Title: THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary: Legolas crosses paths with unexpected friends.

Disclaimer: The characters and settings of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  No profit is made in the writing of this story. 

Reviews: Please!  I treasure and enjoy every comment.

A/N:  Well, I feel a lot like Legolas in this story right now…he has a destination in mind, but is taking a rather round-about way to get there!  Please bear with me!

*Character thoughts will appear in italics.

Chapter 13: Finding Common Ground

          Erelas had one thought in his mind as he hung from the shrub beside his son.  If I feel the roots begin to give way, I will let go…for better my son live, who is young and untried, than I who have known thirty-six years.  Raen at least deserves a chance to experience life.  He shut his eyes, squeezing back tears as he silently pleaded with Iluvatar to spare his boy.

          So it was he missed the appearance above them of a face fair beyond that of mortal men.  That fair face grimaced at the sight before him and flung himself flat on the ground, stretching his arm down to the two suspended below him.

          Erelas did not notice the brush of strong fingers against his clenched hand or hear anything until Raen spoke urgently, “Father!  Look!  Up on the cliff!” 

          Erelas raised his pain-filled eyes and looked straight into the star-bright blue-gray gaze of an elf.  He almost let go of the shrub from sheer surprise.

          “Take my hand!” the golden-haired elf cried, inching forward to grasp Erelas’ hand.  The man shook his head and drew back slightly, to the amazement of the elf. 

          “Take my son up first!” Erelas cried, his voice hoarse.  At this request, the elf’s eyes widened in sudden understanding and with a curt nod, he offered his hand to the young man hanging beside his father.

          “Here, child!  Quickly!  Take my hand!” he called in a firm, commanding voice. 

          As if to underscore the urgency of Erelas’ plea, the shrub chose that moment to loosen its hold slightly on the soil.  With a sudden jolt, the two slipped further down the cliff’s face. 

          In a panic, Erelas turned to his son.  “Go!  Now!  While there is time, Raen!” he ordered. 

          Raenor, seeing the determined stubbornness in his father’s eyes, looked back up at the elf above him.  Legolas started, reading something in the young one’s eyes he could hardly believe and reached quickly to grab the boy by the wrist.  He was too late.  Raen closed his eyes and let go of the branch.

          “Raen!” Erelas screamed, even as he felt a grip of iron close over his wrist, drawing him inexorably up the face of the cliff.  “No!” he cried.  “Raen!”

           Erelas began to struggle then – twisting and kicking in a vain attempt to follow his son.  “Raen!”  His efforts threw him against the hard, unforgiving surface of the cliff and the subsequent blinding flash of pain in his already battered side rendered him nauseous and light-headed. 

          “Raen!” he choked out, as a shroud of blackness descended upon him and his struggles ceased.

                                                    ~~~~~*~~~~~

          From a distance of several leagues, Aravir had watched the Prince observe the two harvesting the plants on the river’s bank and thought nothing of it until the whole edge had collapsed.  Without a thought, he sent Thalion leaping forward, calling to the great stallion and Arod as they flew across the open bottomland between the forest and the river. 

          Knowing Legolas as he did, Aravir knew it was imperative that he reach the Prince and help him in the rescue attempt of the men.  He knew that it would take more than one elf to bring both to safety, provided they could be reached and had not been swept away.  There was not a doubt in his mind that Legolas would go into the water himself if necessary.

          He saw Legolas leap from the mare, racing along the bank until he found what he sought and dropped to the ground, lying on his stomach and inching forward to reach over the drop-off.   Aravir’s keen eyes immediately spotted the two hapless victims hanging on to a small, tree-like shrub for dear life.

          A groan wrenched loose from deep inside the elf as he saw the roots began to give way, dropping the two suddenly lower with an abrupt jerk. 

          Noro lim, Thalion!  His agonized thought spurred the big stallion to even greater lengths.  They had only covered half the distance when the slighter figure inexplicably let go and dropped into the turbulent waters below.

          “Arod!  Go to Legolas!” Aravir cried and the big gray thundered on. The elf pulled the bay aside and they came to a jarring, abrupt halt that threw the stallion back on his haunches.  Aravir leaped to the ground, his green eyes locked on the bobbing figure tossed about like a child’s toy by the current of the river.

          Thalion!  Follow me!  But stay back – away from the edge!  The big horse moved to obey.

          “Watch out behind you, young one!” he yelled, as the large trunk of a downed tree turned battering ram came sweeping towards the boy.  To Aravir’s intense relief, the boy managed somehow to maneuver himself to the side of the tree.  He grabbed hold of a branch for a moment, but released it when the rushing water rolled the tree and threatened to drag him under as well. 

          Aravir redoubled his efforts to reach the boy, running along the edge at full speed as he frantically scanned for any possible way down for a nimble, sure-footed elf.  The boy had been carried perhaps a league and dodged certain disaster twice in the form of debris when Aravir shouted in relief and ran to the side of the cliff.  A steep, though not impossible, path wound its precarious way down to the water and Aravir followed it with his own precipitous, sliding descent. 

          He was still about eight feet above the river’s surface when the boy swept by, struggling now to swim out of the current and reach the quieter water near the shoreline.  He was making some progress, too, but Aravir could see he was tiring quickly and the side of his face was streaked with rivulets of blood streaming from a gash on his head.

          “Keep swimming!” Aravir roared and the boy’s face turned blindly to the sound of the voice, his arms flailing obediently at the water. 

          The racing elf checked the water, prayed that there was nothing submerged his elven eyesight could not see, and launched himself into a flat dive a few yards behind the boy.  He entered the water stroking strongly and within the space of a few minutes managed to snag the young one’s collar. 

          Looping his arm around the boy’s neck, he began a powerful sidestroke towards the bank, working with the current to keep himself and the lad afloat.  Raenor’s hold on consciousness ebbed slowly as they struggled to reach shore.  Aravir was not entirely surprised when the boy went limp.  He continued to scan the waters for oncoming debris, turning his back to take the impact of the tumbling branches and other floating objects himself.

          Finally, he broke free of the current and angled towards the shore.  His feet touched bottom and he stood, lifting the young man in his arms and staggering through the shallows to solid ground.

          He laid the boy face down, straddling the still, silent figure, alternately pumping and lifting the shoulders to force any water from his lungs.  When the boy began to cough and struggle weakly, Aravir turned him over, pulling a sodden cloth from his pocket.  He squeezed the excess water out and used it to wipe the blood from the boy’s face.  He brushed the dark hair back and found the hairline gash easily.

          “That will need stitching,” he murmured, pressing the kerchief firmly against the wound until the bleeding slowed.  The boy moaned and dark lashes fluttered as he struggled back towards consciousness.

          “Carefully now, pen-neth nin,” the elf warned as the boy’s eyes opened and Aravir found himself looking into dazed, crystal gray eyes.

          The boy blinked slowly, taking in the sight of the elf caring for him.  Suddenly he bolted upright.

          “Father!” he cried. 

          Aravir restrained him gently, saying in a soothing voice, “It is all right; my lord had hold of your father and was bringing him up when last I saw him.”

          The boy really looked at him then, memory dawning in his eyes.  “The golden one?” he whispered.

          Aravir nodded.  “He was a…a…an elf,” the boy stammered.

          Aravir smiled.  “Yes,” he said, “And he still is.”  The boy’s silvery eyes focused on Aravir.

          “Ahhhhh…so are you,” the boy’s weak chuckle became a groan and he closed his eyes, grimacing in pain.  “My head…would you just cut it off, please?”

          “I think we will try for a different cure, pen-neth,” Aravir laughed softly, liking the young one’s pluck immediately.  “Do you think you can stand for a moment?”

           The boy nodded gingerly and Aravir helped him to his feet.  He placed one arm around the wobbly, weak youngster to steady him, his sharp eyes scanning the bank and quickly finding a way up.  Sending a questing thought up to Thalion, he was immensely relieved when the horse responded immediately.

          Wait there, mellon nin.  We were washed far enough downstream that the canyon has given way to a more friendly riverbank.

           His green eyes returned to the shivering boy leaning heavily against him, studying the excessively pale, set features and the pain he tried so very hard to hide. 

          Aravir scooped the faintly protesting young man up in his arms.  “We must get back to the others.  What is your name, nin hen?” 

          “Raenor,” the boy whispered.  “What’s yours?” 

          “Mae govannen, Raenor.  I am Aravir.” 

          “I can walk, Aravir,” the boy protested weakly.  

          Aravir shook his head and started towards the path.  “No arguments, child.  If you should fall, you might do yourself more damage than the concussion you already have.  I cannot allow that.  Besides, once we reach the top, my horse is close by.” 

          “All right,” the boy acquiesced tiredly and leaned his head against the elf’s strong shoulder.  The path up to Thalion was steep and uneven, and in spite of Aravir’s extreme care, the jolting finally pushed the injured boy into unconsciousness.  Aravir heaved a deep sigh.

          That might be for the best until we can reach his father and Legolas. 

          He eased the unconscious boy onto Thalion’s back and climbed up behind him, cradling him carefully and instructing the horse to take him to Legolas.

                                      ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Erelas clawed his way back to consciousness to find himself lying on the ground some distance from the riverbank.  He clenched his teeth, stifling a moan as the stabbing, burning pain in his side threatened to send him back into the darkness.  A cold lethargy covered him head to toe like a blanket and his dazed gray eyes stared sightlessly at the sky, his breathing quick and ragged.

          “Raen,” he whispered, despairing tears trailing slowly from the corners of his eyes down into the dark hair at his temples.

          Legolas, frantically cutting away the man’s blood soaked tunic, noted his distress, the whispered name striking him like a blow.  If not for all this blood, he would have left the man already to search for the boy. 

          The sharp, thin blade of his boot knife split the cloth and Legolas carefully pulled it away, hissing in dismay as he revealed a deep puncture wound in the man’s side.  The sharp branch had entered below the bottom rib, punching through at an angle and exiting in the back, leaving the skin torn and turning blue around the slow welling of blood from both wounds.

          Legolas yanked off his cloak and heavier outer tunic, grasping the hem of his soft gray under shirt and ripping a large portion of the bottom off.  He tore it in half and folded both pieces into heavy squares.  He slipped one under the man to cover the exit wound, hoping the pressure of the man’s weight would be enough to slow the flow of blood.  The other cloth he placed over the entrance wound, applying a steady pressure with his right hand, while his left sought the man’s pulse in his neck. 

          Thready and much too fast.  His skin is already cold and clammy.

          Recognizing the onset of shock, Legolas swiftly spread his cloak over the man, returning his hand to keep pressure on the wound.  All the time, he kept up a steady murmur of reassurance, half spoken and half -sung, as he reached up periodically to check the man’s pulse. 

          “I will find him,” Legolas whispered.  “I promise as soon as you show some improvement, I will go for him.”  Erelas gave an almost imperceptible nod, the dark gray eyes now fixed on the elf’s face.

          Long minutes passed before Legolas noted any measurable change.  Finally, he detected an easing of the man’s breathing and a slight warming of the chilled skin.

          Whistling a series of melodic notes, Legolas called the mare over.  She had stood uneasily to one side, watching her elf tend the injured one, the smell of blood strong and frightening.  Legolas spoke softly, coaxing her nearer.  He did not dare ease the pressure on the man’s side…yet. 

          Fortunately, the pack he had secured across her shoulders earlier that morning was still there if she would come near enough for him to reach it.  The mare finally edged close to Legolas, bending to snuffle at his neck, her nostrils flaring wide with alarm at the scent of blood.  He set about soothing her nervousness. 

          Sedho, mir nin.  I am fine.  This man is hurt and I am trying to stop the bleeding. 

          She gradually quieted and stood still enough for Legolas to reach up and slip the pack off her back, opening it with one hand and retrieving his healing kit, the water skin, a clean tunic and blanket.  He then pushed the pack under the man’s feet, elevating them. 

          Lifting the pad from the wound, he was pleased to see the blood flow had slowed to a trickle.   He flushed the ugly wound quickly with fresh water and packed both sides with an herbal paste of oak, willow and yarrow to combat the pain and further slow the bleeding.   Covering all then with a temporary dressing, he secured it tightly with long strips of cloth torn from the bottom of the blanket. 

          Sinking back on his heels, the elf watched the man for a moment for any further signs of distress.  Now to find a safer, more comfortable place for the man to rest…

          Legolas tucked the blanket and healing pouch under his arm and stood.  He walked along slowly, his knowledgeable eyes examining the ground near the trees behind them and quickly locating a spot of ground covered with soft moss.  He spread the blanket and returned to lift the man carefully and move him to the more comfortable pallet, where he covered him warmly.   Settling beside him and watching the pale face, Legolas debated whether he should leave to look for the boy as he had promised.               

          A loud crashing sound in the forest to his right brought his head up, his gray eyes narrowing as they watched the woods.  Something was coming – something large and in a hurry. 

          The elf tensed, drawing an arrow from his quiver and picking up the bow he had laid to the side during the move.  He had nocked the arrow, prepared to shoot first and question the intruder later, when a thread of a familiar presence brushed his mind.  The mare also threw up her head, whinnying loudly in recognition of the scent borne to her on the breeze.  Legolas focused his thoughts and suddenly jerked in surprise.

          Arod?  He laid his weapon down, hardly believing what his senses were telling him.  The steel gray gelding burst from the underbrush of the forest several hundred feet away and cantered towards him.  Legolas leaped to his feet, meeting the horse with a glad cry and throwing his arms around the dappled gray neck. 

          Arod!  How came you here?

         We followed you.  We saw them fall.  The other one like you sent me to find you.  Arod rubbed his face against the elf’s chest in welcome. 

         Aravir?  Where is he?  Legolas continued stroking Arod’s neck, his eyes searching the bank downriver.  If Aravir had seen the accident, then perhaps…

          Arod nudged the elf back towards the man.  He went for the other one in the river.

         Thank the Valar you are here! Legolas gave Arod one more grateful, welcoming pat and sent him to wait with the mare.  He breathed a sigh of relief as he knelt again beside his patient and quickly checked the bandage, pleased that the blood, though still soaking through, did not do so in any great amount.  The man opened his eyes again at Legolas’ gentle touch.

          “Go after my son.  I will be fine.  Please, milord,” he begged hoarsely.

          Legolas laid his hand on the man’s forehead.  “Peace, my friend.  Someone has already done so,” he informed him gently. 

          At the man’s hopeful, questioning look, he continued, “A friend who was following unbeknownst to me has gone in search of Raenor.” 

          Legolas smiled as the man relaxed.  “Aravir will find him.  Arod says they saw him fall and Aravir went after him immediately.  We are most fortunate they chose to disobey my orders,” Legolas concluded thoughtfully, not certain if he was angry or not.  Probably not.  He could tolerate even insubordination if the boy was safe.  He frowned.  Still, his captain had some explaining to do. 

          Arod nudged him again from behind.  Legolas turned to look into the horse’s dark eyes.

          He loves you.

         Who?

         The other.  You are his friend.  And your sire is his King.  By protecting you, he protects his King. 

         Arod snorted softly, rubbing his face against Legolas’ shoulder.  He loves his King, too.  Do not be angry that love brought us here to you.

         Ai, Arod nin.  Legolas cupped the great horse’s jaw, laying his cheek against Arod’s face.  He closed his eyes against the emotion that welled up within.  How could I be angry?  I have missed you, mellon nin.  And though Aravir tends to hover, I find I have missed that, too.  And him. 

          The big horse bumped the elf gently and nipped at a braid.  Legolas laughed softly, reaching up to scratch the horse’s forehead.  When he finally returned his attention to the man, he found him watching the exchange with bemused, pain-dulled eyes.  Legolas picked up another soft cloth and wiped dirt and tears from the man’s face.  Gently lifting the man’s head, he gave him a cool drink of water liberally laced with willow bark.

          “You were bespeaking him, weren’t you?” he whispered, making a face as he tasted the bitter drink.  Legolas arched one dark brow in surprise.  Most men did not know about the elvish way with their horses. 

          The man continued, looking admiringly at Arod. “Is that Arod, my lord?” 

          “Yes, to both questions, my friend…and Aravir is the captain of the guard at the elven colony at Ithilien.” 

          The dark gray eyes studied the elf before him, noting the golden hair and noble bearing and remembering stories of the elven friend of the King – a golden-haired warrior Prince from a northern forest realm.  He sighed.  “Would you be Prince Legolas, then?,” he inquired, fighting to keep his eyes open. 

          “Yes, I am,” Legolas answered.  “And you are…?” 

          “Erelas, my lord,” the man replied.  “My family and I live up river, on the lake.” 

          “Erelas, son of Arador?” Legolas asked.  Erelas nodded tiredly. 

          “Mae govannen, Erelas,” Legolas said.  “I was told to seek you out by a man who owns an inn near Pelargir.” 

          He saw Erelas smile faintly and murmur, “Caldor.” 

          “Exactly so,” Legolas smiled at the memory of the friendly innkeeper.  “He strongly suggested I contact you once I reached the lake…although I can think of easier ways to meet someone.” 

          Erelas shook his head.  “Indeed, my lord.  I, too, can think of better ways to greet the Lord of Ithilien.” 

          “Ah well, mellon nin, some things cannot be helped.  I am still pleased to make your acquaintance.  Sleep now,” the elf urged.  “I will awaken you when Aravir and your son arrive.” 

          Erelas closed his eyes with a sigh and slid into sleep as Legolas tucked the cloak closer around his shoulders.  The Prince sat quietly for a moment, gathering his thoughts.  He carefully reviewed his treatment of Erelas’ injury and decided he had done everything he knew to do.  For the next half-hour he monitored the man’s pulse, which grew gradually stronger and the wound itself, which had ceased to bleed. 

          He had just leaned back, thinking that he had been fortunate indeed to be so occupied that he had forgotten the sea’s call, when Arod alerted him. 

          The other one comes.

          Indeed, Legolas could hear the slow tread of a horse moving through the woods downriver.  When Aravir’s bay stallion finally appeared with the elf holding the limp figure of a boy securely in his arms, Legolas felt almost light-headed with relief.  He rose quickly and awaited the arrival of his captain.

          Thalion stopped a few feet from Legolas and the two elves exchanged a long, searching look.  Aravir’s face was impassive, his jaw set, his eyes meeting his Prince’s without hesitation.

          Legolas gazed at this proud warrior he had heard about most of his life, but had really only come to know in the last decade.

          Have I not cultivated this friendship these past years?  This is the first action he has taken that actually gives an indication of friendship.  Do I cast it back in his face with a reprimand?  Legolas blinked.  Absolutely not!

         “Mae govannen, Ernil Legolas,” Aravir said, bowing as much as his passenger would allow.

          Legolas snorted.  “Let us dispense with the title, mellon nin.”  He watched Aravir’s extraordinary green eyes widen slightly.  Ha!  Surprised you, did I?  I will not let you slip back into that role of servant you play so well, my friend.

         “You did not disobey a direct order for the sake of ‘Ernil Legolas’,” Legolas chided gently.  Aravir flushed, his eyes dropping. 

          “Did you, Aravir?” Legolas asked persistently.

          Aravir looked up and smiled ruefully.  “No, Hir Legolas,” he answered.

          Legolas paused, then smiled the open, warm smile that tended to capture the allegiance of any receiving it.  “Good!” he said in highly satisfied voice.

          Legolas’ slate blue gaze turned to the boy cradled in Aravir’s arms and he sobered quickly as he moved forward.  “How is Raenor?” he asked as Aravir helped maneuver the boy into his arms.

          “Concussed, cold and wet, and terrified for his father,” Aravir ticked off the boy’s difficulties.  “He has been in and out of consciousness all during the ride here.  What needs doing, my lord?”

          Legolas shifted the boy into a more comfortable position, considering their options.  He looked at the sun, which had passed noon several hours ago.

          “A camp,” Legolas said.  “With water and a fire.  Those are our primary goals for the next few hours.”  Aravir nodded and scanned the area.

          “I will scout out a more suitable location further from the river, and more sheltered, while you tend the young one’s wounds,” he volunteered. 

          “Excellent,” Legolas replied.  “Have you any extra blankets or cloaks in that pack of yours, my friend?”

          Aravir smiled, and loosening the pack, slipped to the ground with it in his arms.  “Here, my lord.  Let me help you with the boy.” 

          He walked over to the man lying on the ground, quickly noting the pallor and bloodstained bandage.  Shaking out one of the heavy blankets from his pack, he spread it on the ground next to Erelas, making sure stones and sticks were removed and the ground relatively smooth.

          “How is his father?” he asked quietly.  “What happened to cause that wound?”

          Legolas laid the boy down on the makeshift pallet, explaining the nature of Erelas' wound as the two elves quickly stripped his son's wet clothing off.  Checking for any open injuries or possible broken bones, Legolas found the boy relatively unmarked, save for some scratches and heavy bruising, which he treated with the salve again after drying the damp skin.

          “We are both a great deal bigger than this stripling,” Legolas murmured as they dressed him in a pair of Legolas’ leggings and an extra tunic.  “But at least he will be warm and dry.”

          He shook the boy’s shoulder gently, careful not to jostle him overmuch.  “Raenor.  Raen – wake up now.”  The boy groaned and squeezed his eyes shut tightly. 

          “The light hurts, my lord,” he rasped.

          “Ah, I see…of course it does,” Legolas said. “Aravir, help me move him back more into the shade of the trees.”

          They carefully shifted the pallet with its patient into position.  “Better?” asked Legolas.

          “I feel sick,” the boy moaned.  The two elves exchanged alarmed glances.

          “You must tell me immediately if that is going to happen,” Legolas instructed.  Raen gave the slightest of nods, as Legolas lay a cool damp cloth across his forehead and sponged his face and neck.

          Raen sighed.  “Better…thank you,” he murmured.

          Legolas looked up at Aravir as he continued to sponge the boy’s face.  “I will tend to his head wound…a few stitches will close it nicely.”  Aravir nodded and stood.

          “He looks a little better now.  Not quite so…green,” the elf observed.  Raenor sniffed defensively, keeping his eyes closed and his head still.

          “I will search out that campsite now,” Aravir stated, grinning.

          Legolas returned the smile.  “Hannon lle, Aravir.”

          The warrior huffed in exasperation and stalked off.  He mounted Thalion and sat for a moment, staring at his Prince.  Shaking his head, he remarked somewhat plaintively, “This will take some getting used to, my…” Legolas looked at him steadily, daring him to take the next step.  Aravir capitulated, “…Legolas.”

          Legolas laughed at the older elf’s discomfort.  “You will find it not as difficult as you think…and I am grateful for your friendship.”

          Aravir bowed his head slightly and nudged Thalion back towards the forest behind them.  “I will return as soon as possible.”

                                    ~~~~~*~~~~~ 

         Not more than two leagues distant on the front stoop of a sprawling house on a hill above Luinaelin, a dark-haired youth sat watching the sun make its slow descent towards night.  The various waterfowl that made their homes on or near the lake were returning for their night’s rest and the surface of the lake remained still, a glassy mirror reflecting a deep lace fringe of green from the surrounding forest and the brilliance of the blue sky above.

          Calen tapped one foot impatiently for a moment and fingered the sling around his neck that immobilized an almost healed fractured wrist.  He frowned.  His father and brother should have returned by now.  He could hear the voices of his mother and sisters inside as they prepared the evening meal…a sudden squawk from the barn told him his little brother was tormenting the chickens again.

          If Ada catches him, he’ll be doin’ pig chores for a month! 

         Calen smirked.  A stubborn one, his baby brother…full of an overabundance of energy with a generous dollop of mischief for added spice.  Calen’s uneasy moss-gray eyes returned to the forest.  Any minute now, the donkey and cart would appear, his father whistling his greeting to the house and his brother, Raenor, waving at him to come help unload the cart.  Any minute now…

TRANSLATIONS:

noro lim –  run fast

pen-neth –  young one

pen-neth nin –  my young one

nin hen –  my child

mae govannen –  well met

sedho –  peace; be still

mir nin –  my treasure (jewel)

Arod nin –  my Arod

Ernil Legolas –  Prince Legolas

mellon nin –  my friend

hir nin –  my lord

hannon lle –  thank you