6.     Let The Worst Be Known

 

 

 

Dazed and bleeding, Thranduil blinked his eyes.  His thoughts flowed through his mind in a muddy swirl, and it took him several moments to collect his wits and take stock of his situation.   He was lying on his stomach, his face pressed to the ground, though he was surrounded by leaves.  There was a heavy weight on his back, pressing him into the ground, and there was a sharp pain in his hip and a numb spot on his back.  The leaves about him rustled, the weight on his back shifted, and he could hear Legolas frantically calling him. 

 

After a moment, he remembered what had happened.  A spider had crept up on him, but Legolas had killed it.  The tree branch above him had cracked under the spider’s weight.  Thranduil remembered pushing Legolas away, and then there had been a cracking, rustling noise, and something had struck him a ferocious blow.  The branch must have fallen on him, Thranduil realized.

 

With that thought, his awareness returned fully.  Legolas had lifted most of the branch’s weight off of him.  Thranduil squirmed out from under it, ignoring the pain in his hip and back when he saw the shattered expression on Legolas’s face.  Legolas sat down hard on the ground.  Thranduil crawled over to him and swept him into a fierce embrace, cradling Legolas’s head against his shoulder as Legolas began to weep.

 

“Oh, mouse,” Thranduil said.  “Oh, little mouse, it is all right.  I am here with you, I will not let you go.  My brave little mouse, you killed the spider.  The spider is dead, and I am here with you.  It is all right now.”  Legolas clung to him desperately, his tears wetting Thranduil’s shirt.  Thranduil held him and murmured soothing words until he calmed down.

 

“My brave little mouse, you saved my life,” Thranduil said.  “I cannot thank you enough.”

 

“I thought you were going to die,” Legolas gasped.  “I thought the spider would take you, that I would not be able to move fast enough.  And then the branch fell, and I did not know. . . “

 

“It is all right.  I am somewhat battered and bruised, but I have taken no serious injury.  What of you?  Are you wounded?”  Thranduil frowned at the welts across Legolas’s face, but he seemed to have no other injuries.

 

“I do not think so.  But I do not think I can walk right now, either.  I am shaking too much.”

 

“Then let us rest here for a while,” Thranduil said.  His hip twinged, and he shifted Legolas in his arms.  “I also do not feel that I can get up.”

 

“Are you wounded, Ada?” Legolas looked alarmed.  “Perhaps we should try to return to the delvings.”

 

“Nothing is broken.  I simply wish to rest for a time and rejoice that I am alive.”

 

Legolas nodded and rested his head on Thranduil’s shoulder.  They sat quietly together for a while, beneath the wounded tree, breathing in the sharply scented air.  Gradually, Legolas relaxed against Thranduil and slipped into a half-sleep.  Thranduil let him rest, for he knew that Legolas had been sleeping poorly. 

 

The sun sank lower in the sky, and the winds picked up and began to blow chill.  Gently, Thranduil shook Legolas.  “I think we have rested long enough, mouse,” he said.  “The deer’s carcass has surely cooled enough by now, and we should bring it home before dark.”

 

Legolas nodded and rose to his feet.  With a groan, Thranduil moved to rise as well, but Legolas motioned for him to remain seated.  “You are wounded, Ada,” he said.  “You should not rise yet.  I will load the deer’s carcass onto my horse, and then I will help you to mount yours.  I will lead my horse, and we will return to the delvings that way.”

 

“Thank you.  That is a kind thought.”  Thranduil sat back and watched as Legolas called his horse.  When the animal stepped out of the brush, Legolas slowly maneuvered the deer’s carcass across its back and strapped it firmly in place.  Then he took the pouch containing the heart and liver and fastened it to the deer’s antlers.  When he had finished, he called Thranduil’s horse.

 

Even with Legolas’s assistance, rising from the ground and mounting his horse was a slow, painful task for Thranduil.  He was profoundly grateful once he was seated, and they began to walk slowly back home.

 

 

 

“A tree branch?” Gilveril asked, as Thranduil removed his shirt and lay down on a couch in the infirmary.  “I confess that I am almost grateful to see a simple accident after all the battle wounds I have healed.  Please turn onto your stomach, my Lord.”

 

Thranduil obeyed, and Gilveril began to examine his injuries with her warm hands.  She prodded at the tender places on his back and hip, examined his head, and peered at his eyes.  Satisfied, she sat back on her heels.

 

“You are fortunate, my Lord.  There are no broken bones, and there is nothing that I cannot deal with easily.”  She placed her hands over the worst of the injuries, and Thranduil sighed with pleasure at the healing warmth that spread from them as Gilveril encouraged the torn and bruised muscles to reknit.  Almost too soon for his liking, she removed her hands and prodded the injuries again.

 

“Well?” Thranduil asked.  “Will I survive?”

 

Gilveril smiled.  “I believe so, my Lord.  Give your body a chance to mend completely.  Do not do anything strenuous for a day or so, and you will be whole again.”

 

Slowly, Thranduil rolled over and sat up.  “That would be a marvelous thing indeed,” he said, “if one member of this community were truly to become whole again.”

 

Gilveril raised an eyebrow, then looked down at her hands.  Almost without thinking, she touched the silver betrothal ring on her finger and gave a sad little smile.  “I suppose you are right, my Lord,” she said.  “But even if we can only ever be whole in body, we might as well work towards that goal with all that we have.”

 

 

 

Legolas described to Inglor exactly where he and Thranduil had encountered the spider and what they had done about it.  “As far as I know, the carcass is still by the river,” he said.  “We remained there for some time, but that was the only spider we saw.”

 

Inglor nodded.  “It is likely that there is no colony of them near there, but I will send a patrol out that way to make sure of that.  We have been seeing fewer colonies recently.  I hope that that is a sign that the spiders are slowly vanishing from the forest.”

 

“I hope the carcass has not attracted more of them,” Legolas said.  “I know that I should have burned it or buried it, but after I saw that my father was alive, I could not move or think any more.”

 

“Do not worry about that.  Such an encounter would be terrifying for anyone.”  Inglor paused for a moment and considered his next words.  “In fact, when I think of the circumstances of this attack, I think you performed exceptionally well, Legolas.  I know that you have been unable to go out with the patrols recently, but you were able to keep your head and deal with the spider today.”

 

“But afterwards, I was of no use to anyone.  I could barely stand.  It was by sheer good fortune that my father was not hurt severely.”

 

Inglor nodded.  “That is true.  I do not think that you are ready to go out on a patrol tomorrow.  But I think that you are beginning to recover from whatever it is that causes this inability.  You will not go out with the patrols now, but I have no doubt that you will be able to go out with them again some time in the future.  Now, go and rest.  You have done well today, and you have earned it.”

 

 

 

Thranduil had been intending to pay Doronrîn a brief visit after returning from the hunt, but he realized that he would be unable to do so.  Luindil offered to go in his stead.  “I have not seen her since Gilveril allowed her to leave the infirmary,” he said.  “I would like to see for myself how she fares.”

 

“Of course,” Thranduil replied.  “Give her my greetings when you see her.”

 

Luindil brought a small pouch of hickory nuts with him when he knocked on the door of Beleghir’s house.  Doronrîn answered the door with a smile for her old friend.  “Welcome, Luindil,” she said.  “Come inside.  Beleghir is visiting with Tinwen at the moment, and the house was becoming lonely.”

 

“I am glad to see you as well,” Luindil said.  He followed her into the kitchen, and placed the pouch of nuts into her hands.  “A small gift.  King Thranduil wished to come to see you today, and he would have brought you some fresh venison, but he is unable to come.”  Briefly, Luindil told Doronrîn of the accident in the woods.

 

When he had finished, Doronrîn blew out a sigh of relief.  “At least they are both alive, praise Elbereth.  I do not think that I could bear any more losses, especially not Thranduil or Legolas.”

 

“You are not the only one,” Luindil said.  “I have watched both of them grow from newborn infants to the adults they are today.  Sometimes, it is a shock to realize how much I care for them.  I fear that the King and his son are the only children I will ever have a hand in raising.”

 

“There is that,” Doronrîn said thoughtfully.  “Saelind and Beleghir have been a great comfort to me these past months.  Their presence makes my choice a difficult one.  I cannot abandon my children, yet their father’s death gnaws at my heart every day.  There are times when I envy you for never having married.”

 

Luindil gave her a wry grimace.  “It was not by my choice.  And I have envied the marriages of my friends for thousands of years.”

 

“There you have it, then,” Doronrîn laughed.  “In the end, we have all known loss.  Who is to say which losses are less terrible than others?  Perhaps if things had gone differently for me, I might never have known the pain of mourning my husband, but I might also never have known his love, or the love of our children.  I do not know if that would have been a better path.”

 

“Perhaps you will see him again one day.”

 

Doronrîn poured the hickory nuts into a bowl.  Then she reached into a bin, took out two onions, and began to peel and chop them.  “I do not know if I believe that,” she said.  “Ever since I was small, I have been told that the dead will be re-embodied in Valinor.  But no one I know has ever returned to say whether or not it is true.  There are times when I do not want to believe it, so that I will not be disappointed.  But there are times when I desperately want it to be true, so that I can have hope.  Do you believe it, Luindil?  Do you believe that the dead will be re-embodied?”

 

Luindil arranged wood and kindling in the small clay hearth pot.  “I remember Melian, Thingol’s Queen,” he said.  “Even in the body of an Elf, her power was formidable.  Across the Sea there are beings greater than she was.  It might not be beyond their strength to re-house the spirit of an Elf.  I think it is certainly possible that Ilúvatar intends for us to be re-housed after death, but, no, I cannot say for certain that it is true.” 

 

He lit the fire.  Doronrîn poured a little oil into a three-legged pan and set it over the hearth.  She swirled the pan meditatively, waiting for the oil to warm.  When it released its fragrance, she put the onions and hickory nuts in the pan and began to stir them.

 

“I cannot die,” she said after a while.  “As strong as the pain of Menellir’s death is, my will is stronger, and it will not let me follow him into death.  But neither can I live here, in this forest, where we were born, where we lived and loved each other.  I do not know how to do that, and I fear that I might fade until there is nothing left of me.  How does one go on living in a place where one’s love has died?”

 

Luindil stared at the cooking nuts and onions, mesmerized.  “Doriath was never the same for me,” he murmured.  “Even though I had a new family, I could not set foot in Menegroth again.  I think that I was almost glad when the sons of Fëanor descended upon it.”

 

Doronrîn snorted.  “That is less than encouraging.  Even if I chose to leave this forest and its memories behind, I cannot think of a place where I might want to go.”

 

“I have left many homes behind,” Luindil replied, “and it is never a pleasant thing.  I suppose that, in the end, the reason I believe that the dead will be re-embodied is because I want it to be true.  If I believe, then I can hope that one day I will see my lost family and friends once more.”

 

Doronrîn shook the pan over the hearth.  “I will try to share in your belief.  It will make the months easier.”

 

“Months?  Have you chosen to remain, then?”

 

“I did not say that.”  Doronrîn smiled to soften the sting of her words.  “Tinwen came to me recently and asked permission to court Beleghir.  That was the first joy I have felt since the War ended.  Beleghir works so hard and has borne so much.  I want him to have some joy of life as well.  I think that I will remain long enough to see what comes of their courtship.”

 

Luindil nodded thoughtfully.  “It is brave of you to say that, considering that the pain that tears at your own heart is the result of courtship and marriage.”

 

“Perhaps.  But before the pain, there was joy, and I cannot forget that.  Tinwen will make Beleghir happy, and I cannot find it in me to deny him that.”

 

“I think you are better suited to belief than you know.”

 

Doronrîn shrugged.  “We will see.  In the meantime, will you stay and eat with me?  You have helped to prepare the food, after all, and Beleghir is still not home.  I would welcome the company.”

 

“Gladly.”

 

They divided the nuts and onions between two plates and sat down to eat.  And for a time they put their doubts and worries aside and allowed themselves the joy of sharing a meal with a friend.

 

 

 

Even as weary as he was, Thranduil found it difficult to sleep that night.  Gilveril had given him several packets of willow-bark tea that he could brew if he was in pain, but even with the tea, some dull, nagging aches remained.  Thranduil suspected that these aches stemmed more from emotional rather than physical distress.  However, they were still enough to make sleeping difficult.  After tossing and turning in his bed for some time, Thranduil decided that it was foolish to fight that battle any longer. 

 

He rose and went to the library, where he lit a fire and hung a kettle over it, in the hopes that tea and reading might smooth the way for sleep.  He settled down with a volume about the court of Doriath at its height and began to read by the firelight.  After a while, he heard a knock on the door.

 

“Come in,” he said, and was not surprised to see Legolas enter.  “I suppose that you could not sleep?”

 

“No.”

 

“I guessed as much.”  Thranduil set his book aside and gestured to the other comfortable chair in the library.  “Come, join me.  I am boiling water for tea.  Would you like some?”

 

“Yes, please.”  Legolas hesitated for a moment.  Then, he sat down, not in the other chair, but on the floor at Thranduil’s feet, leaning against Thranduil’s good leg.  It was a posture he had often adopted as a child, after he had considered himself too old to sit on Thranduil’s lap but still in need of contact.  Reflexively, Thranduil laid his hand on Legolas’s head, and Legolas relaxed against him.

 

They did not speak for some time, but gazed at the dancing fire in the hearth.  When the water in the kettle began to boil, Legolas got up and poured it into the teapot that sat on a small side table, then took two mugs from a cupboard in the table and set them beside the teapot.  Then he returned to sit at Thranduil’s feet.  Thranduil resumed stroking his hair.

 

“I have been thinking, Ada,” Legolas said softly.  “I cannot remain here, in the forest.”

 

A sharp pain that had nothing to do with his injuries stabbed through Thranduil’s chest, making his breath catch and his eyes sting.  He forced himself to remain calm and continue stroking Legolas’s hair as if nothing was wrong.  “Have you made your choice at last?” he asked.  “Will you go over the Sea?”

 

Something in his voice must have alarmed Legolas, for he turned to look Thranduil in the face.  “No,” he said.  “I am not ready to do that yet.  I do not intend to sail for a long time.  I did not mean to frighten you, Ada.”  Legolas got to his feet and poured the tea.  He placed one mug in Thranduil’s hands and sat down on the floor again with his own mug.

 

Thranduil sipped his tea and did not allow his relief to show on his face.  “If you do not mean to frighten me, what do you mean?”

 

A faint smile flickered across Legolas’s face.  “I am not sure that I can explain it exactly,“ he said, setting his mug down on the floor beside him.  “When I was traveling, I wanted nothing more than to return home.  That was my wish, and it sustained me through many long leagues and strange lands.  And then, finally, I was able to come home, but I have not found the peace I dreamed of for so many months.”

 

Legolas took a deep, ragged breath and looked away.  Thranduil set his own mug down and took Legolas’s hands in his.  “You have not been home for very long.  A little over a month.”

 

“It is different,” Legolas said.  “Or perhaps I am different.  Something has changed.  Perhaps it is the new houses.  I do not know.  The forest does not feel like my home any more.”

 

“It has changed since you went away.”

 

Legolas nodded.  “I went to Heledir’s grave,” he said.  “The sapling tree that his mother planted over it was burned, just a charred stick.  So many people are dead, and so many more are shells of themselves.  It grieves me to see it, and I want nothing more than to heal it.  But I cannot.  The land is too old, and I cannot heal a place that has cared for me for so long.  I am not strong enough.”

 

“What do you wish to do, then?”

 

“There is another land.”  Legolas took a deep breath.  “I have seen the forests of Ithilien, Ada.  That land is wild, and it has struggled for so long against the powers of the One who dwelt across the mountains.  Ithilien is ready to accept life once again, Ada.  I think I could help that land to heal.  That is where I wish to go.”

 

“I see.”  Thranduil sat back in his chair and took a long drink of his cooling tea.  Legolas regarded him uncertainly for a few moments.

 

“Will you give me your permission, Ada?  I will not go to Ithilien if it is against your will.”

 

Something in Thranduil broke then, and he laughed, even as a few tears leaked from his eyes.  “Oh, Legolas,” he said.  “Do not worry.  If that is your heart’s desire – if moving to this new land will make you happy – then I will allow it.  I do remember Ithilien as it was of old, and it was a fair land.  If you can restore that beauty, then you may go.”

 

Legolas relaxed visibly, and a smile spread across his face.  “I thought you would not approve.”

 

“Such a journey is not what I would have chosen,” Thranduil admitted.  “Not so soon after you have come home again.  But it is only distance, after all.  You will not be sailing across the Sea forever, at least, not yet.  Perhaps I will come and visit you in this new land of yours.  And if you wished to return here, there will always be a place for you, here in the land of your birth.”

 

“Thank you, Ada.”

 

Thranduil smiled and shook his head.  “Oh, mouse, what else could I tell you?  There have been so many times when I could not give you what you needed.  I could not prevent your mother’s death, and I could not give you my love for so long afterwards.  I could not give you a land where you could grow up in safety, or a childhood free of fear and danger.  There were times when I could not even give you enough food to eat, and you went hungry and miserable.  And now, all that you ask is the freedom to live in a place that will care for you even as you care for it.  How can I not give you that freedom?  You have my blessings, little mouse.  Go where you will, but come home now and again.”

 

“I will, Ada.  Thank you.”  Legolas moved to lean against Thranduil’s leg again.  “I will stay here for a little while longer, I think.  I must dance in the Masque, of course, and I do not wish to travel over the winter.  But when spring comes, I will go to Ithilien.”

 

Thranduil smiled.  “I am glad that you will stay for a little while longer.”

 

Legolas was silent for a while after that, and Thranduil thought he had fallen asleep.  But then he stirred.  “Ada,” he asked, “do you regret sending me to Imladris?”

 

Thranduil blinked in surprise.  He had not given that issue much thought.  “I do not know,” he said at last.  “At the time, I felt that it was the best thing to do, both for you and for our people.  Had I known what would come of it. . .” His voice trailed off as he considered the problem.  “I do not know.  You went on your journey, and you helped to save the world.  I feared for your life every day that you were traveling, but you returned home, if only for a little while.  Perhaps, if you had stayed home, you might have been killed in the battles here.  Or the Ringbearer’s quest might not have been fulfilled.  There is no way to know.  I think that, in the end, I regret your wounds, but I do not regret the courage that drove you onward.  That is all I wish to say on that matter.”

 

“It is enough, Ada.  Thank you.”

 

“You are most welcome.  And now, I think that we should both go to bed.  I, for one, am weary.  Will you help me to rise?”

 

Legolas smiled and helped Thranduil to his feet.  Thranduil kissed him on the forehead, and they each returned to their beds more hopeful that sleep would find them.