Title: THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary: Legolas, reunited now with Arod and Aravir, must deal with the injuries to the man and his son.

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

Reviews: Please do!  I treasure and enjoy every comment and suggestion.

A/N: Many thanks to Eruanneth_Luin for beta-ing this chapter.  She just may have saved the horses!

*Character thoughts will appear in italics.

  Chapter 14: The Nature of Hope

          When Aravir returned, he brought news of a suitable campsite Erelas had already chosen, along with a small donkey hitched to a cart.

          “Apparently, Erelas had already chosen a place to rest and work after they had gathered the plants.  I found the donkey and cart about half a league from here,” he explained, gently stroking the soft muzzle of the mist gray beast.  “There is a glade with a small spring-fed stream where the donkey had been tethered.  It seems an ideal spot, with plenty of forage for the horses, fresh water, and the forest to provide whatever else we may need in the way of food or fuel.” 

          He and Legolas carefully lifted Raenor and Erelas into the cart, and Aravir led the little group on the short journey through the trees to the site.  Legolas could see evidence that his ever-efficient captain had been at work – places prepared for the men’s pallets, a fair-sized fire lay awaiting one to set it alight, and a pile of dead wood gathered and stacked.  Legolas managed to suppress the urge to tease Aravir about his vigilance.  His new friend remained yet dutiful, and solemn.  Still, his dogged vigilance had saved two lives today.  There would be ample time later for him to help Aravir discover his sense of humor.

         They spent the better part of an hour settling the injured, checking bandages and rousing father and son enough to see each other and drink from the fresh, cool water brought from the stream.  Erelas was particularly fretful, wishing to look after his boy but not possessing the strength, much to his disgust.  Legolas watched Raen soothe his father, troubled to note the unnatural flush staining the older man’s cheeks. 

          Once Erelas had quieted, he laid a gentle hand on the man’s forehead and felt the expected heat of a rising fever.  Not yet of great concern, but there nonetheless, and enough to remind Legolas of his inexperience in matters medical.  He had spent years watching Master Elrond and the twins, and later Aragorn, practice the healing arts.  He had learned rudimentary first aid as part of his training as a warrior, but a full-blown fever, probably caused by an infection, was beyond his skill, especially given the patient was a fragile man.

          He voiced his concerns to Aravir, murmuring, “I can clean the wound again and dose him with the willow bark, but we need to find the cause of the fever,” He looked at Aravir.  “Especially as I have little experience with human sickness.” 

          Legolas dipped a cloth in cool water and sponged the man’s hot face.  “Erelas said they live fairly close – on the lake.  A man drew me a map of Luinaelin and suggested I contact a family living there.  Erelas has already told me he is the son of the one Caldor mentioned.  We will need their help – soon.  Besides, they will be worried once it gets dark.  The bank was unstable here; chances are it will be elsewhere.  We would not wish any others to be injured searching along the river at night for these two.”

          Aravir listened to the growing concern in his lord’s voice.  “When Raen awakens next, I will ask him the way home,” he told Legolas.  “I would have him show me, but I fear another ride on a horse might only worsen his concussion and make him very ill.  We are fortunate he has not cast up his accounts yet; that does not mean he will not in the future if we push him further.”

          Legolas nodded his agreement.  “I will need to awaken him again in a half hour to check his eyes and make sure he is still coherent.  We will ask him then.”  He looked up at the tall elf sitting beside him.  “You will go?”

          “Aye,” Aravir answered.  “You are right about Erelas.  His condition is likely to worsen without treatment.”  He studied Legolas, noticing for the first time fine lines of tension around his eyes and mouth.  “How are you faring?”

          Legolas grimaced.  “The sea calls me, Aravir.  For some reason, it is very strong today…and I have not had the time to counter it.”

          Aravir placed an encouraging hand on the younger elf’s shoulder, murmuring, “You should have said something sooner.  Go, hir nin; greet these lovely trees and add your song to theirs and the sea.  I will stand watch until it is time to awaken Raenor.”

          Legolas closed his eyes, sighing gratefully.  “Thank you, my friend.” 

          Rising quickly, he walked over to a large oak whose deep, slow voice had been drawing him since entering the forest.  Laying his hand on the rough bark, he bowed his head for a moment, greeting the ancient tree.  Then he leaped to the lowest branch and disappeared into the dense canopy.

          Aravir watched Legolas go, wondering at the implications of the return of the sea’s call.  He was well aware something momentous had happened to the Prince during his illness.  There were times now as Legolas sang that he heard awe and understanding that had not been there ever before, and he had been listening to the Prince sing for years.  Aravir suspected that somehow the Valar, or perhaps Iluvatar Himself, had intervened and shown Legolas a way to counter the sea’s effect on him.  Yet it seemed the call had not fully disappeared…he could only hope Legolas now had the strength to endure it. 

          I am glad I decided to come.  This certainly proves he will need us behind him when he actually reaches the sea, if only to offer comfort later.  I hope Elessar is able to leave and join us.  He has shown himself a veritable rock of support for Legolas. 

          He checked on the sleeping men once more before going to see the horses.  Thalion, he noted with a smile, seemed particularly ecstatic about his reunion with the mare.  She, however, was not easily impressed and in the past had always treated the big stallion with a cool disdain that left Aravir weak with amusement. 

          Well aware of his horse’s interest, Aravir thought it probably time to console the big stallion.  To his surprise, however, things seemed quite calm, almost domestic, when he reached the stream.  He stood slightly behind a young elm tree and watched the two grazing side by side, a small grin tugging at his lips. 

          Their offspring will be magnificent.  Arod nudged Aravir’s shoulder from behind, prompting the elf to scratch his forehead. 

          Arod, my friend, you are right – IF she will ever let him near!  The silver white horse snorted softly at the elf’s mental chuckles.

          When the time is right, she will…

          Aravir stroked the dappled silver coat fondly, watching the mare ignore Thalion and laughing softly before turning his attention to the little gray donkey, which he found possessed a sweet, placid disposition.  Humming a gentle melody, he gave the little one a few of the ripe berries that grew wild near the stream, scratching the shaggy ears reassuringly.

          Leaving the animals content for the moment, he walked the perimeter of the small camp, checking the forest around him while filling a water skin and picking more of the red berries that grew in thick clusters by the stream.

          When he returned to the men, he folded his long legs and sank to the ground by Raenor, thoughtfully chewing on several of the sweet fruits he had picked.  Snatches of melody floated from the trees overhead and Aravir cocked his head, listening.  He could hear the song of the forest, but the melody Legolas was weaving spoke also of vast waters beyond these woods.  He closed his eyes, immersing himself in the quiet and the music.

          “What does he sing of?” a soft voice interrupted his reverie.  He looked down to see Raenor’s silver gray eyes searching the trees above for the source of the beautiful song.  “I’ve been laying here for awhile listening, but I can’t understand it all – something about trees and the sea and the glory of Iluvatar…”

          Aravir’s eyes widened.  “You understand Sindarin, pen-neth?” he asked in amazement.

          Raenor smiled.  “Enough to know you are calling me ‘young one’, my lord!”

          Aravir laughed in delight.  “Who taught you?”

          “My grandmother,” the boy answered, sorrow flickering across his face.  “She died a few years back.”

          Aravir placed a sympathetic hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “I am sorry, Raenor.”

          Raen shrugged, his eyes sad.  “I miss her…but Daerada says she was pleased to take Iluvatar’s gift; she had been ill for some months, you see.”

          He turned his head very carefully, wincing slightly, and looked at his father.

          “How is he now?” he whispered.

          “The deep puncture wound in his side is causing a fever,” Aravir explained.  Raenor turned worried eyes back to examine the fair face of the one sitting beside him.

          Aravir continued to gaze at him levelly.  “He is going to need more expert care than Legolas or I can provide, Reanor.  Legolas believes we should not wait, but alert your family now.  Would they be able to help, or should we go for a healer in Linhir?”

          “My naneth is a healer.  Daerada, as well.  They would know what to do,” Raenor informed the elf.  “The house is really not far – maybe a league or two through the forest.  Once you reach the lake, the house is there on a hill overlooking the water.  Grandda lives a little further away.”

          Aravir nodded, apparently satisfied with this information.  “I will find them.  As soon as Legolas returns, I will go.”

                                     ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Calen sat watching the sun slip behind the hills.  His sense of unease had increased as the afternoon had worn on.  It did not abate when he heard the rattle of a wagon and turned to see the unexpected sight of his grandfather driving into the big yard near the barn.

          His little brother raced from the barn, his excited shouts echoing clear to the house.  Calen shook his head at what his father always laughingly called an “excessive waste of energy” and called to his mother, “Nana, Daerada is here!”  He jumped to his feet and trotted across the yard to greet his grandfather.

          “Calen, lad!” His grandfather turned to smile at his other grandson, Brethilas clinging to his hand and bouncing by his side.  “Where are your father and Raen?”

          “Not back yet, Daerada,” Calen replied, his gray-green eyes worried.

          “Not back?  I wonder what could be keepin’ ‘em?” he placed a steadying hand on Brethilas’ bright silvery-blonde head.  “Steady on, lad.  Yer makin’ yer old grandda seasick!”  The five-year-old giggled, but obediently stilled his bouncing.

          Arador turned his bright blue eyes on Calen, eyeing him shrewdly.  “Worried, are ye, lad?”

          “Aye,” Calen answered.

          “Arador!” The light voice of his daughter by marriage brought the old man’s eyes up to see his son’s wife, Laurelin, and her two daughters running down the slightly inclined path from the house, glad welcoming smiles on their faces.

          He hugged the two girls and then their mother, who drew back to say, “We did not expect ye ‘til tomorrow.  Is something wrong?”

          “Not sure, Laurie.  Came to see that son of mine and I hear he and Raen haven’t gotten back yet.”

          Laurelin sighed and wiped her hands on her apron.  “I know.  Calen’s been frettin’ too, all afternoon.”  She turned concerned eyes towards the woods…and froze.

          “Rider, da,” she whispered, gathering her girls to her side with a look and grabbing Brethilas by the hand to keep him close.  Riders came to the lake from time to time, especially given the fact that Arador and Laurelin were both healers.  However, they had always found it prudent to be very careful until they knew who their visitors were.

          Arador turned quickly and studied the magnificent bay stallion that had emerged from the woods and begun a measured trot towards the house.  The rider was tall, strongly built, with long flowing black hair, dressed in a forest green tunic with darker leggings and boots, a bow and quiver strapped to his back.

          As he drew closer, Arador’s eyes narrowed…that face…those incredible eyes…he sucked in a quick breath.  “By all that is wonderful…Laurelin, children…look!  An elf!” he breathed, a slow smile wreathing his aged face and setting it alight.

          “What?”  Laurelin looked askance at Arador and then at the approaching rider…then back at him again.  “No, surely not, Arador!” she gasped.  He nodded, his gaze fixed on the elven rider.  The younger children gathered behind their mother and grandfather, peering out and whispering excitedly.

          Calen just stared.  An elf!  He had heard wonderful stories of the Fair Folk all his life…had clambered into his father’s lap with Raen to hear tales of the long past ages when the Firstborn still came regularly to Edhellond and Dol Amroth.  The boy drew a deep breath.  Elves did not just appear from the forest anymore…something was wrong.  He could feel it.

          He stepped in front of his family and stood – a young man bent on protecting those he loved, no matter what.  Aravir stopped Thalion several dozen yards from the boy and knew he had reached the right place.  But for the mossy green-gray eyes, the face watching him was identical to Raenor’s. 

          Twins!  Well, Thalion, I can see that Raenor and I will have to have a talk about what I call “relevant information”!  The boy might have warned me!   Thalion tossed his mane, prancing in place as his rider and the boy exchanged long looks – the elf’s bemused, the boy’s determined and faintly challenging.

          Aravir found his admiration growing as he looked at the stance of the youngster in front of him.  This one will grow into a force to be reckoned with one day!  He looked at the group huddled behind him – an old man, a pretty, golden-haired woman with two similarly favored daughters, and a small, silver-haired boy with dancing eyes.

          “You have the look of your brother Raenor,” Aravir addressed the boy before him and saw his good hand clench to a fist at his side.

          “Sedho, be at peace, pen-neth,” he said gently, watching the boy’s eyes widen with understanding.  “Raenor does well enough, as does your father.”  He saw the entire group take a deep, relieved breath.

          “Let us begin again,” Aravir said, placing his hand over his heart and bowing to the group.  “Mae govannen,” he said politely,  “I am Aravir, captain of the guard at Ithilien and bound in service to Legolas Thranduilion.”        

          The humans bowed back, even the little one.  “Mae govannen, Captain Aravir,” the boy said.  “Where are my father and brother?”

          Right to the point.  As it should be, since it his family he feels is threatened.  Aravir smiled reassuringly.  “As I said, they are as well as can be expected, but I have come to seek you out and ask for your aid.”

          Arador and Laurel exchanged alarmed looks.  They had not missed Aravir’s choice of words.  Arador stepped forward to stand beside Calen.  “There’s been an accident,” he stated.  Laurel’s hand smothered a cry of distress, her jade green eyes wide with fear.

          Aravir nodded solemnly.  “An entire section of the river bank collapsed where they were harvesting the marsh flowers.  They went with it.”  He quickly lifted a hand to stay their frantic questions.  “Wait!  As I said, they both live!  Raenor has a concussion, but Erelas is the more seriously injured.  My lord and I have treated them to the best of our abilities, but we are not healers.  Lord Legolas sent me to you.  With your help, we will bring them home.”

          Arador was already moving towards the wagon.  “Calen, get Brethilas and put him in back.  Laurelin, send the girls for blankets and the healing pouches; then find any food that can be packed quickly and carried easily.” 

          At her questioning look, he explained.  “As late as it is, I don’t think traveling at night with two injured, one of them concussed, would be safe.  We’d best prepare to stay ‘til mornin’.”  She nodded and rushed to do his bidding. 

          Aravir dismounted, murmuring a word for Thalion to stand, and walked over to the old man.  Arador looked up at him, his bright blue eyes shadowed and fearful.  “How bad is he?” he asked quietly.

          Aravir placed a comforting hand on the old one’s shoulder.  “When he fell, a sharp root or branch punctured his side.  He lost a great deal of blood, but that and the subsequent shock was dealt with by my lord.  It is the fever that has begun which concerns us now, and THAT we are not trained to deal with.”

          Arador closed his eyes briefly, silently thanking Iluvatar before looking back up at the tall warrior.  “Thank you.  My mind is eased somewhat by your words.  Laurelin and I are both healers – you were right not to wait,” he concluded. 

          Aravir nodded, studying the man beside him.  His thick hair was almost white, falling to still-broad shoulders.  The face was strong and weathered; the striking blue eyes noticing and wise.  Aravir liked him immediately. 

          The door to the house opened and the woman and her daughters came rushing out, all carrying bundles or sacks.  These were stowed quickly in the wagon, and the girls crawled in beside the little boy and Calen, while Arador and Laurelin seated themselves on the front seat.  Aravir leaped on Thalion and urged the great horse to a trot, leading the wagon out of the yard and towards the forest.

                                        ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Legolas fed the fire slowly; he wanted to make sure the two injured stayed warm.  Not that the evening was cold, mind you.  It was not.  He breathed deeply of the leaf-scented air, allowing the living greenness of the forest to smooth out the rough edges within caused by the sea-longing. 

          Though smaller in size than Ithilien, the woods were thick and lush, the trees old and proud, and his elven ears could hear the rushing song of water from the various streams that flowed through the woods to join with the Gilraen.  The canopy overhead whispered in the wind, the ground below his feet formed a carpet layered with fallen leaves, luxuriant beds of mosses and ferns; and wherever the sun broke through, tall grasses, wildflowers, and berries grew. 

          He had tended Raenor’s head wound after Aravir had left – it had only required five small, even stitches to close it.  When he had finished, both son and father had been tucked-up warmly.  They slept again, though Erelas dozed restlessly, his hands plucking aimlessly at the blanket covering him, his face creased with pain.  Legolas spent time sponging him down, singing softly, and was pleasantly surprised when the man quieted and slipped into a deeper, more restful slumber.

          He spent a very short few minutes taking stock of their supplies; two-day-old bread, berries, and a few wafers of lembas were not exactly the ideal fare for the injured or sick.  He hoped when Aravir returned he would bring a rabbit or two for a strengthening broth.

          Arod wandered over, the mare on his heels.  Legolas looked at them closely for a moment.  He rose and walked over to the two, stroking one golden face and straightening one dark silver forelock.

          What a woebegone pair you two are! 

          The mare shoved her nose into his chest, and Legolas, sensing her distress, flung an arm around her neck. 

          What is it?  What troubles you, mir nin?

          You are troubled.  The longing within you that caused you such pain before has returned.  The mare rested her elegant head on his shoulder, allowing the strong, comforting presence of the elf to ease some of her fear.  

          Arod shook his head, the dark silver mane tossing restlessly.  You should not have come here.  The air is full of the sea’s scent…it speaks of endless waters.

          Legolas stroked both horses again, attempting to soothe them.  I had to come.  And unlike before, when I sing I am comforted now.

          Not completely.  Arod pawed the ground; he did not like being patted on the head and told everything was all right, especially if it was not.

          Legolas smiled sadly.  Arod never allowed him to gloss over the truth of a matter.  No, mellon nin, not completely.  But as much as is possible until I leave these shores, I find comfort in singing.  Moreover, I have much to learn…the sea still must teach another part of the song of this world to me.

          The mare moved uneasily as she listened.  You will not leave these shores soon?

          No, mir nin.  Many, many years will pass before I sail.  The King Elessar must complete his reign before I leave.  That is why I must do all I can to find an answer to the pain the sea-longing brings…for I cannot leave yet. 

          The mare calmed, somewhat reassured by his explanation, although Legolas still felt the undercurrent of concern in Arod.  He stood with them for a time, singing quietly and stroking strong, warm necks. 

          At a sudden faint noise from the woods, all three looked towards the path Aravir had taken over an hour earlier.  Soon, the rattling clank of a wagon reached their ears and a short time later, Thalion stepped into the little clearing.  Aravir raised a hand in greeting, which Legolas returned.  The wagon came into view and Legolas’ eyes widened in surprise.  He looked up at Aravir, who had ridden over to him and dismounted.

          “You brought the WHOLE family?” he whispered.

          Aravir grinned at his stunned expression.  “Look at them.  Can you imagine asking any to stay behind?  Not possible, my lord, especially after they heard Erelas and Raenor were injured.” 

          The wagon rumbled to a stop behind Thalion.   An old man and young woman on the front seat jumped to the ground, their eyes already fixed on the two still figures lying in front of the fire.  The children in the back spilled out, two young girls of perhaps ten and twelve grabbing up two bags as they came and hurrying to their mother.  A very young boy ran to the old man, slipping his hand into the old one’s and eyeing the still figures fearfully. 

          It was, however, the older boy that caught and held Legolas’ attention.  A mirror-image of the boy sleeping by the fire but for the sling supporting his arm and his gray-green eyes, the youth had left the wagon before everyone else and headed straight for the sleeping figures of his brother and father.

          Aravir sent Thalion to join Arod and the mare at the stream and went to help Arador secure the wagon.  Legolas walked over and crouched down beside Erelas, watching the young man quickly check his brother before moving to his father.  He laid a hand on the man’s face, cupping his cheek, and a look of alarm crossed his face.

          He looked at his mother across the glade where she was pulling a healing satchel from one of the bags.  “Naneth!” he called.  Her head came up at the tone in his voice.  “Come quickly!”  She began giving instructions to the girls and they nodded in unison, listening carefully.

          The boy looked up then, into the slate blue eyes of a golden-haired, fair-faced elf that sat watching him sympathetically.  About that time, the captain returned and settled beside this new elf, speaking to him in a melodic language Calen realized was Sindarin.  He recognized a few words – elleth and ellon, naneth and daeradar, but the fluid speech seemed to flow past him like some swiftly running stream and he was powerless to catch the rest. 

          His mother knelt beside him, opening the satchel and pulling bandages and herbs from it.  She eyed the two elves for a short moment, a small smile playing about her lips, before turning her entire attention to her husband. 

          “Oh Erelas!” she whispered, one hand stroking the dark hair back from his forehead.  She glanced at Calen.  “Feverish, but not overly so.  Not yet, anyway.” 

          She looked back to find her husband’s gray eyes looking at her blearily.  “Erelas!” she scolded. “What in Arda’s name have ye been up to?” 

          He managed to look pained and sheepish all at once, to the amusement of his son and the two elves who had stopped talking to watch this exchange. 

          “Well, Laurie, there wasn’t no help for it – the whole bank just caved in,” he explained weakly.  “Mightn’t I have some water, please?”  She huffed softly at his evasion and motioned Calen to fetch the water skin.  Lifting her husband’s head gently, she put the skin to his mouth and he thankfully gulped the cool liquid. 

          “Slowly now, meleth,” she admonished him.  When he had had his fill, she gently laid him back down on the pallet, smoothing the blanket back over his chest.  “I want ye to rest for a time.  I’ll be lookin’ at that wound in a moment.  Let me see about Raen now.”  Erelas nodded, following her with his eyes as she rose and moved around him to their son’s side.

          Aware that she was now under the careful scrutiny of the two elves, Laurel lifted the bandage on her son’s head and nodded approvingly at the stitches.  “And who was it put these stitches in?” she asked, looking at Aravir. 

          He lifted both hands in denial, indicating the fair-haired elf at his side. 

          “Ye have a neat hand with a needle, my lord,” the woman said softly, smiling into the concerned eyes of the captain’s friend.  He heaved a sigh of relief, flashing a smile only slightly less bright than the sun. 

          “Does he look all right, other than the cut on his head?” Aravir asked.  Laurel had roused Raenor and was studying his eyes, pleased with the way he focused on her quickly.

          “He looks to be fine, my lord.  Still somewhat in pain from his head, but that will pass in a few days with some rest,” she answered.

          “Nana!” Raenor said, struggling to sit up.

          “Now, ye just lay back there, my lad, and don’t be moving too quickly,” she warned her son.  “Calen, keep this brother of yours FLAT!”  Calen nodded, smiling at his brother’s sudden wincing frown, as his mother sat back and stared at Legolas.

            “Now, my lord,” she said briskly.  “Tell me about their injuries and what ye’ve done for them so far.”  Legolas quickly began to relate the facts as Arador sat down silently beside her, listening intently, one hand grasping Erelas’ hand and the other patting Raenor gently on the arm.  When Legolas finished his explanation, both healers smiled at him. 

          Arador spoke first.  “Ye have saved their lives, both ye and the captain, my lord.  We don’t know how to thank ye…”

          Legolas smiled in relief.  “Just knowing that I have not caused them any further harm is reward in itself, my friend.  And I was not alone in the rescue…if Aravir had not come when he did, I shudder to think of the outcome.” 

          Laurel finished replacing the bandage on Raen’s forehead.  “Well, then ‘tis best forgotten!  We are most fortunate ye were nearby when it happened.” 

          She gazed at Aravir and Legolas, her clear green eyes sparkling with relief and humor.  “It occurs to me that neither one of ye have been introduced to this family, what with the excitement and all.  We should remedy that first.”  Calling the younger children to her, she bade them sit at the feet of their father and proceeded to do just that.

                                           ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Night had covered the forest, seeping into every nook and cranny in the wood by the time Aravir took the plates from their late supper to the stream to rinse.  Sharp elven hearing could discern the soft voice of Laurelin as she settled the younger children for the night. 

          What an engaging group they were, too!  Little Brethilas was an unceasing bundle of energy, and once his initial shyness of the elves had evaporated, an unceasing source of questions.  He did not ask foolish, childish questions either.  The boy had been well taught the tales of the Eldar and proceeded to quiz the two resident elves with tireless relish.  Only sleep had silenced his voice.  Aravir smiled…what a bright, shiny child he was, casting his aura of light and love on whomever he happened to be interrogating at the time and making the process relatively painless. 

          The two girls, ten-year-old Lissiriel and twelve-year-old Elena were smaller versions of their mother, and eager to help however they could with their father and brother.  Soft-spoken and graceful, they possessed the same white-gold hair as their mother and the same mossy-gray eyes as Calen.  Lissiriel was shyer than her older sister was, and Aravir had caught her watching the horses with such longing in her eyes that he vowed to address it some time before they left.  Elena loved to sing and her sweet soprano often harmonized with her mother’s warm contralto as the two worked together. 

          He quickly stacked the plates and made his way back into camp, handing them to Arador to be stored in the wagon later. 

          “Where is Lord Legolas?” he asked the old man.  Arador looked up, thinking for a moment before gesturing towards the trees. 

          “He disappeared into those trees near the stream about ten minutes ago,” he said softly. 

          “Ahhhh…” the elf breathed, his eyes shadowed.  “Hannon lle, Arador.”  The tall elf went to his pallet, pulled a brush from his pack and walked over to the horses.

          Arador watched him go, his blue eyes troubled.  He hoped nothing was wrong, but something in the careful, sometimes brittle expression he had caught on the Prince’s face told a different story.  Shrugging away his disquiet, he returned to sit beside Laurelin and contemplate the treatment of Erelas’ injury. 

          They had examined it earlier and decided not to stitch the jagged tear in back.  The wound had already begun to fester, indicating the presence of some foreign substance still embedded in the flesh around it.  Laurelin had suggested poultices of crushed oak leaves and elderberry flowers, saying their astringency might very well draw the offending matter from the wound.  It was worth a try. 

          Arador frowned.  If the poultices failed, in a day or two they would have to probe the gash and try to find the source of the infection.  He did not look forward to that; it was obvious Erelas had bled heavily when he took the wound.  Causing more blood loss would only weaken him further.  He sighed and studied Laurelin as she bathed her husband’s face.  She looked tired…and frightened.  His lips firmed.  He would not lose this son.  Laurie needed her husband and the children needed their father.  They would use the poultices every two or three hours and treat the fever with willow bark and feverfew or yarrow. 

          “Laurie.  Come lass,” he whispered.  “You need to rest.  I will keep watch for the night.”  He interrupted her protest quickly.  “I can sleep anytime, while you must be rested for your children.  I will be fine – I can sit here and enjoy this beautiful evening in between dosing our two patients.”  She finally gave in and curled up close to Erelas, fingers entwined with her husband’s so she would know his slightest movement, and drifted off to sleep.

          The glade settled for the night, silent save for the sounds of the forest creatures, the fluid sound of water rushing over bedrock, and the softer shushing sound of Aravir’s brush as he curried the horses.  Arador moved to sit between his son and grandson, monitoring their pulses from time to time and the level of his son’s fever.  As the night wore on, he lost himself in thought, considering different combinations of herbs that might serve to draw the poison from his son’s body.

          It was early in the morning, that silent hour when everyone had slipped into the deeper sleep of true rest when Arador shook himself from his reverie and stood, stretching carefully and trying not to groan.

          Well, that was intelligent, old man, to sit so long that these old knees don’t want to bend, much less walk. 

          He made his way towards the fire, moving gingerly until his muscles loosened and his legs obeyed without their initial screaming complaint.  Ladling a cup of hot water from the larger pot that had been set at the edge of the coals, he sprinkled some herbs into the cup, stirring the mixture and sniffing the fragrant aroma appreciatively.  He cupped the mug in his hands, gratefully absorbing the heat into the painful joints of his fingers and allowing the tea to steep and settle.  Sipping slowly, he grimaced at the slightly bitter taste.

          A good, generous spoonful of honey – that’s what this brew needs!  Ah well, tis not taste I seek, but a means to stay awake.

          It was then that his eyes found the still, silent figure of the elven captain standing at the far edge of the camp, gazing up at the dark trees lining the glade.

          Arador set the cup down and walked over to stand beside the elf.  Aravir did not speak and Arador saw he was listening to something.  He closed his eyes, concentrating on the night sounds and suddenly heard the sound of someone singing.  He listened to the faint music, a soft, amazingly sweet melody given voice in a clear tenor.  Arador realized suddenly that it had to be Legolas singing.

          “Where is he?” he asked softly, looking up at Aravir’s concerned face.  The elf looked down.

          “Somewhere over there…across the stream…in the trees,” he replied, returning his gaze to the forest.  Arador remained beside him for some minutes, listening to the extraordinary song as it waxed and waned, sometimes bright and cheerful, but more often than not melancholy and haunting.

          Placing a hand on the strong shoulder, he gave it a tentative squeeze and returned to his family.  He found Laurelin sitting up, her knees drawn up and her chin resting on them, watching him.  He retrieved his cup and sat beside her, staring at the fire.

          “What is it?” she whispered, placing a hand on his back, sensing he needed some sort of consolation, yet not knowing why. 

          Arador turned and looked into her soft green eyes.  “Tis Prince Legolas,” he told her.  “Can ye hear him?”

          She shook her head yes.  “The music woke me up.  I thought I was dreaming.”

          He smiled.  “No, daughter.”  The old man and this daughter of his heart listened for long minutes to the song.

          She turned to him again, her eyes awash with tears.  “It is so beautiful…and sad,” she murmured.

          Arador nodded.  “I am not sure, Laurie…but I think the Prince has heard the call of the sea.”

          “Oh no, Arador,” she said, looking towards the trees near the stream that concealed the invisible singer.  “Why is he here?  Why would he linger?”

          “I do not know,” he answered softly.

                                      ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Once morning came, everyone ate of the richly flavored, nutty porridge Laurelin had prepared to go with the thick slices of toasted bread, cheese, and fresh red berries.

          “Mmmmmm,” Brethilas mumbled around a mouthful.  “Raspberries!”  Everyone laughed at the youngster’s blissful face and berry-stained mouth and hands.  Laurelin clucked her tongue at the sight and scooped her youngest up for a quick wash in the stream.

          “He does enjoy his food,” she laughed as she carried the squirming, giggling lad away.

          “She means he wears it,” Raenor whispered to the two smiling elves seated beside him.  Legolas grinned at Erelas, who reclined against his father, slowly sipping a cup of broth.  Erelas and Arador met his eyes and laughed.

          The meal concluded, Aravir carried Erelas to the wagon and made him comfortable in the back while Calen and Legolas walked beside Raenor, one on each side in case he should falter.

          The boy eyed his keepers, clearly disgruntled.  “I am fine.  I no longer see two of everything…” He looked at his brother.  “Thank the Valar!” 

          Calen grinned at him and shook his head.  “Ill-thought words, brother mine.  Just wait.” 

          Raenor snorted.  “Naneth will protect me.” 

          “She will not,” a clear voice retorted from behind.  Laurelin stepped up to walk with the group to the wagon.  “When ye are better, ion nin, you will defend yerself.  Do not be involving me in yer squabbles!” 

          She sailed past them and deposited a bag in the cart.  “Load yer brother up in the wagon, Calen; then come and help with the rest of the things.” 

          Raenor and Calen rolled their eyes, their identical expressions surprising a bark of laughter from Legolas. 

          Laurelin turned and examined the Prince closely.   “Ye may help, too, milord,” she ordered. 

          “Yes, my lady,” he said obediently. 

          The trip to the house by the lake was light-hearted and happy.  That night Erelas’ fever spiked, nearly sending him into convulsions but for his family and the elves and the cold waters of the Luinaelin.

          “We must probe that wound tomorrow,” Arador told his frantic daughter-in-law once the immediate danger had passed.  “He will not survive another bout of fever like this.”

          Laurelin paled.  “He will not survive the blood loss…he is too weak!” 

          Arador nodded tiredly.  “I know, child.  But we cannot leave him like this.”  He turned to Legolas and Aravir.  “If there is anything you can think of, my lords, that we have not tried…no, no what am I sayin’?  Of course ye would have already told us.” 

          Legolas placed a hand on the man’s shoulder.  “You know we would, Arador.  Come, you and Laurelin have had little food and no rest.  Aravir has made a stew.  He is an excellent cook and would appreciate your opinion of it.  Lissiriel and Elena made the bread.  It is very good.” 

          Talking gently, he led the two into the kitchen and seated them at the table.  He sent a look to Aravir and left the room to sit with Erelas.  Aravir placed bowls of the steaming stew before them and the girls brought the bread.  Lissiriel stood by her mother’s chair, a loving hand on her shoulder while Elena stood within the circle of her grandfather’s arm watching him eat. 

          “This IS very good, Aravir,” Laurelin said softly, shaking her head no to another offering of food.  “Where are the boys?  It’s dark out now.”

          Elena answered, “Calen took Brethilas outside earlier so he wouldn’t be so scared.  They went to check on the stock.  Raen is waitin’ for ‘em outside on the porch.” 

          Her mother smiled slightly at her daughter’s report.  She sat for a moment, her eyes dazed and fixed on something only she could see.  Shoving the plate away, she rose to her feet and began walking back to the sickroom.  Halfway to the door, she turned and looked at Aravir.  “Hannon lle, mellon nin,” she whispered. 

          Aravir dipped his head respectfully.  “You are most welcome, hiril nin.”

         Suddenly, Brethilas burst through the door.  “Aravir!  Grandda!  Riders comin’!  A lot of riders!”

          Following the excited boy outside, Aravir’s keen eyes could just make out a company of six riders emerging from the dark woods.  He watched them approach silently, then turned to Arador.  “Get the Prince, mellon nin.” 

          “Who is it?”  Arador asked nervously.  “Are they elves?  They look like they are armed!” 

          “They probably are, my friend,” Aravir said, smiling.  “Get Legolas, Arador.  Do not fear, my friend.  This is a miracle unlooked for, although I am not sure why I doubted he would come.” 

          “Who would come?” 

          “The King, Arador.  It is Elessar.”

TRANSLATIONS:

hir nin – my lord

pen-neth – young one

nana – mom (Naneth – mother)

daerada – granddad (daeradar – grandfather)

sedho – be still; be at peace

mae govannen – well met

Thranduilion – son of Thranduil

mir nin – my treasure (my jewel)

mellon nin – my friend

meleth – love

hannon lle – thank you

ion nin – my son

hiril nin – my lady