THE GOLDEN BELL OF GREENLEAF

Author: lwarren

Summary:  A life is saved and interesting facts come to light about the family living by the lake.

Disclaimer:  The characters and setting of Middle-earth belong to JRR Tolkien.  I gain nothing from writing this but the exercise of my imagination and the joy of playing in the Professor’s world for a while.

Reviews:  Please do!  I appreciate every one!

A/N:  No excuses for the delay (unless you count being held captive by a squad of ‘killer squirrels’ for the past two weeks)!  I am sorry!

Chapter 15: See With New Eyes

          Aragorn straightened slightly and motioned Arador and Laurelin closer to the bed with a nod.  As they moved forward, Laurelin grabbed Arador’s hand, squeezing it tightly.  He looked at her pale, worried face, her unsmiling mouth tight, her eyes tear glazed to a deeper green, and bit the inside of his cheek in an effort to suppress the urge to yell at the King…just tell us what you have found and get it over with!

          “I want you to feel this,” Aragorn said, well aware of the emotional undertones in the room.  Remain calm…explain to them what has happened…talk quietly and let your tone reassure them…healers they may be but they are his family first. 

          Since entering the room, he had spent several minutes examining Erelas’ side, pressing carefully or lightly passing his hands over a wide area around the larger wound, searching for the cause of the dangerous fever.  He had found it quickly.  

          “Apparently, the force of the blow has driven a splinter of wood in sideways from the initial entry of the branch,” he murmured.  “It has abscessed and begun spreading its poison throughout his system.” 

          Arador and Laurelin both felt the slightly warmer area an inch to the right of the larger wound in Erelas’ side.  “It would have taken us another day or two to find this, my lord,” Laurelin remarked softly.  “Will ye lance it now?”

          “Yes, and the sooner the better,” the King replied.  He took a very sharp, narrow blade from his healing kit and began sterilizing it over one of the candle flames. 

          “What medicines has he had in the last few hours, Arador?” he asked. 

          Arador nodded.  “Willow root, feverfew, some comfrey.  We dosed him pretty heavily before ye came.  He shouldn’t feel a thing.” 

          Aragorn smiled reassuringly.  “The incision itself is relatively small…what will take the most time is actually finding the splinter and getting it out.  We will hope it presents itself immediately.” 

          He gazed at the two worried people.  “Stand strong now.  Laurelin, hold the light steady.  Arador, be ready to help me with the bleeding.  And keep that probe handy.” 

          He watched the two stiffen in anticipation of the ordeal to come.  Healers or not, it is a very different prospect when the one you are cutting on is dear to you.  Finally satisfied with their level of composure, he began making a small, deep incision over the abscess.  It seemed only seconds had passed when, with a sudden release of pressure, the infection began draining. 

          “The splinter actually shifted after its entry,” Aragorn explained, his voice soothing, his manner unhurried.  He quickly blotted the blood and matter from the wound while continuing the incision.  “I have seen this happen in battle before, especially with spear and arrow wounds where the wooden shaft has broken off in the wound.  Sometimes the wood will work its way to the surface for a relatively easy removal.  Other times, it will lodge deep under the skin and cause the kind of complication you see here.”  Arador handed him some clean, wet cloths.

          “Thank you,” Aragorn responded, dropping the knife in a basin as he continued to clean the wound. 

          “There.  That should do it…and look.  Thank the Valar, the head of the shard is visible now.  I wish I knew what kind of wood this is.  It seems especially poisonous,” Aragorn said, his face thoughtful, his eyes intent on preparing the splinter for extraction.  “Arador, hold this instrument back just so…yes…just like that.” 

          The skilled hand deftly grasped the head of the wooden shard with a pair of tweezers and steadily drew it forth.  “Valar!” Aragorn breathed, as the shard became a veritable spike exceeding two inches in length. 

          He quickly blotted away more welling blood with the other hand and dropped the offending object and tweezers into the basin holding the knife.    Flushing the wound thoroughly with an infusion made from athelas and silver birch leaves, he continued to speak quietly, diluting the fear in the room with a detailed explanation of how the mixture was made, faintly surprised when they seemed unfamiliar with the use of birch leaves in the solution.

          “We don’t have much experience in usin’ the great birches, my lord,” Arador told him.  “And as we supply only the healin’ herbs and plants found in this area, birch…and even the athelas plant are almost unknown to us.”

          “Ah, of course.  I remember now,” Aragorn mused.  “The trees grow north of here, closer to the Ered Nimrais.”  He studied Laurelin’s face thoughtfully.  “Yet your youngest is named for their silver leaves, is he not?” 

          “Aye, my lord, he is,” she replied, exchanging a rather strange look with Arador.  “I’ve not seen the forests of silver birch for many years, but we thought him aptly named, given his colorin’ and all.” 

          Aragorn nodded in understanding, privately promising himself to ask Arador about that look later.  “Aptly named, indeed, is young Brethilas.  I will give you a supply of the leaves before I go.  They are very effective in treating abscesses, burns and infections.  Perhaps I can see you kept supplied with not only the leaves, but the bark as well.  It works well as a mild reliever for pain or fever.  I will speak to one of the healers at home.” 

          “Oh, we’d certainly appreciate it, my lord!” she exclaimed.  “We are most interested in new treatments and remedies.”  She watched Aragorn continue to flush the wound, examining the area carefully each time. 

          “Do you think all of it came out?” she asked.  

          “It would not do to leave any slivers behind, if we can possibly prevent it,” he murmured, “although I believe we have been fortunate and that is the only piece.”   Laurelin sighed and exchanged a relieved look with Arador.

          Silence reigned for a time as the King finally closed the incision with a few loose stitches – “in case we should need to drain it again”  – and slathered the wound liberally with a healing salve of athelas and comfrey.  He examined the larger tear, pronounced his satisfaction with the way it was healing, and applied a clean bandage before easing Erelas over to his uninjured side, propping him up with a pillow and covering him warmly. 

          “That should be sufficient for now,” he proclaimed.  “I will change the bandage in a few hours and check for any renewed swelling or drainage.  I also want to rouse him enough to take more willow bark, perhaps mixed with some valerian.  Both will keep the fever under control and the valerian will discourage any convulsions, should his temperature spike again.”

          Aragorn rinsed his hands in another basin and dried them.  He took several more athelas leaves from his healer’s bag and looked up at Arador, smiling at the tense father. 

          “Breathe, my friend,” he instructed gently.  “Your son shall not leave this world tonight.”

          Arador returned the smile shakily, a tear escaping his tight control to slip down the weathered cheek.  Laurelin made a small sound of distress and put her lamp down.  She went to the old man’s side, linking their arms and hugging him as she whispered, “Father mine, please, do not.  He will be fine…” 

          Arador swallowed and choked out, “I cannot help it, Laurie.  So close…death has stalked him, it seems, since yesterday and were it not for Lord Legolas and Aravir - and now, the King…” 

          He turned bleak eyes to his daughter-in-law.  “I would have probed that wound later this day as I had planned and probably never found that splinter, not with the way it had drifted.  He would have bled heavily again and weakened until…” 

          “Shhh,” Laurelin stopped the halting flow of words with a gentle hand. 

          Aragorn silently watched the exchange between the two, his eyes filled with compassion as he poured steaming water into a clean basin and crushed the leaves in his hand, breathing on them and sending a silent request to Eru to release the healing properties of the plant.  

          He scattered the leaves in the water and the clean, bracing scent of cool forests and open meadows permeated the room.  Laying a gentle hand on the hot, dry forehead of his patient, Aragorn closed his eyes, finding and sensing the depths of strength in this man he had yet to meet, before nudging him gently into a deeper, pain-free sleep.  Satisfied for the moment, he stood and walked over to Erelas’ father and wife.

          He smiled at Laurelin and asked, “My lady, would you mind getting some tea – some very strong, hot tea?  Sweetened, please.”

          She nodded understandingly and with a final encouraging peck on her father-in-law’s cheek, went quickly to do the King’s bidding.  Aragorn placed a consoling arm around the old man’s shoulders and led him to sit in a chair by the bed. 

          He pulled another chair over beside him and sat, stretching his long legs with a weary sigh of relief.  Glancing at the man beside him, he said, “He is sleeping quietly and the fever remains manageable for now.  We will watch the wound closely for several days, but I believe when he awakens later this morning you will already see an improvement in his condition.” 

          At Arador’s lack of response, Aragorn’s face grew stern as he ordered, “Now…attend me, Arador.”  Arador raised startled eyes at the commanding tone that had entered the King’s voice.  “Had it been your son’s time to leave this world, nothing would have prevented it.  But you yourself said it – Legolas was here – and I am here.  It would appear that it was not Erelas’ time.”

          He gazed expectantly into the deep blue eyes.  Arador shook his head and answered slowly, “Ye are right, of course, my lord.” 

          He shuddered.  “It is just that…” 

          The man’s voice trailed off as he fought once more to control his emotions.  Aragorn sighed.  “I know.  I, too, am a father.  I suppose knowing what we do makes every illness and injury to those we love even more frightening.” 

          Arador touched the King’s shoulder briefly.  “Indeed.  My lord, I must thank ye for steppin’ in so quickly.” 

          Aragorn shrugged.  “I knew Erelas’ condition was serious just from the looks in the eyes of his family, not to mention the urgent plea whispered to me by my friend as soon as he greeted me.  I am relieved I was able to recognize the problem and help.” 

          Arador smiled faintly, remembering how Legolas had grabbed the King as soon as he had dismounted, taking him aside and speaking quietly and emphatically in his ear.  Aragorn had come to them immediately and offered his skills as a healer for Erelas. 

          The two sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Arador looked at Aragorn and said, “I’ve treated many a puncture wound in my time, my lord, even ones that have left behind splinters and shards.  This one went bad so quickly, and with the wood movin’ the way it did, tis glad I am that you had the chore of pullin’ it out!” 

          Aragorn chuckled ruefully, “Well, I had the advantage of growing up amongst elves who delighted in racing through the trees, as well as the privilege of learning from and observing the best healer Middle-earth has ever known.  Let us just say that there are few wounds I have NOT seen and helped treat.”  The two men shared an understanding smile.

          They looked up as Laurelin reentered the room, followed by Aravir carrying a tray laden with steaming tea, thick slices of bread and a crock of honey.  The tall elf placed the tray on the table, his concerned gaze examining Erelas before turning to Aragorn.  One expressive eyebrow lifted in question.  Aragorn nodded.  “We located the splinter and removed it.  I believe the danger is passed, but we will know more in a few hours.”

          Aravir’s face relaxed into a smile.  “That is excellent news, aran brannon.  I will tell Lord Legolas.”

          “Wait and I will go with you,” Aragorn said as he took a cup of tea and sweetened it before handing it to Laurelin.  He dosed the other cup just as liberally and handed it to Arador. 

          “Drink it – ALL,” he ordered.  “I will return shortly.  I want you both ready to retire when I come back.” 

          He grinned at the militant look that entered Laurelin’s green eyes, but shook his head.  “I must insist, my lady,” he admonished.  “I will sit with him until you awaken.” 

          Finally, they both nodded, albeit reluctantly.  Aragorn went to the door and turned to look at them.  “Drink your tea, both of you.  Eat.  Check him, change him, do anything to make him comfortable and everything to reassure yourselves, but be prepared to leave when I return.  Is that clear?” 

          He gazed in amusement at the two rebellious faces before him and knew immediately when the realization struck them that they were arguing with the King!  Laurelin gasped and Arador bit his lip, chuckling ruefully.  “Aye, my lord King – very clear!”

          Their King laughed softly and turned, beckoning Aravir to accompany him as they left the room.

                              ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Aragorn and Aravir moved silently through the house, stopping at the door to a different room and knocking softly.  It flew open almost immediately and Aragorn found himself looking into the fearful eyes of Erelas’ twin sons. 

          Eyes locked on Aravir, the boys both spoke as one. “Father?” 

          Aravir placed a hand on each shoulder.  “Sleeping.  The source of the infection has been found and removed,” he told them. 

          He studied the drawn face of one of the twins.  “How is your head, pen-neth?” he asked quietly. 

          The boy frowned.  “It aches still, but it’s not bad.” 

          Aravir glanced back at Aragorn, who spoke softly in reply, “There is another pot of willow bark tea with valerian already prepared in the kitchen, is there not?”  The elf nodded.  “One-half cup only – sweetened,” the King suggested and Aravir moved to fetch the tea. 

          Aragorn turned back to the boys, smiling at their suddenly uncomfortable expressions.  “Now, tell me – which one of you is Raenor?” he asked curiously. 

          The silver-eyed twin with the sore head spoke up, “I am, my lord.”  Aragorn inclined his head in greeting and looked at his brother. 

          “You must be Calen, then.” 

          “Aye, my lord,” the boy acknowledged. 

          “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” the King offered.  “Raenor, Aravir will bring you something to help you sleep and ease that headache.”

          He gestured toward the bandage on Raenor’s head.  “May I?”

          Raen nodded.  Aragorn carefully lifted the bandage and examined the gash.  “Your mother’s handiwork?” he asked, smiling at the boy. 

          “Nay, sire,” Raen replied.  “My lord Legolas stitched it yesterday.” 

           Dark eyebrows arched in surprise.  “Did he, now?”  The boys watched the stern gray eyes light with laughter as the King smiled at them.

          “Thranduilion never ceases to surprise me with his hidden skills!”  The boys laughed at the King’s expression.

          Raenor explained, “He was most careful, my lord!”

          “I can only imagine,” Aragorn responded dryly, chuckling as he replaced the bandage.  He gestured at the sling and Calen’s arm.  “Calen, how is your wrist?  Broke it, did you?”

          Calen flushed.  “Aye, sire.  We were loadin’ some boxes in Linhir and one shifted and fell on my arm.  Daerada said twas a mere crack. He’ll be removin’ the splint in a few days.” 

          Aragorn grinned at the impatient look in Calen’s eyes.  “I know that will please you.  It must have been very frustrating to be so constrained.”

          Calen gave a heartfelt “Aye, my lord, it was!”, causing his brother to snicker and dig his elbow in his twin’s ribs.  Aragorn watched them, the sudden memories of watching another pair of twin brothers scuffle a bittersweet pain in his heart.   He did not see Elrohir and Elladan nearly enough. 

          Perhaps they can be persuaded to spend some time with us in a few months.  I will write and tell them that Legolas needs their medical advice…that should bring them both running!

          Aravir returned and handed the cup to Raenor, who sipped the hot liquid gratefully.  When he had finished, he handed the cup back, murmuring, “Hannon lle, Aravir.”

          Aravir nodded and clapped both boys on the shoulders.  “Now, off to bed with you!  Your mother will need your help tomorrow, as will the King.”

          “Good night, Aravir…King Elessar,” the boys chorused.

          “And thank you for helpin’ Adar,” Raenor called softly as he climbed into his bed.

          “You are most welcome,” Aragorn whispered. 

          “Good night, younglings,” Aravir called quietly as he shut the door.

                                 ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Aragorn and Aravir continued through the darkened house, the elf stopping again to check on Brethilas and his sisters.  All were sleeping soundly…finally.  It had taken many assurances and several creative stories on the elf’s part to coax the trio to bed. 

          Once on the porch, the two stood staring appreciatively at the reflection of the myriad stars on the shimmering surface of the lake.  A gentle breeze had sprung up at midnight and still sighed through the trees near the house, pausing only to ruffle the waters of the lake as it continued its way to the shore on the other side. 

          “This is a beautiful place,” Aragon commented, breathing deeply of the sweet, scented air.  “I will enjoy seeing it in the daylight.  Did my guard settle in?” 

          Aravir nodded towards the tents and smoldering light from banked fires near the barn.  “They found an open pasture by the barn with the house water well not far away, hir nin.  Jarrod bid me tell you that your tent has been raised should you find the time for sleep this night.”

          Aragorn chuckled affectionately.  “I doubt that will happen.  I must watch Erelas closely, at least for the remainder of the night.  But, first things first, my friend.  Where is our Prince?”

          “I believe your appearance shocked him considerably!” Aravir explained as they continued across the yard.  “Lissiriel told me she saw him walking down towards the lake.  She followed and noted he sat down on the hillside, just staring at the water.”

          “Was he angry, Aravir?” Aragorn questioned.

          Aravir gazed up at the stars thoughtfully.  “Angry?  I would not call it that.  Bemused perhaps.  Relieved for Erelas’ sake.  Speechless…yes, hir nin…undoubtedly speechless!”

          Aragorn snorted.  “Yes.  I noticed that.”

          Aravir paused consideringly.  “He was not angry with me for following, aran brannon.  I do not believe he was angry with you.  Will you seek him out now?”

          “Yes, mellon nin,” Aragorn replied.  “Best I not put off the inevitable.  Will you sit with Erelas until I return?”

          “Of course.”

          “And make certain Arador and Laurelin go to bed.  They are exhausted.”

          “I will do so, my lord.”

          Aragorn squared his shoulders and set off in the direction of the lake.

                                ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Jarrod intercepted Aragorn just as he reached his guards’ camp.  “The men are all settled, my lord…quite comfortably, I might add.  At Arador’s suggestion, we put the horses in the pen rather than picket them.”

          Aragorn’s gray eyes scanned the orderly camp approvingly and returned to his captain.  He had just decided to inquire about Legolas when his captain spoke again, his voice much softer now.  “Lord Legolas is on the hill several hundred yards past the camp, sire.  Look for his horses…they were following him when he passed.”  He jerked his head to indicate the direction. 

          “Thank you, captain,” the King spoke gratefully.  “I will find him.”  He walked away and stopped abruptly after several steps, turning back to grin at Jarrod.  “Jarrod, should you hear a loud splash, be prepared to come fish one of us out of the lake!” 

          Jarrod, who over the years had grown familiar with the antics of these two friends, chuckled.  “And who will be swimming, my lord?  You…or Lord Legolas?”

          Aragorn’s grin grew.  “I am not sure, but it could possibly involve both of us!  We shall see!”  He turned and walked off, his step jaunty and assured. 

          Jarrod laughed and returned to his post, glad to see his King smiling.  The precipitate journey to find the elven Prince had been tense, the guards influenced by the grim set of Elessar’s jaw and the troubled expression in his eyes.  The relief of the entire group had seemed palpable at the appearance of the elf earlier that evening.

          Aragorn strode along, his keen eyes quickly finding the pale forms of Arod and the mare grazing just at the crest of the hill.  He knew instinctively Legolas would not be far away, probably sitting on the incline below the horses. 

          He saw Arod and the mare raise their heads to see who was intruding on their peaceful meal and greeted them both with a soft whistle that Arod recognized instantly.  The big dappled white gelding ambled forward and stopped a few feet from Aragorn, his head lifted imperiously as if to say, “This far and no more!” 

          Aragorn stood still, pleased with Arod’s care for Legolas and disconcerted that the horse still deemed him some kind of threat.  After several minutes of scrutiny, Arod moved closer to the man, shoving his nose into his chest, and nudging the King urgently. 

          “Will you let me see him, Arod?” Aragorn whispered, placing a hand on the strong neck.  An emphatic toss of the elegant silver head and Arod turned, leading him past the grazing mare.  She raised her head, watching Arod guide her elf’s friend down the hill to where Legolas lay in the grass, eyes closed, with his hands linked behind his head.

          Aragorn sat down quietly beside the still figure of his friend, allowing the peace of the night and the light of the stars to soak into his bones.  He knew Legolas was awake and waited patiently for him to give voice to his thoughts.  Tilting his head back and closing his eyes, he let a small sigh of relief escape.

          “Do you ever feel confused, Estel?” the whispered question drifted up to his ears.

          “About what, gwador nin?” he asked.  Please…please let me have the right answers for him.

          Legolas opened his eyes and turned his star-lit gaze on the man sitting beside him.  “Everything – why things happen.”  He sighed.  “When we left Rohan, I believed I understood what I would have to do to endure the sea’s call.  At the time, it no longer taxed me as painfully, and though I knew I must come here, I truly believed I was prepared…” His voice caught, trailed off.  A prolonged silence stretched between them. 

          “I was wrong,” the elf whispered.

          Aragorn looked down at his friend and to his sorrow, spied the silver track of a tear tracing its way from the corner of Legolas’ eye to disappear in his hair.  The elf’s face remained expressionless and still, the only sign of his turmoil found in that single tear.

          “The sea-longing has returned.”  Aragorn’s words were a statement. 

          Legolas nodded.  “Yes, although it is not as harrowing as before, it is still as strong.  The tenor of the call has changed, Estel.  Before, it demanded my attention.  Now, it just reminds me that Valinor is still there…waiting for me.” 

          A very small, very rueful smile flitted across the fair face.  “This call beguiles me even more because of its tenderness.”  Aragorn placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

          “Does the song still comfort you?” he asked.

          Legolas shrugged.  “Yes, although I perceive there is a part missing which I will find when I finally behold the great sea of Arda.”

          Aragorn studied his friend’s face thoughtfully.  “Then perhaps your true respite from the pain and confusion lies there.”

          Legolas looked up, grimacing a little.  “Probably.”

          Aragorn squeezed his shoulder, saying matter-of-factly, “ We will accompany you…”

          The elf beside him stirred slightly, prompting Aragorn to hurry and complete his thought.  “Nay, mellon nin, do not think to dissuade us from this path you walk.  We will go with you and…” He stopped at the sudden, unexpected sight of a sincerely joyful smile blooming on Legolas’ face.

          The irritating elf chuckled softly.  “I would not dream of arguing with either you, or Aravir, for that matter.” 

          Legolas sat up gracefully, turning to look at Aragorn, the smile gone and his face solemn once more.  “I understand, AT LAST, that I need help.  I still do not like you seeing me like this, but …”

          Aragorn interrupted.  “Ai!  Legolas, you are the most exasperating being I have ever met!  And that includes wizards, dwarves, and Balrog-slayers!”  He snatched up a handful of fresh, fragrant grass and threw it at the elf.  “I cannot believe you so foolish as to think we look at this as a weakness on your part!  We know you too well to think you weak!” 

          Legolas brushed the blades of grass from the front of his tunic and smiled.  “Keep reminding me of that, Estel.  For I certainly feel weak while in the midst of it all!” 

          Aragorn rose to his feet, stretching mightily, and offered a hand to the elf, pulling him to his feet.  “I will remind you hourly, if you think it necessary.  If I do not, then Aravir will…and if he does not, Arod will do it for us!”  Legolas laughed.  He whistled for the horses, and together they made their way back to the barn.  He listened closely as Aragorn told him of Erelas’ condition; elated beyond words that the tall man would live to see his children grow up.

          Leaving Arod and the mare in the large pen with the other horses, Legolas accompanied Aragorn to the house, saying simply, “We will take turns watching Erelas, Estel.  You traveled far this day to reach us and need to take some rest before dawn.”  

          Aragorn clamped his lips shut and followed Legolas up the steps into the house.  Sometimes it was simpler to just let the stubborn elf have his way!

                               ~~~~~*~~~~~

          The next day became one of celebration, for Erelas awoke complaining loudly about his stitches and his poor, starved self.  Of course, that was before he realized there was a stranger in his room that was not one of the elves. 

          When his grinning wife leaned over and whispered in his ear that the man sitting by the bed who had likely saved his life was the King of Gondor, he had almost fainted. 

          “Sire, I beg yer pardon most humbly!” he gasped, glaring at his giggling wife and smirking father. 

          The King had proven a noble, gracious man, telling him to think nothing of his outburst as he ordered a substantial breakfast for all and a rather bland one for his patient. 

          Erelas had eyed the thin gruel in disgust, muttering to Laurelin, “I didn’t KNOW he was the King, Laurie!”  She had giggled at his face and fed him, kissing his cheek often to sweeten the porridge and pacify his sore temper, while promising a better lunch IF he fared well with his breakfast.  

          He had spent the rest of the day visiting with his august guests, playing with his children, sleeping and finally, eating real food.  By dusk, Aragorn pronounced him well on the road to recovery.

          “You will, however, stay in bed for two more days,” Aragorn warned him.  “If you tear open those stitches, I will not be responsible for the damage you might do to yourself.  That of course, does not include the damage your wife will inflict on you if you disobey my orders.” 

          Erelas grimaced and lay back on his pillows.  Aragorn finally took pity on him, saying, “After tomorrow, you may start getting up for an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon.  Sitting, mind you, not walking around wearing yourself out!” 

          Erelas brightened considerably.  “Aye, my lord, sittin’ only…I give ye my word!” 

          Aragorn examined the earnest face for a few moments before laughing, “I will let Laurelin deal with you, my friend.  If she is anything like my Arwen, you will not cross words with her nor try any deception!”  The two men had laughed. 

          “Rest now,” Aragorn instructed.  “Supper is being readied by Aravir and your wife, with Raenor making suggestions.  It promises to be interesting!” 

          He left Erelas to sleep, pausing outside the kitchen to listen to the friendly squabbling going inside.  Shaking his head and grinning, the King walked out and found Legolas and Calen entertaining the other children. 

          Legolas, it appeared, had shown Elena how to braid flowers into chaplets and necklaces.  She sat on the porch, her lap full of colorful blossoms gathered from her mother’s garden that she was industriously plaiting into fragrant rings. 

          Aragorn crouched beside her.  “Well, here is a pleasant sight,” he said.  “A pretty maid weaving bright chains of pretty flowers!” 

          She smiled demurely and placed a circlet of bright blue blossoms on his head.  “Ye need a crown, my King,” she said seriously.  “These will do well for ye – they make yer gray eyes look a most interestin’ shade of blue!” 

          Smothering a surprised laugh, Aragorn bowed his head.  “I thank you, Lady Elena.  You are too kind.”  He rose to his feet.  “Be certain to make a crown for Prince Legolas.” 

          She laughed.  “I am, my lord.  And for everyone else, as well!”  She cocked her head, studying the elven prince seriously.  “I think these red flowers would suit him very well.”

          “Oh, most assuredly, Lady Elena,” Aragorn chuckled. 

          Elena looked up at him.  “Ye like teasin’ him, don’t ye?”

          Aragorn laughed.  “He teases me as well, Elena.  We have known each other a long time.” 

          She giggled.  “I shall enjoy watchin’ ye play together, sire.”   

          “Very good, my lady,” Aragorn replied pompously, waving a hand.  “Do carry on!”  He walked down the steps, her smothered giggles following him.

          In the big yard in front of the house, Legolas, Calen, and Jarrod were giving riding lessons to Brethilas and Lissiriel.  The little boy was perched on Arod’s back, almost incoherent with joy as Jarrod led the big gray around, calmly instructing the excited child. 

          To Aragorn’s great surprise, Lissiriel rode the mare; a very calm, placid mare.  Aragorn watched in amazement as Legolas and Calen led her, Legolas alternately instructing the girl and whispering in the mare’s ears, praising her gentle patience. 

          The tall elf happened to see Aragorn descending the steps and stopped the horse, gazing admiringly at his friend.  “Why, sire!” he exclaimed.  “You look lovely!” 

          Aragorn snorted, eyeing the elf warningly.  “You do not want to get me started on ‘pretty’, do you, Elf?” 

          Slate blue eyes narrowed.  “Maybe later, when I can teach you better manners in the PROPER way…as befits a King.” Legolas replied thoughtfully and continued walking the mare.  Aragorn chuckled as he strolled away toward the barn.  Elena was right – he did enjoy ‘playing’, especially with such a predictable elf!

                                ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Later that evening, Arador slipped away from the house and walked towards the lake.  He had partaken of a delicious supper with his family and new friends, his beloved son was recovering quickly, and he knew if he did not get away for a short while alone, he would probably break down in front of them all. 

          Indeed, as he walked, tears were already welling in his eyes.  He let his feet, which had walked this path countless times, carry him down to the edge of the water where he stopped, quietly weeping.  For joy and thankfulness.  For terror relieved. 

          In spite of his inner turmoil, he sensed the approach of Prince Legolas immediately.  Wiping his eyes on a big square of cloth, he turned to find the elf only a few feet away, watching him with bright, concerned eyes. 

          “Arador?” he spoke gently.  “Are you well?  Can I help?”

          “Ai!  Ye’ve already done so much, my lord,” Arador said brokenly.  “Nay, Legolas, I will be fine shortly.  This be my way of havin’ a bit of hysteria, after all is said and done.”  He blew his nose and wiped his still streaming eyes again.  “Here now, rest beside me and let’s talk.”

          He seated himself on the soft grass, Legolas sinking down gracefully beside him.  They sat quietly for a time while Arador regained his composure. 

          Legolas began singing softly, a soothing melody that spoke of still waters and green fields.  Arador felt a peace descend over him and breathed deeply, listening to the wonderful song.  After a time, the song reached an end, although Legolas still hummed it to himself. 

          “We’re part of a whole, ye know,” Arador whispered.  “Part of the elves…distantly, yet still a part.”

          “I had wondered if that might be the case,” Legolas said softly.  “Your knowledge of the language and lore of my people is more than just passing.  Calen has a measure of the healing gift also.  I sensed it when he examined his father in the forest.” 

          Arador nodded.  “We’ve thought it might be so.  And Lissi?” 

          He looked at Legolas, who smiled.  “Ah, I think Lissiriel will possess, in time, the elvish gift with animals, particularly horses.”  He shook his head.  “I would not have thought it possible, yet Arod assures me he hears her clearly…and she senses him somehow.  It may never grow beyond that, but I believe it will as she grows older.”

          He turned to face the old man more fully.  “Are you related to Imrahil and his family?” 

          Arador tossed a small pebble into the water.  “Aye, cousins we are, many generations removed.  The daughter of Imrazor the Numenorean and the elf-maiden Mithrellas also had a daughter.  We share her blood.”

          “Tell me what you know about them,” Legolas coaxed.

          “Her name was Eledwen.  Tis said she was promised to another in marriage by her father; an arranged marriage that she did not want.  She and the man she loved – one of the palace captains – ran away and married. Her father was so incensed he cast her out of the family.”  Arador paused and shook his head.  “Foolish, foolish man,” he muttered.  “To think he could control her that way.” 

          Legolas agreed.  “Please, go on.” 

          Arador leaned back on his elbows, studying the night sky.  “For many years, she and her husband were ignored, as if they didn’t even exist.  It was not until her children were Elena’s age that he relented and tried to heal the breach between ‘em.  However, the damage was done and the reconciliation never truly complete.  Over the generations, the two families have drifted even further apart, the connection being by blood only now.”  He shook his head sadly.  “But the elven heritage she brought to her marriage was preserved, ye see…language and stories and songs – all were passed down from generation to generation.”

          Legolas nodded.  It was the same with in his own family.  “And your wife, my friend?  Raen told Aravir she had taught him Sindarin.”

          The old man’s eyes darkened with grief.  “My Lindórië had such a knowledge of languages – such a gift when speaking them.  I taught her what I knew and we bought several books written in Sindarin.  She learned even more that way.  The children spent a couple of hours a day with her, learning to read Sindarin and the Common Tongue, and to figure with numbers.”

          He paused and looked at the ground.  His shoulders slumped a little and Legolas could feel his grief.  He placed a hand on the broad shoulder.  Arador turned to him, his eyes glistening with tears.  “When she got sick, I tried everything I knew to heal her.  Nothin’ worked, and in the end, she was glad to be relieved of her burden of pain.  I know in my heart we’ll be together again.  I know it, Legolas – yet I cannot draw breath without missin’ her.” 

          Legolas squeezed his shoulder.  “I know,” he murmured.  “When my naneth was slain, my adar would have faded from his grief had I not been so small and needed him so much.” 

They sat in silence for a time, watching drifting wisps of clouds veil the stars, as they remembered those they loved and had lost.  Arador finally broke the silence.  “Why do ye tarry here, my lord?”

          “Tarry?”  Legolas replied, confusion shadowing his face.

          “Yes, my friend – tarry.”  Arador examined the fair being sitting beside him, finding the same weariness and apprehension hidden in the elf’s expressive eyes he had seen before.  “Ye are called by the sea, Legolas – yet ye remain here in Ennor and suffer.  Why?”

          Legolas stared at him in shock for a moment before answering, “I stay for my mortal friends – for a promise made – a word given.” 

          The man nodded.  “I suspected that might be the case, especially where the King is concerned.  But why are ye here…so close to the sea?  I would think that might be dangerous for ye.” 

          Legolas hesitated, then suddenly found himself confiding in this man – and also in Aravir, who had silently joined them, beckoned by a nod of his lord’s golden head to sit beside him. 

          He spoke in a low voice, telling of his first experience with the sea’s call twelve years before, continuing through the dream of Nienna, and concluding with what he had learned of the song since awakening.

          Aravir sat silently when Legolas stopped speaking, astounded by the compelling story, although he had suspected all along that some form of intervention had taken place. 

          Arador gazed at the Prince with shining eyes for several minutes before exclaiming, “Ye have been given such an unexpected gift, my lord!  The need for you to remain here at Elessar’s side must be great indeed, for Iluvatar Himself has made it possible for you to endure a while longer.”

          Legolas started in surprise.  Iluvatar? 

          Arador smiled at the bemused elf.  “Surely ye recall what the Lady Nienna said to ye – yer plight had been ‘brought to her attention’.  Just who do ye think told her, my lord Elf?”

           Legolas shook his head disbelievingly.  “Manwë would have spoken to her…”

          Arador interrupted.  “And who did Manwë speak for, my friend?  Who gave him his directions?”  He waited, but Legolas and Aravir remained silent, considering this startling idea.

          “The Valar usually do not interfere with the goings on here, do they?” Arador asked. 

          The two elves shook their heads as Arador pressed his point.  “Who do ye think could convince them to do so?” 

          They stared at him silently.  “Ye may not see it, my lord, bein’ so close to the situation, but I have come to realize King Elessar’s importance to Middle Earth right now.  Ye are his friend, Legolas.  When the burden of ruling overwhelms him, ye will be able to help him.  His path will not be an easy one.  He will need those who love him around as he heals and cleanses the land of Sauron’s poison.”   He studied the still skeptical expressions on the fair faces of the two beside him.

          “But…no matter, my lord,” he said.  “What will happen will, no matter what we might think or want.  As for this trip of yers…tomorrow, if ye like, the twins and I will take ye to the sea.”

          Legolas began to grin slowly, shaking his head at Arador.  “That really will not be…”

          “Please, my lord,” Arador interrupted.  “Allow me to help.”  Legolas gazed at the old man, reading the sincerity in his eyes and finally nodded.

          “We should be glad for your guidance,” he conceded.

          Arador clapped his knees with his hands.  “Excellent judgment, lad!  Be ready to leave at dawn then.  It will take five or six hours to get there,” he explained.  He had started struggling to regain his feet when Legolas and Aravir rose smoothly, grasped him under the arms and lifted him to his feet.  

          He suppressed a surprised gasp.  Barely.  “Thank ye both…I think,” he muttered as they steadied him for a moment. 

          The elves laughed as Legolas bowed slightly.  “Hannon lle, Arador.  We will see you in the morning.” 

                                ~~~~~*~~~~~

          Legolas entered the tent and silently made his way over to the sleeping figure in the corner.  He grimaced slightly at the snuffling snore issuing from the man on the pallet, wondering if there was a cure perhaps for this noisy affliction.  Shaking his head, he leaned over, grasped Aragorn’s shoulder, and shook him gently.

          “Estel!” he whispered.  “Awake, mellon nin!” 

          Aragorn stiffened suddenly as full consciousness returned in a rush.  He blinked repeatedly, trying to focus in the dark.  Recognizing Legolas’ voice and the elf’s faintly glowing figure bending over him, he relaxed a little as that first flare of alarm faded.

          “What is it, Legolas?  What is wrong?” he asked, preparing to leap from the bed. 

          The firm hand of his friend stayed his headlong rush into action as Legolas reassured him, saying, “Nothing is wrong, Estel.  I just thought you should know…we are leaving in the morning.”

          Aragorn blinked slowly at the elf.  Legolas grinned at the sight of the King of Gondor looking up at him like a rumpled, disgruntled owl. 

          “We are?” Aragorn asked.  “Where are we going?”

          “To the sea, my friend,” Legolas replied. “Arador will guide us…and I will hear its music…finally.”  

TRANSLATIONS:

aran brannon – lord king

pen-neth – young one

Thranduilion – son of Thranduil

hannon lle – thank you

adar – father

naneth – mother

hir nin – my lord

mellon nin – my friend

gwador nin – my brother (not related by blood; rather by fellowship)