Healing Hope

Chapter Twenty Two

Thranduil

"Choice of attention - to pay attention to this and ignore that - is to the inner life what choice of action is to the outer. In both cases, a man is responsible for his choice and must accept the consequences, whatever they may be." W. H. Auden

Thranduil had sat through the long watches of the night holding the now peacefully sleeping child. The sky outside had drifted from ebony to faintest pink to the fiery dawn, and now only soft, warm sunlight crept across the floor towards him. Still he sat immobile, lost in thought as he contemplated his small charge, inevitably comparing him to his son.

“Last of the line of kings,” he whispered into the pale morning light. “I know the weight you will carry, young one.”

The surroundings faded as Thranduil once again found himself making the long, sad journey back to Greenwood from the disastrous assault upon Mordor. Oropher’s closest ally, Malgalad of Lórien had been slain along with half of his followers in the great battle of the Dagorlad, the battle plain, after they had been cut off from the main host and driven into the Dead Marshes. In battle on the Cirith Gorgor side of the plain, Oropher and Thranduil had fought valiantly, but alas vainly, to reach the beleaguered elven warriors, only to be forced into retreat by overwhelming and repeated onslaught.

As though yesterday, the king recalled the rocky ground which endeavored to confound the footing of the surest warrior, the grit and dust blown into his face, the screeching of vultures fighting over carrion, and the omnipresent stench of the dead. How he hated that place so far from their beautiful Greenwood!

Alone in the royal tent he sat with Oropher the night they lost Malgalad. Grief stricken, Oropher had sent away all his advisors and railed endlessly to his son against the delay of Gil-galad to order a counter charge that, futile though his tactical mind told him it would have been, might have saved at least some of the doomed elves.

Bone weary, exhausted beyond belief, Thranduil closed his eyes and attempted to find some corner of quiet in his mind, far away from this place of dust and death. Valar, how he hated this place…so different than his own home. Would the long years of fighting never end? He was so sick of the blood and death and filth and most of all, of what it was doing to his father as day by day he became more and more frustrated and embittered by their failure to draw this war to a close.

Oropher was no fool. He knew that his Silvans were courageous, but they were also not so well equipped with armor and weapons as the forces from Lindon. The Silvan elves were also arrogant and independent, not easily led by Gil-galad. The Silvan king was every bit as proud as his warriors, and every day that they held back the final assault on Barad-dúr cost him more friends.

The following morning Oropher had commanded his troop to attack and rushed forward before Gil-Galad had given the signal for the advance. He was slain, along with many warriors. Before the war was over, Gil-galad and Elendil had also fallen, and Thranduil, young king of Greenwood, led home barely a third of the warriors who had ventured forth under Greenwood’s banner. Oropher had wanted nothing more than to remain home in peace, but he was wise enough to know that no lasting peace would ever be found unless Sauron was defeated. Thranduil now wondered whether or not his father could ever have realized the terrible cost to them all.

A small tug to his thumb brought Thranduil back to the present, to a third floor bedroom nestled in a peaceful valley. Estel dark eyelashes fluttered slightly as he sighed deeply and settled more securely in Thranduil’s embrace.

“The hope of man,” sighed Thranduil. “That is a heavy burden for such a small child.” How fragile the boy seemed in his arms…how vulnerable and innocent. Even the hope of man has but one life to give. How was this one to survive the evils of this world?

O-o-O-o-O

Elrond rose from his seat so quickly that his wine spilt onto the jostled table.

“What is it?” asked Erestor, alarmed at the pallor on his lord’s face.

“A rider approaches. Come, Erestor, let’s go see what news he bears.”

Elrond and Erestor were just making the front steps when Legolas rode into the yard. The young elf jumped from his mount and ran to the elf lord.

“The twins live,” he said without preamble, knowing that would be the first thing that Elrond would want to know. “They are both wounded and being borne home.”

“Wounded?” asked Erestor.

Legolas nodded. “They were attacked by many orcs.”

Elrond, who had remained silent to this point, visibly paled. The frown between his eyebrows was deep and pensive. What could be happening that would allow so many orcs within the valley without his sensing it, and how did they overtake the twins? He pulled himself from his reverie.

“Erestor, is all in readiness?”

“Yes, my lord,” nodded the seneschal.

“Ada?”

Erestor and Elrond spun around to see Estel and Thranduil framed in the doorway. The child held tightly onto the king’s hand. The sight brought a smile to Legolas’ face.

“Is everything all right?” asked the boy.

Elrond walked over to kneel before his son. His anxiety lent a harshness to his words that would normally not have been there. “I thought you were going to stay in bed to keep that arm elevated? The swelling will not go down unless you do.”

At the quivering lip of Estel, Elrond gathered the child into his embrace, soothing him with soft murmurs.

“The fault is mine, Elrond,” offered Thranduil. “Estel awakened last night when you left the room. He has been uneasy ever since. I thought seeing you would allay his fears.”

Elrond nodded, still hugging Estel to him. “You did right, and I thank you…for many things.”

“Why don’t I take Estel to his room and stay with him while he eats breakfast,” suggested Erestor. “I will send to the kitchens now, and after breakfast Estel will stay in bed while I tell him stories.”

“Thank you, my friend,” said Elrond. “I am sure that the king would like some time to refresh himself after his long night.”

Thranduil inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“I will have break of fast for you and your son brought to your room,” offered Erestor.

Legolas started to protest, wanting to be here when the twins arrived, but quickly acquiesced when he saw the look on his father’s face. He realized that Thranduil would, of course, want to know what had happened. “Thank you, Erestor.”

Erestor could hear the approach of the elves and quickly took Estel’s hand to lead him back inside before he saw a distressing sight. “Come along, Estel. Cook has made something special for you this morning.”

The pair went back inside followed by Thranduil and a very reluctant Legolas.

Elrond too had heard the approach of the elves bearing his sons and, unable to resist the urge, rose and started walking across the yard to meet them. His chest tightened as he saw their too pale faces on the litters.

Glorfindel walked before the litter bearers, his face grim.

Elrond met him, one hand falling upon the golden warrior’s shoulder even as the other one sought to caress the face of the twin on the first litter, in this case, Elrohir. “Thank you for bringing them back to me,” he said simply. “What is their condition?” He turned to look quickly at Elladan, being born on the next litter.

“Elrohir has lost a great quantity of blood from the wound to his rib cage. He appears to have taken a severe blow to the head as well. Elladan has an arrow through the back of his right shoulder.”

“What injuries to the warriors?” asked Elrond as he fell into step beside the bearers.

“No injuries were taken by the woodland warriors. Three of our warriors received slight sword injuries. I will have them report to the healers after the twins have been attended.”

Elrond shook his head. “The swords may have been poisoned, Glorfindel. Unless I am mistaken, Sariboril will have ample healers available to care for all the wounded. I would not have the treatment to our warriors delayed.”

As they reached the steps, Elrond directed the litters to be taken to the family healing rooms on the third floor. He had already determined that Elrohir required immediate attention to stop the blood loss. The arrow in Elladan’s back was working as a “stopper” to staunch the flow of blood from his wound. Had Glorfindel pulled the arrow from the twin’s back, he might well have bled to death before they returned home. If the arrow was poisoned then they would face a different set of problems. Elrond was also concerned by the swelling over Elrohir’s eye.

Sariboril was waiting for them in the family surgery as the twins were rushed inside. “All right, all right,” she fussed as they were transferred to the waiting beds, “you warriors out of here, now. I know every one of you and you’ll be wanting to be with your friends, but you can’t help in here.”

Glorfindel ushered the anxious warriors from the outer room as well. This room was slightly larger than the surgery and held four beds, two on each side of the room. The golden one paced the aisle between them as he pondered the events of the morning. Beling was still at the site of the ambush, disposing of orc bodies and looking for clues as to how a troop so large could have penetrated their defenses.

“Lord Glorfindel?”

The warrior looked up to see Legolas standing in the doorway. “Come in, young prince. I have not thanked you for the aid you and your warriors rendered.”

Legolas brushed aside the thanks. “No thanks are necessary, my lord. You would have done as much for any of us. We are brothers, are we not?”

Glorfindel dipped his head in acknowledgement.

“I just remembered something that you should know,” added Legolas.

Glorfindel motioned for Legolas to sit on one of the beds. He sat across from the younger elf. “Tell me, Legolas.”

“As we took to the trees at the ambush site, I saw several large orcs fleeing the area. They were not the immediate threat so I dismissed them from my mind to concentrate on the attack.”

Glorfindel nodded slowly. “Beling is scrutinizing the area now. It is a mystery how such a large force could find their way into the valley.” The golden one did not mention that it was also highly unlikely such a company could penetrate the defenses of Vilya without being without being known to its wearer.

The warrior continued his musings until Legolas’ description entered his thoughts. “Large orcs? What do you mean?”

Legolas frowned as he sought a better way to describe what he had seen. “I am not sure; I got only a fleeting look at them, but they were much bigger than any of the orcs attacking the twins. I’m sorry I cannot tell you more.”

“Perhaps Beling will find some sign of these orcs. In the mean time I am sending more warriors to the vicinity. That will weaken us in other areas. This could all be a feint to weaken our defenses, so I would like to supplement those areas with Mirkwood warriors. Do you foresee a problem with this plan?”

“No,” Legolas said thoughtfully, “we have been pledged to work under your command.”

Glorfindel nodded towards the surgery door. “I have been here many times. It will be many hours before we know anything. Aren’t you supposed to be breaking fast with your Adar?”

Legolas grinned sheepishly. “Yes, but I really did feel that you needed to know what I had seen.” His eyes traveled longingly towards the firmly closed door.

“Go on, Legolas,” urged Glorfindel. “I will send for you as soon as we know something.”

O-o-O-o-O

High above the Last Homely House in a giant elm, Legolas sat perfectly still relishing the play of the silvery moon light dancing through the gently blowing leaves. Sighing deeply, he began to sing softly. It was a song that was slightly sad and haunting to him, for it spoke of the timelessness of Arda and of better times past.

As cool as wine the wind is sighing

Through silent mountain pine

The evening light is slowly dying

As silvery stars do shine.

So many songs, so many stories

The ancient hills recall…

He stopped abruptly as he sensed the presence of another.

“Don’t stop, Legolas; it was beautiful.” Thranduil deftly navigated the tree limb to sit easily beside his son.

“Adar!”

The king chuckled softly. “Do not look so surprised. Think you that a king does not seek the solace of the trees?”

Legolas stared at his father. “I have never seen you in a tree, Adar.”

Thranduil thought about his son’s words. “No, I suppose you have not. A king’s responsibilities leave little time for such…”

“Frivolity?”

“Do not presume to speak for me, Greenleaf. It is unbecoming.” The king purposefully softened his rebuke by the use of the term Greenleaf. His son was troubled by the events of the day, and he wished only to offer support.

“I am sorry, Adar,” Legolas apologized. “I seem to be unable to find peace this night and it is vexing me.”

“Elrond’s sons have the best of care. Only Ilúvatar knows the end of all things, but what can be done is being done.”

Legolas slowly nodded his head. “The injuries of the twins are grievous, but that is not all that is weighing on my mind. It is seeing Imladris so harried from without.” He paused, momentarily unable to express all that he was feeling.

“I think I understand,” said Thranduil. “Imladris has always been a place of refuge for you, a place from which to escape the constant violence of your home.”

Legolas turned a stricken face to his father. “What a coward I must seem - and how ungrateful! I leave my home and my responsibilities to find peace while you are left to continue the fight alone. Forgive me, Ada!”

Thranduil placed a comforting arm over his son’s shoulders. “I could never believe you to be a coward, Legolas. You have proven your courage countless times in the defense of our kingdom. I want you to be able to seek times away.”

“But you cannot,” responded the prince.

“I am the king. The responsibilities of ruling are with me wherever I go. From that first dreadful day on the battle plain I have carried the weight of my people. Think you that is what I want for my son?”

Legolas did not know how to respond. In truth he had rarely even considered the thought of ever replacing his Adar.

Thranduil easily read the emotions on his son’s face. “When we marched from Greenwood to help defeat Sauron, I had no idea that I would return a king…that our warriors would be decimated and our people dispirited. The shadow began to fall upon our lands and we retreated before it as it spread ever northward because we had not the warriors left to mount a proper defense. Finally we determined we would retreat no more and delved into the hills to create our fortress, like Thingol of old in Doriath. Oh, our halls are not to be compared with Menegroth, for we had not the artisans, nor the wealth, nor even the dwarves, but they are beautiful to me for what they represent to our people.”

Legolas, who had rarely heard his father speak of the old days, was fascinated. His eyes softened and a gentle smile graced his face as he listened.

Thranduil was looking at the stars now, speaking almost to himself. “I know that it is said that Thranduil is greedy, that Thranduil is arrogant, that Thranduil accumulates riches for himself, but the same ones who say that do not have the weight of a kingdom resting upon their shoulders.” The king laughed quietly. “How piteous I sound!”

Legolas was nearly at a loss for words. “Adar…I”

“No Greenleaf,” interrupted the king. “I have said too much. My mind journeyed down a dusty road of memory last night, and I was drawn onto paths that I rarely travel…for obvious reasons.”

“I am glad that you have spoken thus to me, Ada.”

Thranduil chuckled again. “Perhaps there is a good reason I do not take to the trees. The air up here seems to have dampened my natural ebullience more than overindulging in miruvor. Sing again, Legolas; it soothes my heart.”

As cool as wine the wind is sighing

Through silent mountain pine…

TBC