Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this story.

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5. Alliances

“Good morning, my lord,” said the aide.

“Good morning.” Ithilden handed over his cloak as he went past the aide’s desk on his way to his own office, his mind already busy with the details of his morning. He would have to look at his duty rosters again and see where he might be able to get a few warriors to patrol the river. He did not like to leave any other patrol more shorthanded than they already were, but the rafts were a vital source of supplies that the Wood-elves did not produce for themselves, so the river really had to be kept passable.

He seated himself behind his desk and reached for the rosters as his aide came in with a handful of the day’s dispatches. “There is one from Todith,” the aide said, “telling you about the Orc attack in greater detail.”

Ithilden grimaced. “Thank you.” The aide went back to the outer office as Ithilden picked up the dispatch and read it. He had lain awake thinking about this attack for part of the previous night. It had taken place outside of the Elves’ territory but not far enough outside to make him happy. And seven Men had died. Two of the bodies were still missing. Ithilden closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. He tried to picture how he would feel if it were his warriors, perhaps Eilian, whose body was now missing, but his mind shied away from the idea.

He opened his eyes and stared out the window at the red and gold autumn treetops. Calidd had been right yesterday. He should try to track down the Orcs who had slaughtered these people. But how could he? He was not even sure he could find enough warriors to patrol the river.

“My lord?”

He snapped back to the present to find his aide standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

“The sons of Elrond are here to see you.”

A sudden, rather appalling thought occurred to him. “Send them in,” he said slowly. Be careful, he admonished himself. Do not let your wishes override your good sense.

The twins walked into his office, inclined their heads to him, and accepted the chairs he indicated. “We wondered if you would be willing to share some information with us about the Orcs’ attack on the Men,” Elrohir said.

Ithilden fingered the edge of the dispatch, thinking hard. “Why do you want the information?” he finally asked, although he thought he already knew the answer.

“We want to go after them,” Elladan said.

Ithilden regarded him for a moment, feeling a faint smile forming on his face. He had found the twins to be polite and diplomatic when he had met them in Imladris at the White Council meeting, and he had been aware that they found Thranduil and probably Ithilden himself to be rather amusingly blunt. But no one could accuse Elladan in particular of being overly delicate now. His smile faded. He should not really be surprised. Grief had a way of stripping life down to essentials, as he knew only too well.

“Hunting them by yourselves would not be wise,” he finally said, “and as I said last night, I do not have enough warriors to send any with you.”

Elladan leaned forward, but Elrohir spoke first. “We understand that some of Esgaroth’s soldiers are stationed near that area. Indeed, I believe that some of them might still be searching for the bodies of their dead. We thought that some of them might be willing to join us.”

Ithilden blinked. “Men do not usually go very deeply into the forest,” he said, turning the idea over in his head as he spoke. “They hunt along its edges, but they seem to find the deeper parts frightening.” As well they might, he admitted to himself, particularly those parts that were not patrolled by the Wood-elves.

“They might be willing to go this time,” Elladan said shortly.

“I suppose they might,” Ithilden conceded, suddenly wondering why he had not thought of this possibility before. He knew that Thranduil thought that mixing warriors from different forces was an invitation to confused command, and in general, Ithilden agreed with that. But surely in a temporary situation such as this one, Men and Elves ought to be able to cooperate.

A slight motion in the doorway caught his eye, and he looked up to see his aide, with Eilian just behind him. “Lord Eilian wishes to join the discussion, my lord.”

Ithilden took one look at his brother’s face and had to suppress a groan. Surely Eilian could not be here for the reason Ithilden suspected! The twins had turned their heads to look at Eilian too, and now both sets of grey eyes narrowed appraisingly. “Come in and sit down, Eilian,” Ithilden sighed, and his brother slid around the aide and pulled a chair away from the wall to sit next to the twins.

“You are talking about whether our guests should hunt for the Orcs who attacked the Men,” he said pleasantly. “I have time on my hands just now. If they are going hunting in our woods, I would like to join them and serve as a guide.”

Ithilden barely let him finish. “No. You are not fit for active duty yet.”

The twins exchanged a glance and then sat back to watch, apparently well enough trained to recognize how unwise it would be to interfere in this discussion between warrior and commander.

“I went to see the healers this morning,” Eilian said, his tone still carefully controlled, “and they told me that I may not return to my patrol just yet, but I could undertake missions nearby and then return in a few days to see how my leg is faring. This seems to me to be an ideal way for me to make myself useful while remaining close enough to home to return to the infirmary.”

Ithilden stared at him, with dismay blossoming somewhere in his chest. What Eilian was proposing sounded much too plausible. He thought of Thranduil and cringed. His father had accepted the idea of Eilian serving in the realm’s dangerous Southern Patrol, and this mission should be less perilous than that posting. But with Elladan and Elrohir sitting before him, Ithilden was not at all sure that his weighing of the relative dangers was accurate. These two radiated an eagerness for blood that frightened him, for he had seen it before in warriors under his command, including Eilian.

“I will wager that the healers assumed you would be undertaking these missions with the Home Guard,” he said. He wondered what persuasion Eilian might have brought to bear on the healers. Eilian  had too great a sense of self preservation to lie to Ithilden, or at least Ithilden hoped he did, but he was not above deceiving the healers.

Eilian shrugged. “Do you not think that this is more important than having an extra warrior with the Home Guard for a few days? You do not usually sent patrols after Orcs because you do not have enough warriors. Well, by some what would seem to be the grace of the Valar, you now have me and Elladan and Elrohir at your disposal.”

“We had planned to ask the soldiers of Esgaroth to join us too,” Elladan informed him, and to Ithilden’s irritation Eilian nodded approvingly.

“We would not be acting carelessly with that many warriors with us,” Eilian said. “I am told there were fewer than twenty Orcs in the raid.”

“There were enough to kill seven people and wound everyone else,” said Ithilden.

“They succeeded only because they surprised the Men,” Eilian argued. “I had that judgment straight from the border patrol warrior who brought the dispatch yesterday.”

Aware that he had allowed himself to be unsettled by his brother’s arrival, Ithilden bit back the sharp answer he wanted to make, drew a deep breath, and tried to consider the proposal being made as objectively as possible. Unfortunately, he had seen the sense of it even while Eilian was still speaking. People who were far too close to his home had died at the hands of these Orcs, just as his mother had done twenty years earlier. He had not hesitated to hunt down that band. Did he owe the same effort to the dead soldiers of Esgaroth?

He became aware that the twins and Eilian were watching him closely and that on Eilian’s face excitement was beginning to bloom, although Eilian hastily became impassive when he saw Ithilden looking at him. His brother could read him well, Ithilden thought wryly.

“Very well,” he said. “I will allow it. I will provide you with what information I have and send word to Esgaroth of our plans.” The eyes of all three of those in front of him glittered with triumph. “But,” he said, holding up his hand, “we will do this in a way that will be most likely to serve our purposes and get you all back safely. If the Men will not cooperate, you are to come home immediately, and you are to take no unnecessary risks.” He fixed his eyes on Eilian, who looked at him stubbornly for a moment and then reluctantly nodded his acceptance of the order.

Then Ithilden looked at Elladan and Elrohir, who had glanced at one another. “We fully recognize your right to command your own warriors, Ithilden,” Elladan said, “but we are not under your rule, and we must make our own judgments about whether to go on with the hunt.”

Ithilden drew a deep breath and ran his hand over his hair, thinking ruefully of Thranduil’s doubts about the difficulties of mixing warriors from different forces. In the moment before Eilian had arrived, Ithilden had decided that he was willing to allow the sons of Elrond to lead a force of Men in pursuit of the Orcs, but he found that throwing his volatile brother into the mix had changed his mind about what he wanted to do. He did not think that he wanted the twins to lead Eilian anywhere.

For a second more, he hesitated. Despite his youth and impulsiveness, Eilian is a good captain, he assured himself. Command steadies him. He would take risks on his own that he would never take if he was responsible for the lives of others. “Eilian, I will tell the Men of Esgaroth that you are in command of this mission,” he said.

All three of them gaped at him for a moment. Then the twins turned to look appraisingly at Eilian, who paused for a stunned second longer and then smiled. “I would be happy to lead it.”

“You had better be,” said Ithilden warningly. “It is the only way I will allow you to go or ask for the cooperation of the Esgaroth forces.”

The twins were both regarding him now. Elrohir smiled lightly. “I am sure we can manage.”

Ithilden looked at him hard and then raked his eyes over Elladan. “I have no doubt at all that warriors of Imladris are able to understand the importance of following orders.” He made sure they both were meeting his gaze and then picked up the dispatch that had come that morning and began to lay out what he knew about the size and location of the Orc band, the direction in which they had gone, and anything else that might help this patrol to find them.  And already, in the back of his mind, he was preparing the argument he would make to Thranduil about the wisdom of this decision.

***

“All we need to do now is gather food for our mid-day meal,” said Sondil. “Then I am sorry to say we have to head home.”

Legolas was sorry the trip was almost over too. He loved being in the woods and sleeping under the stars and got to do both things far too seldom to suit him.

“Split into two groups and go see what you can find,” Sondil said, smiling at them. “Annael, Legolas, and Turgon, you go west. Galelas, Tonduil, and Isendir, you go east. Stay within our bounds, all of you. Meet back here in an hour.”

Legolas saw Tonduil make a little face. He felt sorry for Tonduil having to go with Galelas. Isendir was all right when he was not trying to make Galelas like him more, but Legolas was very grateful that Sondil had put him with Annael and Turgon today. He had had enough of Galelas the day before.

Legolas rose to his feet and turned west and followed his friends into the woods, smiling a little to himself over something that Sondil had said that morning. The woodcraft master had told them that Men sometimes needed a tool to tell them the direction in which they faced. Legolas found that almost inconceivable. He could tell directions even inside his father’s caverns, and so could all of his friends.

“We should see if we can find more huckleberries,” Turgon said. “I liked the ones we had last night. And there should be mushrooms too.”

“We should also look for chestnuts,” Annael said. “I thought I saw a clump of the trees, and we can roast them.”

Legolas trailed after them, happily listening to the trees. They had brought no food with them, and Sondil had not allowed them to hunt, even though they carried their bows, so foraging was important, but he had faith that the forest would provide. It had certainly done so thus far.

“Here,” said Annael pointing to a mushroom patch, and the three of them began gathering mushrooms into the basket Sondil had given them. After a while, they moved on, and when the time to start back to their camp site grew near, the basket was heavy with their contribution to the mid-day meal.

“The other group will probably dig some cattail roots,” Legolas said with satisfaction. “That nice marshy area is in their direction.”

Annael did not appear to be listening however. He had stopped short and was frowning at a bush on the side of the small trail they were following. He reached out to touch the broken branch tips. “This is fresh,” he said. “It is high off the ground too. I wonder what animal passed.” He began to scan the ground around them and crouched to examine a stone that had been turned over to expose its dirt-stained underside.

“We do not have time for this now,” Turgon said impatiently, swinging the basket. “I am hungry.”

Ignoring Turgon, Annael poked at some leaves and suddenly froze. He looked up, with his brows draw together anxiously. “Legolas, will you look at this too?”

His interest quickening, Legolas squatted next to Annael to look at the track he had found, and his breath caught. He reached out a tentative finger to touch the indentation made by a boot heel. “Could it not have been made by an Elf?” he asked urgently. “One of the Home Guard perhaps?”

Annael looked at the track again and slowly shook his head. “It is too deep, and,” he added, cocking his head, “does it not look small to you?”

Drawn by their conversation, Turgon drew near and peered over Legolas’s shoulder at the track. “A Man? You think a Man has been in this area?”

Legolas stared at the track. “I think maybe someone our size has been here.”

“What would a Mannish child be doing here?” Annael asked.

Turgon’s face had lit up. “We should find out,” he declared. “That track is recent, is it not? We could follow him.”

“Maybe we should tell Sondil,” Annael said hesitantly.

Turgon shook his head irritably. “Why? If it is someone our size, then there is nothing to fear. Come on, Annael! Are you not curious?”

Legolas stood up and stared off in the direction the track had been leading. He had to admit that he was curious and had no wish to go back to camp and get Sondil. “We can look for a few minute, Annael,” he urged and began working his way along, scanning for bent grass or compressed spots on the leaves. To Legolas’s relief, Annael rose with a sigh and began seeking for signs of the Mannish child’s passage. He thought he could track the intruder on his own. Men were, after all, rather heavy footed. But they stood a better chance of finding the child quickly if Annael helped.

They had moved through the underbrush for only a few minutes before a small sound made all three of them stop dead and stare at a hawthorn thicket. Despite Turgon’s assertion that they had nothing to fear, all three of them reached for their bows and fitted arrows to the strings. It is a child, Legolas reminded himself, his heart pounding, and there are three of us.

Turgon stepped forward. “Who is there?” he demanded. “Come out and show yourself.”

An expectant silence stretched out. “We will not hurt you,” Legolas added.

For a long moment, no answer came, and then someone spoke so suddenly that all three of them jumped. “If you do not mean to hurt me, you should lower your bows.” Legolas blinked as the voice broke in mid-sentence, a phenomenon he recognized only too well. Glancing sideways at Annael and then at Turgon, he drew a deep breath and lowered his weapon. After a second of hesitation, his friends followed suit.

“Come out,” coaxed Legolas. And after another second’s pause, the thicket began to shake, and finally a figure emerged and stood, looking at them defiantly. It was a boy of about their own size, although he was more broadly built than any of them. His hair was wild and his face and hands were filthy, as if he had not been washing regularly. He had a bow on his back, and for a minute, Legolas wondered why he had not taken it in hand, but then he realized that the quiver on the boy’s back was empty. And most interesting of all, he suddenly noticed that the boy wore a uniform, one Legolas recognized, for he had seen it on grown Men when they came to visit Thranduil or Ithilden: The boy was clad in the uniform of the army of Esgaroth.

The four of them stared at one another. “What are you doing here?” Legolas breathed.

The boy looked at him stiffly. “I am simply passing through. I am not doing anything wrong.”

“Passing through to where?” Annael asked. “Are you going to Esgaroth?” He must have recognized the uniform too, Legolas thought, a fact that was not surprising given that Annael’s own father was in the Home Guard and often dealt with the Men of Esgaroth.

“No!” The boy’s answer was emphatic. He bit his lip and then drew a deep breath and went on more calmly. “I used to live in Esgaroth, but I don’t any more.”

“Then where are you going?” Legolas asked.

The boy paused. “I do not know yet,” he finally said. “I am just going.”

Legolas frowned. The conversation was growing more confusing by the minute. “Come back to our camp with us,” he invited. “The master can help you.”

“No!” Once again the boy recoiled.

“But you cannot stay here,” Legolas reasoned. “The Home Guard warriors might accidentally shoot you. And how will you get wherever you are going?”

And suddenly, the boy’s tired face crumpled, and he looked as if he were going to cry. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to go back to Esgaroth, and your master would probably try to send me.  My parents are both dead.” He swallowed hard and Legolas’s stomach tightened. “And I’d have to beg or try to get some sort of work. And besides, they would probably –.” The boy stopped abruptly. “I cannot go back,” he declared after a moment’s pause. “I won’t go back. I have to leave.”

Legolas, Annael, and Turgon exchanged looks. “Maybe we can hide him,” Turgon suggested tentatively. “And then we can help him get away.”

Legolas nearly groaned. The suggestion was so typical of Turgon and so likely to get them all in trouble. The phrase “get away” sounded only too apt, and Legolas did not believe that people tried to escape unless something bad was going on. And yet, when he looked back at the boy, he felt his heart twist at the faint signs on hope on the dirty face. “Where would we hide him?” he heard himself ask before he knew he was going to.

Turgon chewed on his lip for a moment. “Our flet?” he suggested, but Annael shook his head immediately.

“My parents would know right away,” he said, and Legolas had to agree. Their flet was in a tree about thirty feet from the back door of Annael’s cottage.

Turgon mused for a moment longer and then his face lit up. “In the cottage next door to mine,” he said excitedly, “the one that Amelas used to live in before he got sea-longing.”

“How would we get him there?” Legolas asked, considering the possibility in spite of himself.

“I can come back tonight and bring a cloak to cover his –,” Turgon hesitated, “his clothes,” he finished, showing that he too had noticed the uniform and was aware of some of the complications it might suggest. “And I can lead him to the cottage. We are not really very far from home.”

Legolas considered the suggestion and had to admit it had merit. Of all of them, Turgon was the least closely supervised. He probably could leave his cottage at night and find the boy. He looked at the boy. “My name is Legolas. This is Turgon. That is Annael. What is your name?”

The boy regarded him and then drew a deep breath. “Rodda. My name is Rodda.” He had evidently decided to trust them, at least for now.

Annael was eyeing the boy closely. “Are you hungry, Rodda?” Rodda hesitated and then gave one sharp nod, and Annael picked up the basket from where Turgon had dropped it when he seized his bow. He approached Rodda, sorting through the basket’s contents. “You can have the mushrooms and the berries. The chestnuts would have to be cooked, and I do not think it is a good idea for you to build a fire. Someone would notice.” He held out a handful of mushrooms, and Rodda hurried to extend his cloak to hold them. Annael continued to load the berries and mushrooms into it until he had transferred them all. Rodda scooped up a handful of the berries and stuffed them in his mouth.

“We need to go now,” Legolas told him, suddenly realizing how late it had grown. “But if you wait here, Turgon will be back for you.”  The boy nodded, still shoving berries into his mouth. Legolas glanced at his friends. “We could each give him an arrow,” he suggested. “Sondil will never notice if we are each missing one, and we should not leave him by himself unarmed.”

“Good idea,” Turgon approved, and they each did as Legolas had suggested, handing an arrow to the boy, who wiped his berry stained hand on his tunic and stowed them in his quiver.

“We are late,” Annael finally said, turning and beginning to move hastily back toward the path. “Sondil will be looking for us.”

Legolas backed away from Rodda and then turned and hurried after Annael, with Turgon at his heels. He looked back just once to see the boy dropping to the ground with his legs folded under his and his hand pawing through the mushrooms. Then he broke into a trot.

They were late, and just as Annael had predicted, Sondil was waiting for them looking worried.  When he saw them, his anxious look turned to an angry one. “Where have you three been?” he demanded.

Legolas could not think of how to answer, but Turgon grabbed the basket back from Annael and shoved it into Sondil’s hands. “We were looking for chestnuts,” he said.

Sondil frowned. “Is this all the food you found in an hour?” He looked sharply at Annael, who flushed and lowered his eyes. Annael usually found food enough to feed them all within half an hour of leaving the campsite. Sondil looked from Annael to Turgon and Legolas, who shifted uneasily. “What have you been doing?” Unable to meet Sondil’s eyes, Legolas looked down, just as Annael had done. “Very well,” Sondil finally said, his tone grim. “If this is all you found, then we will simply have to make do, and if we are all hungry, you will know best whether you are to blame.”

He turned and began preparing the chestnuts for roasting. Legolas stole a glance at Annael, whose cheeks were still burning. “Never mind,” Legolas comforted him and then went to help prepare the cattail roots that the other group had found. Galelas, Tonduil, and Isendir all eyed them curiously, but no one spoke. Sondil was still radiating disapproval, and none of them wanted to provoke him. They cooked and ate their scant meal with very little talk and then broke camp and started for home. Legolas stomach felt funny, but he could not tell if that was because he had not had enough to eat, or he was nervous about the orphaned boy they were leaving in the woods.