Title: THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary:  Legolas, along with some unexpected company, follows the South Road towards the sea.  

Disclaimer:  The world of Middle-earth and its characters belong to JRR Tolkien.   I just enjoy playing there from time to time and receive nothing for these stories but the joy I gain from writing them.

Review:  Reviews are welcome and so encouraging!  Please do!

A/N:  Once again I must apologize for the long time between updates, but my husband passed away unexpectedly on February 5 and I have only recently been able to return to this story.  Charles was my biggest cheerleader (as well as a self-proclaimed dwarf) and I know he would not want me to give up writing my stories…so, I will try my best to resolve Legolas’ problems sometime between now and the next Age.  I have recently read other authors thanking Nilmandra for providing this wonderful site and I want to throw my huge THANK YOU in also.  I have always found this site and its stories/authors to be entertaining and inspiring.  Now I must also add comforting to the list!

Chapter 12: In Search of the Sea

          Aravir’s bay stallion, Thalion, confined his exuberance to a trot as they took the road that led towards Osgiliath and the forests of Ithilien.  The big horse wanted to run and on a normal day delighted in testing Aravir’s patience with his playful fits and starts.  This day, however, had ceased to be normal.  The turmoil of indecision that clouded his elf’s usually calm mind was troubling.   Thalion tossed his head uneasily, but maintained his sedate pace.  Aravir leaned forward and patted the strong neck. 

          Hannon lle, mellon nin. 

          He appreciated Thalion’s forbearance; he could not remember the last time he had faced a dilemma such as this.  He had received a direct order from Legolas to return to Ithilien, yet he hesitated to execute that order. 

          Unheard of!  I have never even considered disobeying a command before! 

          He frowned.  From the moment Legolas had voiced his intent to go to the sea, his mind had been flooded with concern, and he knew that the dappled white horse pacing beside him fared even worse.  Arod’s growing distress struck Aravir in waves and with every step taken away from his master, became a visible agitation.  Aravir knew exactly how the big gray gelding felt.  It was the same apprehension that hindered his ability to comply with the Prince’s last instructions.   

          “Take Arod and return to Ithilien.  Oh, and by the way, I will not be going with you – I am going to visit the very thing that has almost destroyed me these past months.  What?  Yes, indeed Aravir, the sea…”   Aravir snorted derisively at the sheer foolishness of the reasoning and managed to proceed half a league further before finally giving in and stopping both horses.

          The troubled elf slipped from Thalion’s back and stood beside his horse, staring blindly into the distance.  Arod walked up to the pair, nudging the elf in the chest and receiving an absentminded caress in return.  As for Aravir, he was lost to his thoughts and no longer stood on the Pelennor; his reverie had taken him home to Lasgalen twelve years before.

          Thranduil stood before the blazing fire in his library, gazing at the elf calmly awaiting his instructions.  That he trusted this captain implicitly was comforting…to a point.

          “You know I trust you with my life, Aravir,” the King said, his silver-blue eyes clear and direct.  “Now I am trusting you with my heart – the life of my son.” 

          Aravir nodded.  “Keep him safe,” Thranduil continued, as he examined the impassive face thoughtfully.  “His choice of a new home is not what troubles me, Aravir.  My son has dealt with Shadow and its effects for untold years, as have you and those who will accompany you.” 

         The King’s crystalline gaze intensified.  “It is the sea that frightens me…and your own inexperience with it.  I just pray that if or when the time comes, you will find the understanding to deal with its effect on him.  Watch him, Aravir.  Help him if you can…if he will let you.” 

         Thranduil paused again, before adding in a soft, even voice.  “And if you find you cannot…if you see that you do not know how to deal with the sea-longing, enlist the aid of Elessar or that dwarf.”  

          Aravir’s green eyes widened slightly and he could not prevent a slight grimace.  The King caught Aravir’s tiny change in expression and laughed grimly.  “Even so.  But there is help to be found among his friends, no matter who they may be…and you have not had much opportunity to know my son as an adult.  He is stubborn and full of pride.” 

         Aravir’s shot a speaking look at his King, who shook his head.  “I do not know where he gets these tendencies!”  The two warriors shared a smile.  The King clapped a strong, encouraging hand on Aravir’s shoulder.  “Just take care of him.” 

          Aravir swallowed hard.  He had promised the King.  Promised him to keep Legolas safe.  No matter what.  Promises made to his King were not to be taken lightly.  The King has done too much…he means too much to me.  The dark haired elf bowed his head, closing his eyes as other images of another earlier time flooded his mind. 

          They had come in the darkest hour of a moonless night.  The small southern settlement had had little warning – Aravir would understand many years later that the years of peace had lulled the adults into a deadly complacency.  Several decades short of his majority, Aravir crouched helplessly in the concealing branches of a huge old beech tree with his older cousin and the other three youngsters the adults had managed to get to safety and listened to the slaughter of his world.   

          When the shout of a familiar, beloved voice echoed from below, he almost lost himself then…almost vaulted from his hiding place.  Only the desperate grip of his cousin, Ariann, had held him in place.   

          “No, Aravir!  You cannot!” she had hissed, the silent tears coursing down her cheeks a testament to her fear and horrified grief.   

          Small arms had stolen around his neck at that point and the small body of his sister, Tasarien, pressed as close as possible.  He wrapped one arm around the shivering elfling and the moment passed.  Hot, bitter tears escaped his tightly closed eyes and slipped down his cheeks to pool in the corner of his mouth.  His breath was quick, labored, and he ruthlessly suppressed the whimpers threatening to escape his constricted throat.  He bowed his head, burying his face in the soft dark hair of the tiny elleth held tightly against his chest.  They waited what seemed like hours until finally the screams and howls and clashing sounds of battle faded away, leaving behind only the sad mourning voices of the trees and the sighing of the wind.   

          Together, he and Ariann gathered the little group of shocked, shaking children, comforting them as much and as quietly as possible.  Ariann slipped away for a short time, moving through the trees like a silent wraith, while Aravir continued his calm, whispering monologue with the younger elves.  To this day he could not remember a word he had said to them.  The frightened, grieving little group had huddled there against the huge bole, concealed by the old tree’s leaves, Tasarien in his lap, Dorlas clinging to his right side and Artamir to his left, waiting for Ariann…five…ten…fifteen minutes…

          Abruptly she was beside them again and beckoning them closer, murmured, “They are gone…headed in a northeasterly direction.  We will stay here in the trees for a time to make sure and then take a more northerly path towards the King’s palace.  They must be warned and perhaps we will find a patrol on the way.” 

          They found the patrol two days later.  A guard took the children to the palace, where they told their horrendous story to the King and his Queen.  The King had dispatched warriors to the south and made a place for the small band of orphans right there in his own home.   

          Aravir could still remember the Queen’s soft voice and kind hands those first nightmarish weeks.  He still recalled Thranduil’s visits to them every evening to tuck them in bed and listen to stories about their day.  Later, the King made it a priority to see that each of them received the training they needed to pursue their life’s chosen work.  Ariann had become a healer; Tasarien a trainer in the King’s stables, Dorlas a warrior and Artamir had visited the Havens once and stayed on, apprenticed to Cirdan.  Aravir’s plans to follow his father’s example as a forester had faded quickly, canceled out by the screams of his dying family.  By the time the Queen presented her lord with his son, Legolas, Aravir had been captaining the southern patrols for several hundred years. 

          His postings made it impossible to know the Prince well, but Aravir had followed his progress as a warrior with much interest and no little amount of pride.  Almost a year before the War began, Thranduil had called him to serve as one of the three primary commanders over the Mirkwood forces.  Aravir had seen Legolas daily for that short time, afforded glimpses of the strong, capable elf his King’s son had become.   

          Then it started…the trip to Imladris…the letter from Legolas detailing his assignment to aid in the Ringbearer’s Quest…the long months with no word…and finally, the fight for survival during the last effort of Sauron to destroy the Woodland Realm…he had experienced every minute of those months at the side of his King.  He saw Thranduil’s intense joy at Legolas’ return and knew what it cost him to let his son leave again.  For that reason, among others, he considered it a special privilege to help Legolas establish his colony in Ithilien. 

          Aravir shook his head and sighed.  He looked at his two equine companions, both watching him carefully. 

          “I am well, my friends, if a little confused,” he whispered, draping one arm across Thalion’s neck and stroking Arod’s face with the other hand.  An indulgent grin crept across his face as the two horses sidled closer, vying for his attention.  He rifled the pockets of his traveling cloak and pulled one last apple out.  Holding it up, he turned it this way and that, admiring the deep red color. 

          “Hmmmmmm.  I was going to eat this myself,” he murmured. 

          Both horses tossed their heads vigorously.  “Oh? I am not?  Well, then, I suppose you may have it!” 

          Aravir quickly pulled out a small belt knife and halved the apple.  Offering one half to Arod and the other to Thalion, he grinned as the horses blissfully crunched the fruit. 

          You are both shameless!  I have seen colts of a few months more controlled!  Here, enjoy the apple, you two, and let me think.  Arod stood still, distracted and nervously pawing the ground, while Thalion rested his head on Aravir’s shoulder. 

          Aravir leaned into the comforting warmth and closed his eyes as other visions surfaced…the Prince working tirelessly side by side with him and the other elves to heal the forest…the Prince laughing and teasing the dwarf (that had taken some getting used to!)…Legolas standing proudly at the side of Elessar after the birth of his son…Legolas offering Aravir his friendship…  But it was the final memory, assaulting him like a strong blow to the stomach, that decided him; that of the body of Legolas lying on the ground, helpless in the grip of the sea’s call and guarded only by the faithful horse that even now fretted beside him.  He lifted his eyes to gaze at the cloudless blue sky above.

          What did Gimli once tell me?  That if I would think of him as a friend, as indeed I do, then I must act as a friend.  And no matter what he says, I believe this trip to the sea is ill advised and fraught with danger.  I cannot let him do this alone!

          His mouth tightened as he turned to Arod.  “Come, Arod.  We are going back.”  The silver gray horse tossed his head in obvious relief.  “We will pick up his trail at Minas Tirith and follow.  He need never know we are there…unless there is trouble with him.  Is that agreeable, my friend?”

          It is.  Arod snorted softly, shifting restlessly.  He will be angry.

          Aravir sighed.  “Probably.  But it is a risk we must take.  Come, we should hurry lest he get too far ahead.”  He leaped on Thalion’s back and they galloped back towards the White City.

          Elf and horses covered the distance quickly, reaching the intersection of roads before the gates of Minas Tirith in good time.  Aravir had just made the turn south towards Pelargir when a shout from behind brought him up short.  He looked around in disbelief as Aragorn left a group of guards he had been speaking with near the gate and rode to join them.

          “I thought you would be well on the way to greeting your Queen, hir nin,” he exclaimed, his surprise clearly evident to Aragorn.

          “And you should be well on your way to Ithilien, Aravir,” the King replied softly.  “Did you lose something?”

          They both smiled at the same time, shrewd gray eyes locking with embarrassed green in total understanding.  “It appears we have both wrestled with the same issues,” Aragorn noted. 

          He studied the handsome, resolute face of Legolas’ Captain.  “Will you let him know you are there?” he asked.

          Aravir shook his head no.  “I thought to stay well behind and make my presence known only at great need, my lord.”

          “That sounds like a good plan.  I would also choose clandestine surveillance over the wrath of Thranduil’s son any day!” Aragorn said, laughing at Aravir’s slightly guilty scowl. 

          He looked towards his city, frowning.  “I must go into the city, Aravir.  I need to see the state of things and determine if I can even consider leaving again so soon.  And I must speak to my wife and my Steward.”

          The elf nodded in understanding.  “Then go, Aran Elessar.  He takes the South Road to Pelargir.  Once there, I do not know his intended direction, though I doubt he will consider Pelargir close enough to the sea.  He will desire to get even closer…perhaps the Ethir Anduin, or maybe Linhir.  I cannot be certain, but I will try to stay within reach.  If you have not caught up with me by the time he leaves Pelargir, I will leave a message giving you our direction at the inn called Pelican’s Roost.  Have you heard of it?”

          Aragorn answered, “Actually, I have.  Gimli went south to a quarry looking for stone when they were repairing certain parts of the city.  He spoke of that inn fondly…said it had wonderful ale!  Do not worry, I will find your message as well as the inn.  Then I will join you as soon as possible!” 

          He paused and lifted shadowed eyes to the elf.  “And if I cannot join you, I will at least send Faramir.”

          Aravir, knowing the cost of those words to Aragorn, inclined his head respectfully.  “I will look for your arrival then, my lord, or Lord Faramir’s.” 

          Aragorn reached over and stroked Arod’s forehead.  “Why did you decide to come back, Aravir?  He gave you an order, did he not?”  He watched the elf flush slightly. 

          “Yes, he did.  And I believe he told you not to follow either, or am I mistaken?” 

          Aragorn laughed.  “You are not, my friend.  He was most adamant about going alone.”

          Aravir grimaced slightly.  “Do you remember the discussion you and I had about Legolas at the camp on the Snowborne, before we left to hunt the wild horses?”  Aragorn nodded.  “Do you remember what Lord Gimli told me before we had that talk?” 

          Aragorn’s eyes brightened with remembrance.  “Yes.  He said that Prince or not, he was a friend first and we must put his well-being above his orders sometimes because he is a flighty elf, given to incomprehensible thoughts and imaginings.” 

          Aravir looked insulted.  “I do not think he voiced it exactly that way, my lord,” he said stiffly. 

          Aragorn chuckled.  “No, but he meant it that way and you know it.” 

          A slight smile lightened the Silvan elf’s evergreen eyes and lifted his lips.  “Yes, you are correct.  He did mean it that way.  Lord Gimli is very wise, if not always tactful.  And he was right.  The threat this trip poses for Legolas outweighs any need he might have to be alone.  Of course, for all intents and purposes, he will be alone.  Almost.” 

          Aragorn reached across and clasped the elf’s shoulder.  “Go with care then, Aravir.  I am glad both you and Arod will be looking after him.”  Aravir nodded and watched the King of Gondor nudge his stallion towards the gates of his city.  He saw the King safely inside before turning Thalion and Arod south to gain the road that led to Pelargir.

~~~~*~~~~

          Legolas let the mare set her own pace for a time, thoroughly enjoying the cool wind in his face as they galloped across the rolling lowlands of Lossarnach that paralleled the Anduin; a pretty area that had seen its population increase swiftly after the end of the War.  Many had returned here to rebuild their old lives or start new ones.   The well-kept farms and the small villages, inns and way stations that had sprung up along the South Road attested to the peaceful affluence of the area. 

          Legolas smiled as he passed an older man directing several young men about the business of harvesting a field of ripened grain.  It was good to see the land prospering once more.  The memory of the devastation visited upon it and the local people by the Corsairs, as well as other minions of the Dark Lord, remained clear in his mind.

          His keen gray gaze surveyed the wide expanse of land patterned with fields and punctuated with dwellings.  Soon these plains and bottomlands along the Great River would give way to a lightly forested, more sparsely populated area.  That will be fine with me.  More trees…less people.  An ideal combination!  Legolas continued to eagerly search for any evidence of trees as the mare’s long, sweeping stride ate up the miles. 

          They passed several small groups of travelers on the road making their way to Pelargir also.  Invariably, the others waved and called friendly greetings to the elf that he felt obliged to return.  By the time he and the mare had traveled three hours or so, he received four invitations to join other groups and one indecent proposal.  He declined all graciously and continued on his solitary way, a perplexed, embarrassed grin on his fair face.  Legolas never tried to call attention to himself, but short of wearing a hooded cloak, attention was exactly what he received…in abundance.  

          “I do not understand what the attraction is, mir nin,” he grumbled softly to the horse, patting her golden neck.  Her delicate ears swiveled back at the sound of his voice and she shook her mane.  He laughed. 

          “I truly think it is you they are admiring, my lady,” he said.  “You are a bright jewel on this sunny day and they covet your company.” 

          The mare snorted and danced sideways a bit in reply.  “Well, at sundown we will go off-road and seek some privacy for the night.  I do not wish to camp with anyone or stay at an inn, do you?” he asked, smiling at the vigorous shake of her head.  “No, I did not think so.” 

          Shading his eyes, he searched the horizon and spotted the first grove of trees several leagues away from the main thoroughfare.  He glanced around for others on the road, but he and the mare had outdistanced everyone.  Satisfied they were alone, he directed the mare to leave and travel across the broad open land toward the distant trees. 

          There he found a small, charming grove of oak, birch and willow growing beside a shallow stream that would eventually pour into the River Erui near its juncture with the Anduin about six leagues further south.  They would cross the Erui on the morrow and continue to Pelargir from there. 

          The elf quickly cared for the mare, using long, rhythmic strokes of a soft brush from his pack to remove the evidence of the road from her gleaming coat before setting her loose to graze on the tall, sweet grass growing close by.  Then he spent some time on his own, walking the banks of the stream and immersing himself in its murmuring song.  He quickly picked up its melody and joined his clear tenor to that of the water and the many birds gathering in the trees for the evening. 

          Legolas had meandered upstream a short distance further, singing and examining the profusion of late summer flowers blooming on the bank when the delicate, graceful song of a willow drew him to sit beneath its sweeping branches.  He leaned against the sturdy trunk, still singing softly and watching the flowing stream through the curtain of pale green leaves, his eyes sleepy and slightly unfocused. 

          An insistent horsey nose snuffling his neck brought him back to the present and he smiled into the deep brown eyes of the mare. 

          Suilad, mir nin.  I almost fell asleep in this quiet place.

          A delicate snort greeted this observation and the mare shook her pale mane.  Legolas grinned at the almost amused expression in the mare’s eyes. 

          Such long suffering, my lady!  Am I so difficult to live with, then?

          She shook her regal head again and nudged his shoulder, her mind voice gentle and affectionate.  I understand you quiet well.  This place is beautiful.  Shall we stay here?  

         No, my lady.  The willow is a graceful companion by day, but I prefer the sturdy strength of an oak by night.  We should return to our things before we lose them in the darkness.  

          He sat humming quietly for a few moments longer in the willow’s bower, his strong hand gently fondling the soft ears of the horse, before pulling himself to his feet and allowing the mare to lead him back to his belongings.   

          This night he built no fire, settling instead for a cold supper.  Rummaging through the pack Aravir had given him, he pulled out a half loaf of bread and a generous slice of smoked rabbit. 

          After feeding an apple to the mare, he wrapped his supper in a large kerchief along with a handful of large berries he had discovered ripening near the stream.  He slipped the kerchief in his tunic and walked over to the grazing horse. 

          “Losto, mir nin.  I will be close by…right over there in that tree,” he whispered, letting her lip a small sugar lump from his hand as he smoothed her mane.  The mare followed him to his chosen tree and watched him rapidly scale the large, stately oak that grew some feet from the water’s edge.  Now confident of his location, she returned to her grazing.

          Legolas settled himself on a broad limb and ate his supper in record time, washing down the bread and rabbit with sips of cool water from the stream.  Sated and feeling somewhat pummeled by events of the day, he pulled his cloak close about him, listening to the deep, sleepy voice of the tree.  Another quick glance reassured him that the mare was well and he slipped into elven dreams listening to the soothing sounds of wind and water and treesong.

          Early the next morning as Anor was just beginning to paint the horizon pink and gold, Legolas woke and slipped from the tree’s sheltering branches to the ground below.  Stretching stiffened muscles, he walked to the stream and crouched, splashing water on his face in the hopes it would wake him up.  He found the mare drinking from the stream and greeted her cheerfully.  After a quick meal of more bread and berries, he packed his things away, vaulted on her back and turned to cross the two leagues of grassland between them and the main road. 

          The mare’s mincing and fidgeting finally convinced the elf to release her for their morning gallop.  He leaned close to her neck, clutching a handful of mane as she thundered across the wide grassland.  They had raced thus for over a league when Legolas spotted the first wain with its outriders on the Road from Pelargir in the distance.  He slowed the mare and by the time they reached the Road and the wagon, the mare was trotting sedately.  Legolas nodded to the riders and the driver, recognizing them as merchants taking their wares to sell to vendors in the city. 

          The driver saluted him in return and as they drove on, Legolas’ sharp ears heard one of the riders exclaim, “An elf!  That’s good luck, that is, I heared tell.  Did ya see that mare o’ his?  A right beauty she was!” 

          The driver muttered, “Shut up, Darloth!  He might not take kindly to ya lookin’ too closely at that fine horse…and who told ya elves be good luck?” 

          The hapless Darloth murmured something in reply, eliciting hearty laughter from his companions.  Legolas smiled slightly as he rode on.  Where do men get these strange notions?  Good luck indeed!  He nudged the mare in the ribs and she quickened her pace obediently.

~~~~~*~~~~~

          Aravir approached his first night on the road in a turmoil of anxiety.  They had ridden all afternoon, yet Legolas remained ahead of them somewhere.  How far ahead he did not know.  Now with the advent of night, he was certain Legolas would seek shelter somewhere away from the main road.

          I should have expected he would not make use of the inns along the way.  

          He finally stopped at one of those inns, seeking information from some of the other travelers.   He spoke with a group who actually remembered seeing the pair… “all shining golden they was…” right before sunset.  Based on their recollections and Arod’s strong sense of Legolas’ presence …he is close…taking his rest somewhere near… Aravir allowed himself to feel a measure of relief. 

          If the Prince was resting, he had probably found some trees close by.  Aravir asked the innkeeper, who informed him that small, scattered stands of oak and willow grew with increasing regularity from this point on.  Thanking the man, he returned to the horses.

          “We will wait here tonight,” he whispered to Arod, finger combing the silvery forelock and then stroking Thalion’s warm neck.  “In the morning, we will join a small group going to Pelargir and blend in until we have some sense of where he is and how far ahead.” 

          Aravir led both horses to the stable where the stable master gave him a roomy stall and two large buckets of fresh water.  There he brushed the dust and grime of travel from both horses before feeding them the last of the grain Brandel had given him in Firien two days ago. 

          Once the horses were dozing comfortably, the elf crept outside and scaled the stable walls to the roof, where he spent a restless night alternately singing to Elbereth and asking for her watchful care over Legolas.   Finally, the darkness paled to early morning grays and pinks as the sun rose and the world awakened.  By the time he had fed, groomed, and watered both horses, Anor had just cleared the horizon. 

          They resumed their journey, ambling along the road in a rather careless, nonchalant manner and joining a merry collection of shopkeepers (who were fascinated with the prospect of traveling with a real elf, for goodness sake!).  The merchants, who were returning to Linhir after a buying expedition in Minas Tirith, were delighted to share stories of their time in the city with their fair companion.  Aravir listened with half an ear, always watching the road ahead and the plains to the side.  He was beginning to think they had missed Legolas entirely when his keen elven eyes spotted a rider and horse approaching the Road, cantering at an angle across the wide expanse of grass.   

          The fair-haired Prince and his mare glistened like newly minted gold in the early morning light.  As Aravir watched, Legolas leaned forward and whispered to his mount.  She immediately leaped forward, settling quickly into a ground-eating gallop.  Aravir smiled slightly, remembering well the young horse’s penchant for explosive runs every morning.  It had been prudent to oblige her, too, lest her capering antics drive everyone around, including her rider, to distraction.  As he watched the pair’s progress, he realized they would regain the Road well ahead of him.

          He leaned forward to pat Thalion’s neck, and called Arod closer.  Well, Arod, my friend, there they are.  We will stay lost in the midst of this group until they are some distance ahead.  Then we will see about tracking them for the rest of the journey.

~~~~~*~~~~~

          For the next two days, Legolas and the mare traveled steadily south, using the Road by day and sleeping in the nearby woods at night.  With every passing mile, Legolas noticed the increasingly salty tang in the air, whereas previously he had caught the faint whiff of brine only if a favorable southerly wind blew.  The closer they drew to Pelargir, the stronger the tug of the sea on his heart and senses became.

          He sang a completely different song these days, blending his voice with the siren song of distant waters and the rolling, open music of Lebennin.  He found it delightfully bittersweet, a song lauding the diversity of the land and people around him while mixed liberally with the mystery of vast waters and the yearnings of his heart. 

          As the days passed, Legolas examined the strong hold the sea’s call still had on him.  With his newfound ability to unite the music of both worlds through his own, he fervently hoped it would be sufficient to hold any future attacks of the sea-longing at bay.  He realized he had not been cured at all, merely equipped to better deal with the problem, which would probably last until he finally sailed.  It was a sobering thought.

          He entered the town of Pelargir late one warm afternoon and made his way immediately to the docks.   As he stood there amongst the ships, listening to the noise of men loading and off loading cargo mixed with the shrill clarion call of the gulls, he knew it was not enough.   His elven senses could not perceive the pounding of ocean waves…the Great Sea still lay many leagues to the south.  And while the smell of salt and sound of gull spoke of the sea, it was NOT the sea.

          He gave a frustrated shrug and gathering his cloak around him, turned to leave.  The port of Linhir actually resides by a bay that is part of Belegaer.  At Linhir, I would be much closer to the sea and it is only three or four days from here. 

          Making his way through the crowds, which parted quickly to let the silent elf pass, he returned to the tethered mare and mounted.  As he guided her through the busy streets of the town back to the Road, he searched his mind for the best path to travel.  Should he actually go into Linhir, or turn aside before reaching the town? 

          Legolas remembered the two rivers that flowed into the bay at Linhir.  The Gilraen and Serni…it might prove interesting to leave the road early and make his way to one of those rivers.  He could follow the river to the sea, thus avoiding the troublesome traffic of the Road.  Promising himself to ask for information or perhaps a map at an inn later in the day, Legolas turned the mare west and rode out into the countryside once again. 

          Several leagues later, they crossed the bridge over the Sirith River and the broad sweep of the hills and plains of Lebennin became evident.  When the first stars of evening glittered in the darkening sky, Legolas rode into the cleanly swept yard of an inn.  An eager lad held the mare, his blue eyes impossibly wide with awe at the sight of the elf, while Legolas made his way inside to speak with the innkeeper.

          That worthy individual, Caldor by name, was presently involved with haggling the price of a room with one of his most recalcitrant, but faithful, customers.  Ending the transaction to his satisfaction, he sent the man on to his room and turned to find himself under the amused scrutiny of, by the Powers that be, an elf!  His shocked eyes quickly noted the impossibly fair face and gilt hair, the star-bright eyes and elegant, though serviceable clothing, not to mention the great bow and quiver strapped to his back. 

          The man cleared his throat nervously.  “My lord?  How can I be of service to ye?”

          The elf smiled faintly, bowing slightly with one hand over his heart.  “Mae govannen, good sir.  I am traveling to Linhir and would like to ask your advice and direction, if I may.”

          Caldor bowed in return, charmed by the courteous manners of this strange being and replied, “Of course.  Please, my lord, come this way.  We can speak in here without interruption.  What did you say your name was?”  He led Legolas into a small back room office and offered him a seat.

          Legolas smiled at the obvious ploy for information.  “I am called Legolas Greenleaf.”

          Caldor, who had gone to a side table and had just started pouring wine into two goblets, almost dropped the bottle.  He turned back, looking at the elf, the color draining from his face.  “L…L…Legolas, did ye say?  Not the Legolas o’ the Nine Walkers…not the King’s friend…the one who fought side by side with him and the dwarf, Gimli, against the cursed Corsairs?  Not that Legolas!” 

          Legolas suppressed a smile.  “Alas, my good Caldor, I must confess that yes, I am THAT Legolas.  Does that trouble or inconvenience you in some way?”

          Caldor carefully brought the goblets over to the chairs and offered one to Legolas, his face still pale, yet now thoughtful.  He sat down in a chair across from the elf, cradling his own cup in his slightly unsteady hands.  Legolas sipped the wine slowly – it was really quite good – and watched the man curiously. 

          “Beggin’ yer pardon, my lord, it is no inconvenience…just a shock,” Caldor explained.  “Ye see, there are many families in these parts what still thank the Valar regularly for the King and you and Lord Gimli.  Back durin’ the war, there was many taken by those cursed pirates and pressed into servin’ on those evil ships.  Fathers and brothers, husbands and sons, would just up and disappear…ne’er to return.” 

          He paused, his face stark with sadness.  “When the King and that army o’ the Dead o’ his released those men on the ships, my father was one o’ them.  In fact, my lord, ‘twer ye who cut my father loose that day…from his bonds as one o’ the oarsmen on the ship.  He ne’er fergot ye…used to tell us how kind ye were…how ye bound up a wound to his side and fetched the King to help him.”

          Legolas straightened.  “Eradan was your father?” he asked, amazed at this revelation, a connection to a past he thought men would have long forgotten.  “I remember him…a fine, brave man.  He had been wounded protecting a friend from a beating.”

          Caldor smiled broadly.  “Aye, Eradan is my father, Lord Legolas.  He said ye stopped the bleeding until the King himself could come and tend to him.  Imagine, meeting ye after all these years!” 

          The two drank their wine, and Caldor told Legolas of his family and his father, who still owned his own ship and lived in the south, transporting goods from that region to Pelargir.

          Finally, Caldor asked, “Now, tell me, what can I help ye with?”

          “I am traveling to Linhir and would like to know of any route to the Gilraen River that would not involve the main Road.  I have heard a lake on that river called the Luinaelin possess water of clarity and color not often seen.  I would like to see the Blue Lake, and then perhaps follow the Gilraen south to where it empties into the sea.”

          Caldor had started nodding at the mention of the Gilraen and got up to fetch a large sheet of parchment and a quill pen from his desk.  Quickly sketching the area, he showed Legolas the best path from his inn to the Gilraen. 

          “Ye’ll have to cross the Serni River at some point,” he said, pointing to the first of two rivers he had drawn.  “I’ve been hearin’ that there’s been some heavy rain up in the mountains north and that the rivers have been risin’ slowly these past few days.  Best be careful, my lord, crossin’ any river for the next week or so.  They flood easily and sometimes when ye’re least expectin’ it.” 

          He folded the map neatly and handed it to Legolas.  “Once ye cross the Serni, anyone can help direct ye to the lake if ya need the help.  Once ye get there, you might seek out Arador and his family.  They be a family of healers and herbalists what live on the lake and harvest herbs and all manner of medicines from the forests and marshes close by.  Real helpful, kind people they are…and I’m bettin’ they would much like to meet the elven friend of Elessar.” 

          “Hannon lle, mellon nin,” Legolas said gratefully, tucking the map into his tunic pocket.  They rose and walked slowly to the front door of the inn, talking quietly. 

          Caldor walked the elf outside and over to the mare.  He and the stable boy watched admiringly as Legolas leaped onto her back. 

          “Namarie, Caldor.  Extend my greetings to your father when next you see him.  And thank you again, my friend,” he called, as he turned the mare and they cantered from the yard back to the Road. 

          Caldor waved, calling, “Goodbye, my lord!  Safe journey!” 

          Clapping the awestricken lad on the shoulder, Caldor smiled and said, “Come, close yer mouth now, Bren.  Walk with me and I’ll tell ye about our visitor!”

~~~~~*~~~~~~          

          Legolas followed the South Road to Linhir for two days, Aravir and Arod shadowing them at a discreet distance.  He always left the main road once evening came and camped under the protective covering of any of the sparsely scattered trees he could find, supplementing his dwindling food with the abundant fruits or plentiful game he found living and growing in the tall grasses or wooded areas.  From time to time he paused, especially at dusk, sensing on some deep level inside that someone was close, but when he stretched out his senses he could find no threat to himself or the mare. 

          Then abruptly, the land changed once again.  As they neared the River Serni, Legolas left the Road altogether and rode cross-country.  They came across more heavily wooded areas, along with swampy marshes and bogs.  Legolas skirted the more dangerous swamps, staying close to the trees. 

          On their fourth day out of Pelargir, they reached the swelling waters of the Serni.  Usually the most amiable of rivers, the mountain storms had turned it into a tumbling, precocious child of impressive proportions.  Legolas frowned…no safe passage here…and turned the mare upriver as he searched for a safe place to cross.  After hours of frustration, he finally located a likely spot and dismounted.  Leading the reluctant mare into the cold, swirling waters, he walked first, then slipped an arm over her neck and swam beside her, whispering and singing constantly until they reached the other side.   A quick, brisk rubdown and a change of clothes saw the pair once more on their way west in search of the River Gilraen.

~~~~~*~~~~~

          Erelas, son of Arador, was not happy.  The rising river was proving a hindrance in his efforts to harvest the marsh mallow plants that grew in the swampy ground close to the river’s edge.  He had promised his father that the mallow that grew in profusion on his side of the lake would be relatively easy to reach.

          “Hah!  So much for promises!” he muttered, his experienced gray eyes scanning the bank.  “Father will not be pleased if our supply is anything less than what we expected.  That large order from the White City must be filled.” 

          They had found a goodly supply of the common mallow along the road in the spring, and another fair sized stand in the forest near his father’s home.  The leaves had been carefully harvested at that time, with the flowers and roots of the larger plants slated for gathering in late summer and fall. 

          But it was the marsh mallow that was the more highly prized of the two plants.  Most healers of worth would need a goodly supply for those colder fall and winter months when inflammations of the lung became more prevalent.  Truly this was one of their busiest times of the year, and of all things, run-off from torrential rains in the White Mountains was causing both the Serni and Gilraen to flood.

          Erelas, a tall, dark haired man in his early thirties, eyed the nearest stand of the precious mallow plant crowding the edge of the bank.  The ground looked stable enough.  He cursed softly under his breath.  Why did the blasted plant insist on flourishing in such precarious places?  And this particular stand of mallow was uncommonly thick, the leaves a healthy deep green, its flowers large with a deep cream-gold color. 

          He walked over to the edge and stared down at the tossing, twisting, raging waters of the Gilraen twenty feet below.  He sighed.  Any other part of the river and he would be looking at a gently sloping bank with a drop of only six or seven feet. 

          Here the river’s winding course had cut a particularly deep canyon that scarred the land for several leagues before gradually resuming its gentler course to the sea.  He shook his head and began a painstaking examination, testing every inch of the ground.  As he prodded and stamped, Erelas scowled heavily.  The mallow was necessary, though the thought of treading this dangerously soft ground to get it became increasingly distasteful. 

          He crouched at one spot, his deep gray eyes spotting the first telltale signs of trouble.  There was some erosion already starting on the very edge of the bank, but on further examination, it seemed that perhaps he and Raenor would be able to reach most of the plants if they started now and hurried.

          With one last inspection of the ground, Erelas called to his oldest son.  “Raenor!  Come, the ground looks to hold us!  We must hurry and harvest what we need.” 

          A tall, dark, lanky youth of perhaps fifteen years loped through the nearby trees and joined him.  “I have unhitched and tethered the donkey, Father.  The supplies for the bundling are ready.”

          Erelas looked into startlingly beautiful gray eyes and smiled at his son.  “Well done, lad.  We will gather what we need of the flowers and roots and then return to camp to dry and bundle them.  Let us hope this will be enough.  Any more moisture and this whole section of the bank might cave in.” 

          The two drew the long knives used for cutting from their belts and began to make their way to the plants.  “Carefully, Raen,” his father warned.  “Watch the ground…feel it…if you sense any change at all – run!” 

          The boy nodded in understanding.  They reached the first plants and began efficiently cutting flower tops from the stems, storing them in the bags slung over their shoulders.  Every movement precise and economical, Erelas carefully marked the whole mallows he would harvest later even as he wielded his knife.  The idea was to thin the colony, not deplete it to the point it could not renew itself, and he was always very circumspect in his choices. 

          Erelas and Raenor made good time deftly removing the precious flowers and work was progressing nicely near the edge of the bank where the plants grew thickest when Erelas lifted his head suddenly, listening.  A very low grumbling sound seemed to be coming up through the ground…right through the soles of his feet. 

          “Raen!” he screamed, running to the boy and grabbing his arm.   “Get back….get ba-----!” 

          About the time his words registered, the entire section of ground gave way and began the long descent towards the tumultuous water below.  Raenor and his father had both turned to run and instead found themselves swept up in the inexorable slide of mud and rocks. 

          Erelas grasped his son’s arm with one hand and threw himself forward to grab a scrawny shrub growing into the face of the cliff with the other.  The force of stopping wrenched Erelas’ shoulder from its socket, throwing his body hard against the unforgiving side of the cliff and driving an exposed root through his heavy tunic into his side.  He muffled a cry of pain and clamped frantic fingers around the shrub while equally desperate fingers dug into his son’s arm to hold him from the river below.  Erelas squeezed his eyes shut against the burning in his side, concentrating on holding tightly to the shrub. 

          Raenor shouted at his father, “Da!  Let go!  I’m too heavy to pull up!”  The man shook his head, his face white and set. 

          “Da!” Raen pleaded, his feet scrabbling to find some purchase in the slick mud, and failing.  “Let me go!  I can swim – I know I’ll be all right.” 

          “No!” Erelas forced out through gritted teeth.  He called on his inner reserves of strength and slowly began pulling Raen up level with the shrub. 

          “Grab hold, son!”  At Raen’s hesitation, he screamed, “Do it now!” 

          Spurred into action by his father’s fear as well as his own, the youth stretched and reached until he was able to latch on to the shrub.  Father and son hung there, gasping for breath and looking up at the ledge several feet above their heads.  It might just as well have been several thousand feet.  Erelas leaned his face against his straining arm and shut his eyes, wondering wearily through the haze of pain clouding his mind how long the little shrub would be able to support their combined weight.  He moaned softly.  Even if it did, how in the name of all the Valar were they going to scale the slippery, muddy sides of the cliff to safety?

~~~~~*~~~~~

          Legolas closed his eyes and lifted his face to Anor, enjoying the warmth on his skin.  The days had been uncommonly mild for this time of year; at home they would have already experienced the first frost.

          They had ridden steadily for almost two days after fording the Serni.  If the innkeeper’s map was accurate, they were not more than ten leagues from Luinaelin.  Skirting the marshes near the river, Legolas guided the mare carefully, noting the turbulent, swollen waters and uncertain footing.

          Carefully, mir nin.  Stay away from the ledge.  This river is much angrier than the Serni.  The mare tossed her head, picking up her hooves daintily as she walked along.

          Suddenly, he pulled the mare up short, bidding her stand still while he listened closely, his ears and eyes straining to locate the source of his distraction.  At first, he was not sure what had claimed his attention; all he could hear was the overwhelming roar of the flooded river.  Stretching his elven senses to their utmost, the uneasy feeling within growing by the minute, he dismounted and walked to the river’s edge.  Legolas stood for a moment, scanning the far bank carefully before turning his gaze downstream.  Nothing…just a great deal of roiling, murky water. 

           Looking upstream, he noticed two indistinct figures walking along the bank’s edge.  They appeared to be picking flowers.  Surely not!  He cocked his head, looking more closely.  His storm gray eyes narrowed, he saw that the two men (yes, they were men – one tall and strongly built, one the lean, lithe figure of a youth) were actually cutting the blooms from some tall plants growing close to the drop-off.

          He froze.  Elven ears heard the groan of the land as it began to give way.  The man had stiffened also, and screamed at the boy to run.  Legolas gasped as an entire section of the ledge crumbled and fell, the two figures disappearing with it.  By that time, the elf was already sprinting towards the mare, yelling at her.

          He threw himself on her back just as she burst into full gallop.  Legolas frantically scanned for the two men, but could not see anything.  Ai!  Elbereth, no!  Do not let me be too late!   They covered the ground quickly and in minutes had reached the place where the landslide had occurred.  Legolas drew the mare up at a safe distance and hit the ground at a dead run, praying he would be in time.

TRANSLATIONS:

hannon lle – thank you

mellon nin – my friend

elleth – young female elf

aran – King

mir nin – my jewel (treasure)

suilad – hello

losto – sleep

mae govannen – well met

namarie – goodbye (farewell)