Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

*******

4. Time Away

Legolas trailed slowly along through the spring morning, thinking about how beautiful Miriwen’s eyes were. Surely he was not mistaken in thinking that they had gleamed when they had looked shyly up at him as he and she walked along the river. He smiled to himself, and contentment flowered warmly in his breast.

From ahead where the training fields lay came the sound of clanking blades, drawing him from his reverie. He could not help grimacing. The blade master would almost certainly have them sparring today. He bit his lip, hoping fervently that he would not disgrace himself. Then he emerged from the trees to see the field where his class would be held and came to an abrupt halt.

The rack on the edge of the field held not training swords, but long knives.

His breath came quickly, but he felt as if he was not getting enough air and his head began to swim. Without thinking, he backed up into the shelter of the trees again. Then he turned and hurried back along the path with his heart beating wildly. He could not do it! He could not!

“Legolas! Where are you going?”

He spun to see Turgon coming along the side path from his family’s cottage. For a moment, he could not answer. “I am not going to class,” he announced and flinched at the slight tremor in his voice.

Turgon blinked. “You are not?”

“No.”

Turgon took a tentative step toward him. “What are you going to do instead?”

Oh Valar, Legolas thought unhappily. If he could not go back to weapons training, what was he going to do instead? Not only today but for the rest of his life? “I do not know,” he answered in despair.

Turgon cocked his head to one side. It was evident that he knew something was the matter, but he could not determine what it was. “We could go fishing,” he offered.

Legolas felt an abrupt flood of gratitude for this friend, who would stick by him no matter what. His chest loosened, and he drew a deep breath. “That is a good idea. May I borrow fishing gear from you?”

“Of course.” Turgon turned, and Legolas began following him back toward his home. “I did not want to go to class today anyway,” said Turgon cheerfully. “The weather is much too fine to be anywhere but the woods.”

To Legolas, the thought of being in the woods was like balm on a bruise. He would worry about his future later. Just now, he needed to be among the trees in the company of someone who had not even been near the stronghold when he had killed the Elf-woman.

***

Ithilden waited until he and Alfirin had gotten a distance away from his father’s stronghold before he shifted the picnic basket to his other hand and slid his freed arm around her waist. For a second, her step faltered. Then she turned her head to look up at him through half lowered lashes as she allowed him to draw her closer to his side. His heart accelerated. She loved him. She had confessed it on the previous night, and now they could explore just what that meant. He smiled down at her, and they resumed walking toward the sheltered grove where he planned that they would eat their mid-day meal. Then, he hoped, there might be time for other satisfying pursuits.

“I am so glad that you could take time away from your work today,” she said. “I was surprised to get your note because I know how busy you are.”

He shrugged. “There was nothing going on that I cannot catch up with later, and my aide knows where to find me if he has to.” The aide also knew that Ithilden would have his head if he interrupted them for anything that did not absolutely require his immediate attention. Ithilden did not think he had to worry. The aide had given him what could only be called an indulgent smile when he left his office.

“Nonetheless,” Alfirin said, “I am gratified that you would take the time off to be with me, and I am glad for your company.” And she did look happy, he thought, pleased once again that he had thought of this picnic and decided to take a highly unusual break in the middle of the day.

He led her off the path and into the deeper woods until they reached the bank of small stream, where a grassy patch lay in sunlight between the stream and a grove of towering oaks. “I thought we would eat here,” he told her. “I used to come here for picnics with my parents when I was an elfling.”

She smiled at him, showing the dimple in her right cheek that never failed to charm him. “I wish I could have seen you as an elfling. Were you well-behaved or did you get into trouble?”

He laughed. “I believe I was usually well behaved, but I am told that I was occasionally stubborn enough that it was hard to dissuade me from any project upon which I had set my heart.” He looked at her. “It still is,” he said softly and was delighted when she blushed.

He drew a blanket from the large picnic basket and spread it in the sunny spot. “Let us see what the palace cooks have given us.”  She seated herself as he dropped to his knees next to the basket and began exploring its contents. On top, he found plates, silverware, and two carefully wrapped crystal goblets. He raised his eyebrows. He did not remember such elaborate tableware being used at the picnics on which he had gone with his parents.

Next, he unwrapped a cloth from around pieces of roasted chicken. He put it on one of the plates and then, growing more and more touched by the trouble the palace cooks had taken, he found fresh, fragrant bread, with a slab of butter tucked in next to it, pastries filled with honey and nuts, and four of what must have been the best of the apples left from the previous fall. Finally, he pulled a skin of wine out of the basket. He contemplated it, certain that it contained the best of his father’s Dorwinion. Slowly, he smiled. The kitchen staff must have decided that they liked Alfirin, he thought.

He looked up to where she was already dividing the food onto two plates. “This is wonderful!” she cried, with obvious pleasure. It was wonderful, he thought, and poured wine for both of them. He rose to immerse the wine skin in the stream where it would stay cool and then returned to stretch out on his side on the blanket. Alfirin laid a plate of chicken and bread and cut up apples next to him and took another plate onto her lap.

He sipped his wine and watched her as she ate a bite of chicken, marveling at the delicate curve of her cheek and the fullness of her lips. She looked up, saw him eyeing her, and lowered her fork to her plate. “Are you not going to eat?” she asked.

He picked up a slice of apple. “I am, but just now I am so happy to be with you that I am not very hungry.”

Her face lit up and she smiled at him so tenderly that his breath caught. Then she bit her lip and looked down at her plate. “I do love you, Ithilden. I said it last night, and I meant it. But I also meant the other things I said. I am uncertain if I would be able to be a good wife to the king’s oldest son.”

For a brief moment, he froze. When he had left her on the previous night, he had at first been so euphoric at her declaration of love that he had forgotten the stream of worries she had also poured out. But once he had reached the privacy of his own chamber and had been going over the whole evening in his head, he had heard her again, fretting about what being married to him would be like, and his heart had misgiven him. He knew Alfirin well enough by now to know that she was capable of loving him and still refusing to marry him if she thought that such a marriage would make them both unhappy. In truth, her concern about whether he would have time for her was one of the reasons he had made an effort to get away from his work today.

In what felt like a single motion, he dropped the apple slice, got to his feet, and crossed the short distance between them. As he sank down next to her, he took plate from her lap and set it aside. Then he put his arms around her and pulled her against him. “You would be the wife I want and need,” he said fiercely. “You would be the best thing that ever happened to me.”

For a second, she felt stiff in his embrace. Then suddenly, she softened, leaned against him, and laid her head on his chest. “I do love you,” she murmured.

He bent to inhale the scent of her hair. “You do not have to take on the running of the palace if you do not want to,” he offered tentatively. “Nyndir can continue to do it.”

She looked up at him and shook her head in evident exasperation. “Of course I would want to do it. And while I am sure I could learn a great deal from Nyndir, it is also possible that he would resent my presence and see it as interference.”

He blinked. He had not thought of that, and he should have. After all, he had led his father’s warriors for a good many years and knew how difficult a change in command could be. “I do not believe that Nyndir would mind,” he finally said. “He is a scholar, and I think he might be glad to have more time in the library.”

She still frowned slightly, and he stared in fascination at the way her mouth was fixed in a small pout. He slid one hand up her back to caress the nape of her neck and felt her stretch in response. Then he bent down and brought his mouth to hers. She gave a little gasp and then, as he brushed a line of soft kisses along her lips, she parted them slightly and caught his head between her hands to hold him still and press her warm mouth to his. He could feel her breasts against him, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

Suddenly, a faint sound penetrated his absorption, and with a nearly physical pain, he jerked his head up and turned slightly in the direction from which the noise had come. Alfirin made a low sound of protest but then saw the look on his face. “What is it?” she murmured.

Ithilden frowned. Surely he was mistaken? He sprang to his feet, gestured for Alfirin to stay where she was, and, with his hand on the hilt of his knife, slid silently through the underbrush that ran along the edge of the stream. He had gone no more than thirty yards before he was certain that he been right in what he thought he had heard. With an exasperation he could hardly contain, he waited where he was and a minute or two later saw Legolas and Turgon making their way along the bank of the stream, carrying a string of fish, and chatting idly to one another.

With his anger increasing because they were so careless that they did not notice him, he waited until they were nearly upon him before he spoke. “What are you two doing here? Why are you not at training?”

They both jumped and spun toward him. “Ithilden!” Legolas exclaimed. Then he snapped his mouth closed and looked apprehensive. As well he might, Ithilden thought grimly.

“We went fishing,” Turgon said, holding up their catch.

With difficulty, Ithilden ignored him and continued to look at Legolas, who dropped his gaze to the ground. Ithilden feared that if he once started in on Turgon, he would say things that were entirely too harsh and his chief concern was with Legolas in any case. Legolas shifted from foot to foot, and Ithilden sighed. There was no help for it. “Come with me,” he said, beckoning to them.

“We are on our way home,” Legolas said, wetting his lips.

“Not by yourselves, you are not,” said Ithilden firmly. He did not like the idea of Legolas going off alone or, even worse, with Turgon. Legolas was so unpredictable these days that there was no telling what he might do if left on his own for too long. Ithilden felt a sudden chill at the possibilities: If Legolas decided he needed time alone in the woods, he just might disappear into them, and that would be very dangerous, given his current inability to use weapons with confidence.

“Come.” Ithilden turned and started back toward the picnic site, and after a second, he heard them following him. They emerged in the little clearing where Alfirin waited. Ithilden despaired as he looked at her. Given his unwillingness to let Legolas go home on his own, his pleasant hour or two with Alfirin would have to be postponed for another day.

“Mae govannen, you two,” she said, sounding surprised but smiling at the younglings. “It looks as if you have been fishing.”

“We have,” Turgon agreed happily, “and we caught some really lovely trout. We needed a day off from training,” he confided.

Alfirin shot Ithilden a half-amused glance, but he found it impossible to share her enjoyment of the absurdity. Legolas’s struggle to return to using weapons was hard enough without Turgon tempting him away from the training fields. Ithilden glanced at Legolas, who stood silently to one side, his posture tense.

“I am afraid we need to escort these two home,” Ithilden told Alfirin. She raised her eyebrows and glanced at Legolas and Turgon, but she said nothing and stood up to begin packing the food back into the basket.

“Are you going to eat that?” Turgon asked, eyeing the chicken. Ithilden rounded on him, ready to snap at his presumption, but Alfirin spoke first.

“You may have it if you are hungry,” she said, offering Turgon half-wrapped chicken. He helped himself to a leg. She offered the chicken to Legolas too, but he shook his head. Ithilden’s irritation deepened at the resentment that was increasingly evident on his little brother’s face.

“You do not have to do this, Ithilden,” Legolas said. “As I told you, we were on our way home anyway.”

“The last time I saw you, you were on your way to the training fields.” Ithilden could not help the sharpness in his voice. He had taken comfort every morning this week in knowing that Legolas was safe under the watchful eyes of the weapons masters. “But you do not seem to be very skilled at arriving at the destinations you set off for. This time, I want to be sure you get back where someone can keep an eye on you.”

Legolas’s jaw tightened, and Alfirin frowned at Ithilden, making him want to smack both younglings. He swept up the blanket and took the basket from her. “Did you get the wine?” he asked, and she retrieved it from the stream and tucked it into the basket he held out. He offered her his other arm, which she took, and started back through the woods toward the path. Turgon flung away the bone from his chicken leg and stood waiting for Legolas, who finally moved after them.

Alfirin looked back over her shoulder. “Today, I am drying those flame flowers you saw yesterday, Legolas. By the day after tomorrow, they should be ready to extract the dye from. I will try to remember show you what the yarn looks like after I dye it.”

“Thank you,” grunted Legolas in what Ithilden supposed was an effort at politeness.

Alfirin looked meaningfully at Ithilden. He was uncertain what she wanted, but he guessed that she was urging him to speak to the younglings too. He was too angry to do it, however. Even in his current state, Legolas knew better than to dodge out of weapons training. Of course, Turgon was probably responsible for that.

They walked quickly, and his annoyance grew as Alfirin fixed her eyes straight ahead and pulled a little away from him. At length, they drew near Thranduil’s stronghold.

“Do you want some of the fish, Legolas?” Turgon asked when they paused at the point where the path to his cottage branched off.

“No, thank you,” Legolas said. “You can have them. But thank you for going with me, Turgon.” Turgon smiled and trotted off toward home. In silence, Ithilden, Alfirin, and Legolas resumed walking until they reached the Green.

“I want to walk Alfirin home, Legolas,” said Ithilden. “Can I trust you to get home from here?”

Legolas threw him a scathing look. “You could have trusted me to get home from the forest.” He turned his back, but Ithilden caught his arm.

“The weapons masters have almost certainly sent word to Adar that you were not there today. You would do well to go straight to him.”

Legolas jerked his arm free and glared at Ithilden. “I already know that.” He whirled away and was trotting across the Green before Ithilden could answer.

He turned to find that Alfirin had already started walking along the path to her cottage, and he had to hasten to catch up. When he came up beside her, she threw him a glance that made him stop in his tracks. “Why did you do that?” she demanded angrily.

He was dumbfounded. “Do what?”

“Treat Legolas as if he were completely irresponsible. I know that this is none of my business, Ithilden, but I cannot help myself. You acted as if he had to be dragged home by force. He said he was going home. Why could you not trust him?”

Ithilden struggled for composure. “I could not leave him to go home alone! He had already proved himself unreliable by being where he was not supposed to be. He needed someone to keep an eye on him. And he needed to have company, to feel that someone cared enough about whether he got home to go with him.”

“Do you think you provided him with such company? You would not even speak to him. And he already had company. He had Turgon.”

Her voice had risen slightly and Ithilden could feel heat flooding his face. “Turgon is a large part of Legolas’s problem! He talks Legolas into doing just this sort of thing.”

“You heard Legolas,” Alfirin cried. “He thanked Turgon for going with him. That did not sound to me as if Turgon was the instigator. Besides, you have been worried about Legolas for some time now, and Turgon has not even been here until the last few days. You cannot blame everything on Turgon, but I doubt if you help Legolas by treating him as untrustworthy.”

Ithilden stood looking at her. They were both breathing hard. He had not told her about Legolas killing the Elf-woman because doing so felt like a violation of Legolas’s privacy. She did not know what she was talking about, and she was interfering quite inexcusably.

“I think I know what Legolas needs better than you do,” he said stiffly. For a second, she said nothing. Then she gave a wordless cry and turned to march away with her fists clenched.

He started after her, but she looked over her shoulder long enough to say, “Do not come with me. You may not think Legolas can get home on his own, but I assure you that I can.”

He stopped and watched her disappear around a bend. Then, aware of the weight of the nearly full picnic basket in his hand, he turned and strode off toward the palace. She was the most infuriating female he had ever met! How could he have ever thought of her as gentle?

***

Alfirin took great satisfaction in not slamming the front door of her family’s cottage. She was in complete control of herself, she thought as she turned to push it firmly shut. Ithilden was so arrogant that she could scarcely stand it, but she was not going to let that discompose her.

She turned away from the door to find her mother standing in the doorway of the kitchen at the end of the hall. “You are home early,” her mother observed. “Is something the matter?”

Alfirin marched down the hallway toward her. “Nothing you did not warn me about,” she fumed. She swept into the kitchen and was grateful to find neither her father nor her brother was there. The remains of the mid-day meal littered the table, and Alfirin had evidently interrupted her mother in clearing it up.

Still standing near the doorway, her mother tilted her head and regarded Alfirin thoughtfully. “Have you eaten?”

“I am not hungry,” Alfirin announced as she gathered dirty dishes and shoved them into the pan of warm water near the hearth.

Her mother took a seat at the table and touched the side of teapot to see if it was still warm. “Bring two cups and sit and talk with me for a few minutes before I go back to the infirmary.”

Reluctantly, Alfirin obeyed. She was not sure she wanted to talk about this. She had not yet decided what the events of the last half hour meant about her and Ithilden’s rightness for one another.

“What happened?” her mother asked.

Alfirin suddenly found herself blinking away tears. “Ithilden and I quarreled,” she said, glancing at her mother, who nodded, evidently unsurprised. “We met Legolas and his friend Turgon in the woods. Obviously they should have been at weapons training, and Legolas looked very conscious that he was where he did not belong. He said he would go home, but Ithilden would not let the two of them go on their own. And, Naneth, I know he is worried about Legolas, but he was unkind to him! He let Legolas feel that he was angry and did not trust him, but he never made it clear that he was also concerned for Legolas’s happiness and well-being.”

Her mother took a sip of tea. “You let Ithilden know you thought he had done the wrong thing?”

“I did.” Alfirin lifted her chin. “I know that whatever is the matter with Legolas is none of my business, but I could not stand by and watch Ithilden hurt him without saying something. Ithilden loves him, but he was just so wrong!”

For a moment, her mother looked down at her tea. Then she raised her gaze, and to Alfirin’s shock, she smiled broadly. “Good for you,” she said. “I am proud of you for standing up to Ithilden. He can be very intimidating, so that could not have been easy. Perhaps you even helped him and Legolas. Now all you have to do is enjoy the making up.”

Alfirin gaped at her. “But we quarreled! I am still angry.”

Her mother reached out to lay her hand on Alfirin’s wrist. “Yes, and I am so relieved that you did. I was afraid he might be too much for you. But I am beginning to believe you would be happy with him after all.”

For a second, Alfirin could only sputter. Then, abruptly, her anger drained away, and she laughed. “Assuming he ever comes near me again,” she said, suddenly worried.

Her mother laughed. “I have seen the way he looks at you. I do not think you need to fret.” Alfirin could only hope that she was right.

***

At the sound of the knock on his office door, Thranduil looked up from the letter he was writing. “Come in,” he called, and Legolas entered the room. Thranduil laid down his pen and leaned back in his chair to regard the slim young figure standing before his desk with his chin defiantly raised. When the weapons masters had sent word that morning that Legolas was missing, Thranduil had felt a moment of panic, but then he had realized that the fact that Turgon was missing too told him what had probably happened to his son: Legolas and Turgon had gone off somewhere together. And indeed, it turned out that one of the Home Guard patrols had seen them on a path leading to a stream where Thranduil knew Legolas liked to fish.

Thranduil sighed and rose. “Come and sit down, Legolas,” he said, indicating the comfortable chairs near the fireplace. Legolas blinked. He had evidently been expecting a scolding, and rightly so, Thranduil thought wryly. Under ordinary circumstances, Legolas would be standing in front of Thranduil’s desk, not sitting near the fire, and Thranduil would be letting him know in no uncertain terms that his behavior was unacceptable. But these were not ordinary circumstances.

Legolas approached the chair Thranduil had pointed to and sat down on the edge of it, his stiff posture suggesting that even now, he was uncertain of what attitude Thranduil was going to take.

Thranduil frowned at the low fire that had been lit against the chill that still lingered in the caves in spring. He needed to be careful or he would drive Legolas further away, when what he wanted was for his youngest son to talk to him. “You did not go to training today,” he observed mildly. He was listening carefully, but he kept his gaze averted, trying to be as unthreatening as possible.

“No.” Legolas hesitated. “I meant to go. I got all the way to where the path comes out of the woods, but then I saw--.” He stopped and then gathered himself and went on again. “I saw that the class was going to use long knives.”

Thranduil let out a long sigh. So that was it. He turned to look at his son, who was biting his lip and looked as miserable as Thranduil had ever seen him. “I take it you are not ready to work with knives yet,” Thranduil said.

Legolas shook his head and looked down at his hands. He still looked as if he were braced for Thranduil to chastise him for his absence from class. Thranduil did not have the heart to do it; for the last few weeks, Legolas had already been punishing himself far more than anyone else thought he deserved.

For a moment, Thranduil felt despair. Was he going to have to let this one be something other than a warrior? Was that something he could possibly do, given that other people’s sons were serving the realm, often at great personal cost? I do not have to think about that just yet, he told himself firmly. And what matters now is Legolas. He leaned forward and put his hand on Legolas’s knee. His son looked up, blinking in surprise.

“If you are not ready, then you do not have to do it. I would like you to try, of course, and perhaps you would like to spar with me or Ithilden first, just to be sure you can. But if you need more time, there is no reason you cannot have it.”

Legolas’s lips parted slightly. Then he swallowed, and suddenly his face softened a little. “I am sorry I could not do it today, Adar. I will try. I promise.”

Without thinking, Thranduil rose and drew Legolas into an embrace. The top of the blond head was higher than Thranduil’s chin now, he noted ruefully. “I am proud your courage, Legolas. You did a brave thing in defending someone else, and you are doing a brave thing now in coming to terms with it.” Legolas said nothing, but he did not pull away either, which, given how closed in on himself Legolas was these days, Thranduil took as a sign of progress.

After a moment, Thranduil put his hands on Legolas’s shoulders and stepped back a little. “You do not have to go to classes that use knives until you are ready, Legolas, but you do have to let me know where you will be instead. I worry when you are missing, iôn-nín.”

Legolas’s mouth tightened slightly. “I do not need to be watched all the time, Adar. I am not an elfling.”

“Of course you are not,” Thranduil said as calmly as he could. “But I still want you to let me know where you will be if you are not going to a training class.” He waited for a moment, and then when Legolas made no more protest, he patted his son’s shoulder lightly. “You missed mid-day meal. You should go and find something to eat before your tutor gets here.”

“Yes, Adar.” Legolas flashed him a brief, small smile that wrung Thranduil’s heart, and then he was gone.

Thranduil sighed and went back to his desk. Only time would tell what future Legolas would be able to make for himself. Another knock sounded at the door, and at Thranduil’s invitation, Ithilden entered the room, looking annoyed.

“Has Legolas come to you?” Ithilden asked.

“Yes.” Thranduil was surprised by the question, and Ithilden evidently realized it.

“I suppose he did not tell you that it was I who stumbled on him and Turgon in the woods today.”

“No, he did not.” For the second time, Thranduil put his pen down. He signaled for Ithilden to sit. “I knew he had not gone to training. The masters sent a message.”

Ithilden nodded and dropped into the chair in front of the desk. “I brought him home, although he claimed he was on his way here anyway.” He drew in his breath and continued determinedly. “Adar, I think you should seriously consider forbidding him to spend any time with Turgon.”

Thranduil stiffened. “I will decide what I allow Legolas to do, Ithilden. It is not your concern.” Thranduil knew that his adult sons both occasionally differed from him as to how Legolas should be raised, but he reserved the privilege of parenting his youngest child for himself alone. Ithilden was plainly wrestling with the temptation to say more, and Thranduil cut him off before he could speak. “I have told Legolas that he need not train with knives yet if he does not think he is ready. Please tell the blade master to let us know when he is planning to have Legolas’s class work with knives.”

Ithilden evidently resigned himself to losing the battle over Turgon and nodded, but he was still frowning. Thranduil eyed him curiously. Ithilden seemed far angrier than Thranduil would have expected him to be over Legolas’s absence from the training fields. Suddenly, Thranduil remembered that Ithilden had intended to take Alfirin on a picnic. “Did Legolas interrupt your time with Alfirin?” he asked, meaning to be sympathetic.

Ithilden gave an angry snort. “Yes, but it is no matter.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “No matter? You seem very annoyed if this is something that does not matter.”

Ithilden grimaced. “Alfirin was quite critical of how I treated Legolas.”

Thranduil blinked. “She was?” Thranduil would have sworn that Alfirin was unlikely to contradict Ithilden about anything. Indeed, her evident docility had worried Thranduil, who thought that Ithilden needed a wife who was as strong as he was.

“Yes, she was. She said I should have shown more trust in him and sent him home alone.”

To Thranduil’s ear, Ithilden sounded as much astounded as angry at the maiden’s criticism. A bubble of amusement rose in Thranduil’s chest. He tried to suppress it, but Ithilden’s sharp ears heard the slight sound that Thranduil could not quite contain. Ithilden looked at him sharply. “You find this amusing?”

Relieved of having to dissemble, Thranduil grinned openly. “I do. I have always liked Alfirin, but I am beginning to think she is an even better match for you that I had originally believed.”

Ithilden’s mouth dropped open, and then he shut it with a snap. He plainly did not know what to make of Thranduil’s enjoyment of his discomfiture.

Thranduil brought his face under control and smiled sympathetically. “I think you will find that in the long run it is better to have a wife who does not always give way to you.” He grinned again. “And besides, making up after a quarrel is one of the great pleasures of marriage.”

Slowly, Ithilden’s face broke into a rueful smile. “I am not even sure she will be interested in making up a quarrel so that marriage is a possibility.”

“Ah,” said Thranduil, “it will be sweet to find out, though.”