grove next to one of the training fields and put a hand on a tree trunk to steady himself.  Perhaps he would rest here, he thought, and slid gratefully to the ground with his back against the tree.  He had decided this morning that enough was enough, had refused to drink the medicine that the healer’s apprentice offered him, and then, as soon as he was alone, had simply dressed and walked out of the palace intending to go to his office.  Fortunately, he had met no one on his way out, except the guards at the doors, whose reaction to his appearance had been to salute. He felt rather as if he were an elfling who was running away from home.

He decided to take the opportunity to read the letter he had received from Eilian that morning.  It would have come with dispatches but those had been withheld from him, a situation he intended to remedy.  He pulled the letter out of his tunic and used his dagger to slit it open, suddenly remembering as he did so that he needed to tell Thranduil that Legolas had been carrying a dagger.  Their father would want to be sure that he had ceased doing so. Ithilden found he had more confidence that Legolas would obey Thranduil than him.

He started on the letter.  Eilian was an entertaining correspondent, making the most of the odd events that occurred even in the midst of the grim task of patrolling the southern reaches of Thranduil’s realm, but enough of the problems his patrol was encountering came through to sharpen Ithilden’s resolve to see his dispatches.  As he read, Ithilden wondered if he were going to have to rethink his decision to try to hold the territory south of the Mountains of Mirkwood.  Perhaps his father had been right in arguing that the task was hopeless.

Near the letter’s end, he suddenly found himself breaking into a grin.  “Adar tells me you are planning to take Legolas camping with you,” Eilian wrote. “You are braver than I would be!  I love the brat, but he is a handful just now.  I hope you both survive the trip in one piece.”  Brother, if you only knew, he thought. He folded the letter and tucked it back in his tunic.

The shout of a familiar voice drew his attention to the field, and he saw Legolas and half-a-dozen of his age mates near the water bucket, ducking and laughing as an elfling Ithilden recognized as his brother’s friend Turgon flung dipperfuls of water at them. “The little imps,” said a nearby voice. “I will have to send two of them to get more water, or they will all be complaining about how thirsty they are.”

He turned his head up and saw Penntalion standing next to him.  He had not spoken to the archery master since the day he had snapped at him like a jealous hound because he had been too near Alfirin.  “It is good to see you out again, my lord,” Penntalion said a little stiffly.  He evidently remembered their last meeting too.

“Thank you.” Ithilden looked back at the elflings, who had flung themselves on the grass and were, for the time being, quiet.  He made an offering of peace that was all the more genuine for being the simple truth.  “You must have amazing patience to deal with them all the time.”

Penntalion laughed, relaxing a little.  “They are sometimes a challenge,” he admitted.  “I am lucky that one of them is Legolas.  He is unbelievably self-disciplined for his age.”

Ithilden became aware that his mouth had fallen open in amazement.  Legolas was self-disciplined?  After the trip Ithilden had just taken with his brother, he would never have been willing to make such a claim.  “I am happy to hear that,” he said weakly.  Penntalion saluted him and then made his way toward where his class was waiting for him.

“Hurry or you will be late,” said someone else, and this voice was one he had been hearing in his dreams.  He turned his head quickly to see Alfirin sending her younger brother running across the field to join the archery class.  As if feeling his eyes on her, she turned to meet his gaze, and he rose politely to his feet.

“I am surprised to see you out, my lord,” she said.  “I am pleased, of course, but I thought you were still confined to bed.”

He blinked. Had she been keeping track of his progress?  A smile spread slowly across his face.  “That is a mistaken notion that many people have,” he said bravely.

She laughed.  “You had better hope that my naneth is not one of them,” she advised.

He gave an answering laugh. “Will you not save me if she comes after me with a cupful of medicine?” he teased, marveling at his own ease with this maiden who had always before rendered him speechless.  Perhaps he should have vomited in front of her earlier.  Then he would have known that she had already seen him at his worst and relaxed.

“I am afraid you will have to save yourself,” Alfirin smiled.  “I would never dare cross my naneth when she has decided to sedate one of her patients.”

For a moment, their eyes met and held.  “I wanted to thank you for how kind you were to me in the infirmary,” he said, feeling a little breathless.

She blushed slightly. “You are most welcome, my lord,” she said and turned toward the training field.  He looked that way too and saw Penntalion demonstrating something about gripping a bow to an attentive group of elflings.   He looked at Alfirin from the corner of his eye. Her face was still pink, but she kept her eyes on Penntalion.  He felt a pang of doubt.  She could not have expected to see him at the field today because she thought he was still confined to bed, but she certainly would have expected to see the archery master.  Uncertainty choked off anything else he might have been going to say.

“Good day to you, mistress,” he said and resumed his interrupted trip to his office, resolutely resisting the urge to look back.

***

Thranduil entered the family sitting room, and the warrior standing near the fireplace turned swiftly and bowed with his hand over his heart.  “My lord.”

“Mae govannen, Siondel,” Thranduil said.  He crossed the room to pour two cups of wine and offered one to Annael’s father, who hesitated for a second and then took it.  “Sit please,” Thranduil said, settling in a chair.  Somewhat stiffly, Siondel did as he was asked.

“I invited you to come here because I wanted to speak to you as one father to another,” Thranduil said.  “I understand that our sons have built a flet behind your cottage.”

Siondel’s face relaxed into a smile.  “They have,” he agreed.

“Legolas tells me that Turgon and Annael have slept on it,” Thranduil went on. “He would like to join them.” Siondel nodded cautiously.  “I have not allowed it thus far because, as you know, our children have occasionally wandered at night, and I have worried over their safety.”

“I do not think Annael will do so again, my lord,” Siondel said.  “He seems to have learned his lesson.”

“Annael was not really the one I was worried about,” Thranduil said dryly. “He has always struck me as a sensible child. But I am not so certain about Legolas and Turgon, and even Annael might feel duty bound to accompany his friends as they get into trouble.”

Siondel grimaced a little.  “They have behaved themselves thus far, my lord,” he finally offered. “And my wife and I leave our bedroom window open so that we can hear them.”

Thranduil looked thoughtfully down and tapped one finger against his wine goblet.  “The woods in which this flet is built are small, as I recall, but there is a thick copse about a hundred yards from your cottage.”  He looked up, and Siondel nodded, plainly unclear on where Thranduil was going.  “If a warrior were to choose to camp in this copse, do you think the elflings would be aware of his presence?”

Siondel’s face slowly split into a broad grin.  “I do not believe they would, my lord.  They tend to chatter together until they fall quite suddenly asleep.”

“And would a camping warrior disturb you and your wife?” Thranduil asked.

“Not at all,” Siondel said. “Perhaps we would even sleep more easily.”

Thranduil smiled.  “Excellent,” he said. “My son has spent many pleasant hours in your good wife’s care.  If I could repay her in any way, I would.”  He drank some of the fine wine and watched Siondel drink appreciatively too.  Legolas needed to spend a night under the stars with terror kept well at bay, Thranduil thought.  His courage demanded a reward.

***

Siondel disappeared through the back door of the cottage, leaving the three friends alone in the starry night.  Legolas sighed with deep contentment, lay back between Turgon and Annael, and pulled his blanket up to his chin.  He still could not quite believe that his father was allowing this, but Thranduil had said that now that Ithilden no longer needed Legolas’s care, he could spend this night on the flet.

“You have earned it,” he had said. “Just be sure you stay where you have promised to be.”

“I will, Adar,” Legolas had pledged. “I do not even want to go into the woods at night.”

His father had stroked his hair.  “One of these days you will want to do so again, my heart.  And when you do, you need to be with an adult.  Do you understand?”  Legolas had nodded vigorously. Oh yes. He understood the need to have an adult with him in the woods at night.

But not now.  Now he was with his friends, and the trees were singing their night song, and the stars were so close he thought he might be able to reach out and touch them.

“Did you really shoot a spider, Legolas?” Turgon asked.

Reluctantly, Legolas turned away from the sky to face Turgon. “Yes,” he sighed.  Turgon had been fascinated by his account of the camping trip, and sometimes Legolas enjoyed talking about it because his friends were impressed by the parts of the trip he had told them about.  He had not told them everything, of course.  He did not like to even think about how frightened he had been or how he had cried. And right now, he did not want to talk about the trip at all.  He wanted to just enjoy being himself as he was at this minute, sleeping on a flet with his friends.

Turgon must have sense his lack of enthusiasm because he changed the subject immediately.  He propped himself up on his elbow.  “Do you want to go down to the meadow and catch fireflies?”

“No,” Legolas said firmly.  “I want to stay here. I like it here.”

Turgon sighed and laid back down.  Annael began to sing softly, matching his song to that of the trees, and after a moment Legolas joined in.  Then Turgon too began to sing.  They twined their voices around those of the trees and the night birds and the sky and then trailed gradually away into silence.  An answering voice picked up their song, coming through the open window at the back of the cottage.  Annael’s nana was singing, her voice rising and falling in a lullaby for the creatures of the woods.  Legolas drew a deep, contented breath and let go of a tiny knot of fear that somehow a spider might be lurking in the tree overhead.  A spider would never want to be where it could hear Annael’s nana.  He would live in the woods forever, he thought dreamily.  He would never leave.  The path of dreams came up to meet him and he ran along it with his arms spread wide in joy.

The End