Healing Hope

Chapter Seventy-Two

Facing Forward

“Fire is the test of gold; adversity of strong men.” Seneca

Falathar closed his eyes in absolute bliss. Gelleth, sitting beside him, kneaded his soft flesh and elicited a groan of pleasure from the healing warrior.

“I do not know about this, Falathar,” said Gelleth cautiously. “You might still be too weak for this activity.”

“Oh yes, my love…right there,” sighed Falathar. “Gelleth, we shall soon be having our betrothal ceremony. Master Thedin has agreed to represent my father…” his voice trailed off as his beloved touched a particularly sensitive spot.

“Gelleth,” called Thedin from the doorway to Falathar’s room, his voice laced with annoyance. “Come with me, please.”

Gelleth jumped up guiltily from where she had been massaging Falathar’s feet. “I am coming, Master Thedin.” She followed him from the room asking, “Is anything wrong?”

“I have been summoned to the room of the Noldo twin.”

From his bed, Falathar heard the irritation in the First Healer’s voice at the mention of the “Noldo” and wondered what else had happened. The telling and re-telling of the twin’s disrespect towards the King had circulated throughout the palace, even reaching into the healing rooms, and he was greatly surprised to hear of it. Falathar had spent a lot of time around the twins during his stays in Imladris and would never have expected such an outburst from Elrohir. He would first have suspected Elrohir’s more volatile twin, Elladan. Elladan, whose name meant Elf-man, was believed by many who knew him to be imbued with the more impulsive side of the second born. Falathar knew, however, that both twins were passionately protective of their younger brother and he suspected that to be the source of the present trouble.

The warrior pulled himself up to lean on his elbow and frowned. ‘Is it not bad enough that some calamity befalls us every time we venture near that benighted sanctuary; must it now follow us to our home?’ Not for the first time he reaffirmed his belief that the Noldor truly were cursed. He sighed resignedly. Legolas was, no doubt, right in the middle of this mess. His friend and prince would need him.

Sitting up gingerly, Falathar slid his legs over the side of the bed, muttering to himself about stubborn elves. The room spun as he came to a seated position after being prone for so long. The young warrior bit his lip and stifled a groan as pain lanced through his injured flesh. Gripping the bed on either side of his legs, Falathar concentrated on breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth until the room once again settled and the throbbing in his chest was dulled.

As carefully as possible, the warrior eased from the bed to stand upon wobbly legs. Once again he was required to spend a few moments breathing deeply before he could begin making his way shakily towards the outer corridor.

O-o-O-o-O

Nárë leaned back against the counter so that he could slide Estel off of his back, making sure that the child was seated securely before turning up the flame on the lantern. Since their first late night snack together, Nárë had requested that a lantern be left burning in the kitchens. Now the area was bathed in a warm glow as the elf began to rummage through the cook’s cupboard looking for muffins. “What is your favorite snack at night, Estel?”

Estel sighed contentedly as Nárë’s question centered his mind on home. “Sometimes Restor gives me milk and cheese, but the best is when Glorby looks for Restor’s hidden honey, and then we share toast and honey.”

Nárë smiled at the idea of the mighty Balrog Slayer of Imladris sneaking through the kitchen looking for the sweet treat. “And does the Seneschal not allow Lord Glorfindel to have honey?”

Estel giggled. “It is a game they like to play. Restor pretends to be mad, but Ada says that he is really not.”

“Why does he hide the honey then?” persisted Nárë, still trying to understand.

“Because of my brothers,” Estel said simply. “When they were little they used to play the game with Restor, and he would hide the honey because they would make such a mess with it that Ada called them honey bears.”

At the thought of his brothers, Estel grew quiet. He said no more as Nárë finished searching for their snack.

“Perhaps cook has decided to hide our honey, for I cannot find it,” said Nárë, “but I have found the muffins we sought!” The elf turned to face the troubled tot, noting the tear tracks on his cheeks.

“Nárë, will Ro be all right?” Estel looked at the elf with huge, solemn eyes.

Nárë felt his heart melt and enveloped the child in a hug. “Ai, little one,” he said sadly, “you are too young to have been through so many difficulties.” The warrior stepped back to look into the boy’s eyes. “Can you have faith once more that all will be well?”

Young as he was, the noble heart of a proud line beat within Estel’s chest, and as he would do so many times in the future, he grasped onto hope with a stubborn belief that something good could be snatched from the jaws of his terror. With a deep, shuddering breath, Estel nodded, bringing a smile of admiration to the elf’s face.

“Hear my words, my little warrior,” Nárë said softly, cupping the chubby cheek gently, “you will bring great hope to many throughout your life.”

O-o-O-o-O

Legolas watched his father walk out of the light of the torches. Even the shadows could not hide the proud set of his warrior shoulders...shoulders which bore the responsibility of a kingdom pressed on every side by evil.

“Tell me again the words that Celeg used,” Thranduil said, breaking Legolas’ reverie.

Legolas sighed and brought the words to mind. “I first heard him when Estel nearly fell from the flet. He said, ‘You should have let the human fall.’” The Prince jumped up and began pacing in front of Thranduil’s desk in agitation. “How could he think such a thing about a mortal he does not even know?”

Legolas’ words brought a gentle smile to Thranduil’s face, and he turned to look back at his son. “All your life your heart has been unlocked to those who are different than you, Greenleaf. Not many of us have such purity of spirit as you, ion nín.”

Legolas stopped pacing and looked at his father, trying to read his mind by reading his countenance, but the King’s features were once more cloaked, even from him.

Thranduil sighed and shook his head. “Celeg has good reason for his bitterness, as do many of our people, but he was wrong to cast that onto Estel.” He walked back over to sit on one end of the desk, absentmindedly picking up a miniature of his father’s sword that he kept displayed there.

Legolas remained silent as his father toyed with the trinket a moment before setting it back down and fixing him with an intense gaze.

“Continue, Legolas...what did my warrior say in the presence of the Noldor?”

The memory of that encounter flashed through Legolas’ mind as he revisited the scene, and once again the coals of his anger sparked to life.

Thranduil’s features softened as he watched the emotion cross Legolas’ face with interest, amused at the way his child’s eyes flashed a deeper blue when he was angry. He could spend an eternity just gazing at his son’s ever-changing expressions.

Not seeing his father’s eyes on him, Legolas recounted the encounter between Elrohir and Celeg. “When I heard him say that all humans should be killed, I knew that his was the voice I heard when Estel almost fell.” He closed his eyes remembering Celeg’s damning statement. “Humans have caused us nothing but grief! They should all be killed before they can corrupt our lands...” Legolas’ voice trailed off a second before he continued. “Elrohir had his knife at Celeg’s throat before any of us could even react to stop him.”

Thranduil’s attention was caught. “Did the Noldo harm Celeg?”

“No,” Legolas said, shaking his head at the memory. “He called him ignorant and shoved him away.”

The King chuckled at the image his son’s description brought to his mind. ‘Well done, Noldo,’ he thought, as he continued to puzzle over the situation. Celeg had been his chief of elites for centuries and he knew him to be an honorable warrior. What he could possibly have been thinking was beyond the King’s ability to figure out. Estel was no threat to anyone.

Thranduil shook his head to clear the image, for it was not where his mind needed to be centered at this moment. He had an important decision before him. He had decreed that the Imladris party must depart at dawn, but he could not send them out into the wild if the son of Elrond was indeed physically unable to ride. For all his bluster, he really was not a monster. “I will speak to Thedin before I make my decision.”

“Thank you, Adar,” Legolas breathed with relief. “Now, I have an important decision that I must make.”

Thranduil’s interest was piqued, but Legolas only smiled enigmatically at his upraised eyebrow.

O-o-O-o-O

Celeg sat dejectedly on a narrow ledge built into the cave wall of his holding cell. It was the only adornment in the small, dank space. The furrows on the brow of the highly skilled warrior bore testimony of his frustration at being kept from his unit so soon after their recent battles. He laid his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as he visualized the battle once more. The elf visibly shuddered as he remembered how it was only the King’s intervention that had kept them from being completely overrun. So intent were his reflections that he did not realize anyone was standing in the deep shadows outside his cell.

Legolas had been giving a lot of thought to Táron’s interesting quip of fighting old prejudices with a new idea. For too long his people had been insular and distrusting of all but the Wood-elves. Legolas desired to see their minds and hearts open to others. Celeg was a good warrior. Legolas hoped to make him a better being. ‘I cannot change all minds,’ the Prince thought determinedly, ‘but where I can turn one, I will.’

“Have you contemplated your crime?” Legolas said abruptly.

Startled and chagrined to have been caught unaware, Celeg jumped to his feet, quickly bowing when he realized his Prince stood before him. “Crime, Prince Legolas?” he inquired. “I thought we had established that it was not a crime to hold an opinion.”

“So we did,” agreed Legolas, pleased to see the warrior rising to the bait. “However, the crime lies not in the opinion, but in the intent.”

Celeg was genuinely puzzled. “I do not understand.”

“You prejudged an entire race by the actions of a few, and voiced that death should befall an innocent under the care of your sovereign,” answered Legolas, fixing the elf with flashing eyes, impressed that the warrior could bear his gaze unflinchingly. “Since when do warriors of the Greenwood harm children?”

The elite dropped his head under the intense scrutiny. Despite his hatred and distrust for humans, the elf was too honorable to ever harm one that was not a direct threat to his King or his kingdom, especially a child. But saying it was one thing, actually doing it was another, he reasoned. Surely the Prince was aware that he had not raised a finger against the Adan. Still, his heart argued, he was one of the King’s elites; his enemies were the Yrch, not children. Celeg realized that by voicing those sentiments, he had not just besmirched his own honor, but more than that he had brought dishonor to his unit and to his King.

Legolas remained silent, content to wait for the warrior to speak.

After a several awkward moments, Celeg cleared his throat. “I would like the opportunity to redeem my honor, hîr nín. I await my punishment.”

Legolas stood staring at Celeg. “The Noldor will be leaving soon. You and I will be accompanying them.”

O-o-O-o-O

Erestor was pleased, if somewhat surprised, to see Elrohir’s breathing settle into a more normal rhythm, almost immediately followed by his eyes fluttering open. Feeling hopeful, the Seneschal carefully sat down on the bed beside the twin, gently smoothing back tangled hair from Elrohir’s damp forehead. Puzzling...he seemed to be making remarkable progress. Erestor’s motions were stayed and dread encased his heart when he saw grey eyes awash in tears. “Elrohir?”

Elrohir reached up and grabbed Erestor’s hand, gripping it to him as though it was a lifeline. “He lives,” the twin breathed, a small smile gracing his features. “Erestor,” he reiterated, “Elladan lives.” The twin closed his eyes for a moment as he relished not only the free flow of air into his lungs after his earlier inability to breathe, but more importantly, the warmth and wholeness of his re-established bond with Elladan.

Erestor felt weak with relief at the twin’s pronouncement, and grateful that he was already seated, for he feared his legs would not have held him otherwise. His relief was short lived, however, as Elrohir attempted to sit up. “What are you doing?” gasped Erestor. “Lie back down.”

“No,” insisted the twin. “We must leave. I want to see Elladan. I need to see Elladan!” What followed was a rather comic scene of Elrohir attempting to get past Erestor, who was just as stubbornly attempting to keep him in bed. Ultimately Elrohir gave up, chuckling weakly at the absurdity of the situation. “Erestor!”

“Do not ‘Erestor’ me,” the Seneschal replied. “You gave me the fright of my life earlier, and I shall be confident that you are well enough to travel before we even consider leaving.”

Elrohir cocked an eyebrow looking uncannily like his father. “We are to depart at dawn.”

“Not if you are unable to ride, we will not.”

“I am only a little tired,” the twin insisted. "I will manage, Erestor. I feel quite capable of riding. But this discussion is irrelevant. The King’s edict left no room for argument.”

Erestor nodded sagely. “We will see.”

Elrohir was wary of the conviction in the elf’s voice. “Do you know something I do not?”

With great effort, Erestor resisted the urge to look smug, for he did so love surprising Elrond’s offspring. “I have not been your father’s counselor for centuries without learning a thing or two about diplomacy.”

Erestor had been present the day that Elrond, acting as Gil-galad’s Herald, carried the condolences of the High King to the new King of the Greenwood. He had heard for himself the vehemence spewed from Thranduil and had been incensed on his Lord’s behalf. However, the future Seneschal of Imladris had been given a valuable lesson as he watched Elrond’s calm reaction, for the Herald understood that Thranduil’s words were born of unspeakable grief.

“Leave the King to me, young one,” replied Erestor with a nod. “You are not the only elf ever to have lost his composure and spoken rashly.”

Elrohir frowned in confusion, but before he could respond there was a tap at the door and a rather severe looking elf appeared with a lovely elleth in tow.

Erestor rose and straightened his robes.

“I am the First Healer of Mirkwood,” said Thedin gruffly. “My services have been requested by Prince Legolas.”

The elf’s tone did not sit well with Erestor, but he knew it would only make things worse if he responded in kind. There was already one misunderstanding to straighten out, and he did not need another one, but diplomatic incident or not, he would brook no rudeness towards his Lord’s son, and he fixed the healer with a look that said so. “Thank you for coming, First Healer,” he said sincerely, employing the old adage of catching more flies with honey. “I found Lord Elrohir nearly unconscious. He seemed unable to draw breath.”

“Did he hurt himself in some way?” inquired the healer.

“No, he did not,” said Elrohir, irritated to be spoken over as though he was not there.

Thedin ignored the twin and looked at Erestor. “Was he comatose?” The healer was intrigued, despite his anger at what he had been told of the young one’s words to Thranduil.

“No,” replied Erestor to the healer’s question. “He was somewhat combative however, and his limbs were thrashing, as though he fought with some unseen enemy.” Erestor hesitated, seeking Elrohir’s eyes before mentioning the severed bond, but seeing the small shake of the twin’s head, did not further elaborate.

“An ingestion of poison?” suggested Gelleth.

“I have not eaten,” snapped Elrohir. Not a good patient in the best of times, Elrohir had no intention of allowing a strange healer to poke and prod him. “Thank you for coming, First Healer, but as you can see, I am quite well.”

Thedin harrumphed and stepped around Erestor to fix Elrohir with a look that had quelled the hearts of many an apprentice. “I am the healer here, and you, young Lord, will abide by my decision.”

Erestor sighed, and Gelleth’s eyes went wide with shock. She had heard many stories about the “Duo of Death” and feared what might happen next.

TBC

Translations:

ion nín – my son