Disclaimer: Tolkien owns everything, I own nada.

                                             Chapter 4

                                     Thranduil gently turned his son onto his back. Legolas had an orc arrow protruding fron his left shoulder and from his left thigh, just above the wound he had taken in the first skirmish. Thranduil’s breath caught as he searched for some sign that Legolas still lived. As he leaned over his son, Legolas shifted and gave a low moan of pain. Tears of relief filled Thranduil’s eyes and threatened to spill down his face. A chill of fear ran down his spine a moment later as he recognized the telltale flush on the younger elf’s skin. He swore  as he realized the last two arrows had been tipped with one of the many poisons orcs were wont to use. The bushes behind him rustled ominously and Thranduil spun , snatching up his sword to face this latest threat.

                                      “Peace, Milord elf, we mean you no harm!” The human guard captain called out.“ Please, lower your weapon and let us assist you.”  Thranduil was torn. He placed no faith in humans, nor indeed in any mortals and precious few elves outside his own realm, but he knew that Legolas would not live long enough for him to reach Imladris without assistance. Swallowing his misgivings and his pride for the sake of his child, he wiped the blade on his leggings, and sheathed it. The captain almost visibly relaxed and swung off his mount. “ Garen, Tor, see to the rest of the wounded.” The captain approached Thranduil a bit warily. He bowed respectfully to the elf. “Milord, how badly is your companion wounded?”

                                       “An arrow to the shoulder and to the leg, both poisoned, and an earlier arrow wound that we were unable to treat,” Thranduil answered succinctly.

                                       The captain hissed through his teeth as he looked over the wounds of the younger elf, “Poison, that’s nasty business. And he kept fighting in spite of that?  With respect, Milord, we’d best get him to our healers as soon as possible. Are you injured?”

                                        Thranduil shook his head, “ Scratches only, nothing serious enough to require immediate attention.”  The guardsmen charged by their captain with the care of the wounded approached.

                                       “Captain Narilt, there are no more wounded. All the others are….” the man halted his report, looking at Thranduil . 

                                        “ Dead, “  The elf finished for him, his face an expressionless mask. Narilt cleared his throat nervously.

                                        “Tor, fetch a horse for our guest, please.”  Thranduil nodded a curt thanks as he mounted the horse provided for him. Narilt and Tor gently lifted the unconscious Legolas up to the Elven king and Thranduil cradled his son to his chest, careful not to disturb the arrows still lodged in the younger elf’s body. The rest of the company mounted and began to ride toward their settlement, the two elves in the middle of the column, leaving the horrid scene in the clearing behind them.

                                           As the company made it’s way through the trees toward the humans’ stronghold, Captain Narilt studied their unexpected guests. The elder elf seemed to be carved of stone, displaying no emotion on his face. He did not speak to any of the guardsmen, and in fact barely seemed to acknowledge their existence.  Narilt had had dealings with the elves of Rivendell on many occasions and had found them to be unfailingly polite, unlike the taciturn and abrupt individual he rode next to. As he thought on it, he had never seen any of the elves he had met prior to tonight dressed as these two were, only in shades of green and brown. Not even the Rivendell border guards he occasionally met in the woods during times of high orc activity dressed in this manner. He turned his attention to the younger elf.
        

                                           The wounded one’s eyes were closed, his breathing rapid and shallow.  Narilt grimaced in sympathy, he had taken a poisoned arrow several months earlier and had only survived the experience due to the quick action of his fellow guardsmen and the skill of their healer and herb-woman who had been trained by Lord Elrond himself.  It had been painful in the extreme and had taken weeks to heal. He fervently hoped that they would reach Greenglade Keep in time to save the unfortunate elf. 
       

                                            They passed into a clearing and the moonlight illuminated the two Eldar so that Narilt could clearly see their features.  As he looked at them, he noted a distinct resemblance between the two. It was obvious to him now that they were closely related, no wonder the older one had insisted on carrying the younger.  Narilt also noted that despite his impassive mask, the elder one held the younger with great care,  studiously avoiding coming in contact with the arrows or doing anything else to cause discomfort. He frequently glanced down to assess the condition of his passenger, placing a slender hand along the younger one’s face or smoothing a stray strand of pale hair from his brow. Seeing that, Narilt concluded that the younger one was probably the offspring of the stern warrior.

                                             “How is he faring?” Narilt queried the elf.
     
     

                                             “ Not well, “ Thranduil answered shortly. “How much farther is it to your abode?”       

                                             “ Just beyond the hill on the other side of this patch of trees, Milord. Orc poison is nasty stuff, to be sure, but he looks strong and we have a very good healer and herb-woman at the Keep. Trained with Lord Elrond, they did, and they’ve brought many of us through bouts with orc poison before, myself included a few months ago. They’ll do their best for him, Milord.  I promise you they will.”  Narilt wasn’t sure what made him try to reassure the elf. Perhaps the fact that he had sons of his own and knew how he would feel if one of his boys was in the shape the wounded one was.

                                              The elder elf gave him a measured look, and to Narilt’s surprise replied. “My thanks, Captain. What few dealings I have had with Men in the past have been negative. Please do not take offense at my manner. I am unused to being indebted to humans.” The elf did not look at the captain, but stared straight ahead.

                                              “ No offense taken, Milord. I only wish we had come upon you sooner.” Narilt nearly stammered his response, so stunned was he at the statement. Thranduil merely nodded, falling silent once again.

                                               Narilt tried again, “ Is he your son?”

                                               Again, the sharp grey eyes took his measure. “Yes,” Thranduil stated, “ my only child.” He was never certain afterwards what made him admit that to the human guard captain. Legolas shifted in his arms at that moment, uttering a low moan of pain. Thranduil’s attention swiftly shifted to his son, the captain forgotten instantly. 

                                               Legolas was looking up at Thranduil, his eyes glassy with pain and the effects of the poison in his system.  He had heard the obviously human voice of the captain and had opened his eyes in a near panic to see his father‘s familiar visage above him. “ Ada..?” He ventured softly.

                                               “Shhh, ion-nin, I am here. You are safe,” Thranduil spoke quietly, calming his son easily. Legolas’ eyes drifted closed again as he lost his tenuous hold on conciousness. Thranduil worriedly felt for the pulse in his son’s neck, relaxing only marginally when he found it still beating. At this point, they broke through the last of the trees and the Keep became visible in the distance. Their pace quickened as the horses recognized that they were heading towards home and food. Thranduil ruthlessly held his mount to a fast walk to avoid jostling Legolas and injuring him further. The horse snorted, but obeyed. Narilt kept pace with the Elven king out of courtesy and concern for Legolas.

                                               As they neared the tall, thick walls surrounding the Keep, the guardsmen in the front rank called up to the men standing guard on the wall.  A shout of recognition went up from the sentries at the gate, and the it opened to admit the troop and their guests. Narilt spurred his mount up to the front of the group, calling loudly for the healer and herb-woman as he went.

                                              “ Get Weder and Letha! Now, damn your eyes! We’ve got wounded!”  He dismounted swiftly, handing the reins to a waiting stablehand and turned to Thranduil. “Milord, hand him down to me until you dismount.” At the elf’s hesitation, he continued earnestly, “ Milord, I’ll handle him as carefully as if he was my own son, I pledge you!” Thranduil relented, easing Legolas into Narilt’s arms before swinging his leg over the saddle and landing as lightly as a cat next to Narilt. The captain gently shifted Legolas back into his father’s arms before leading the way into the main hall of the Keep.

                                               They were met in the Great Hall by the healer, Weder, a short man well into his middle years, and Letha, the herb-woman, a sturdy but handsome woman just entering middle age, and the lord of  Greenglade Keep,  Lord Feren.  Feren looked askance at Narilt, but made no comment other than to direct his captain and the elves to the long table near the hearth.  Thranduil placed his precious burden gently on the surface provided, and stepped quickly out of the way as the healer and herb-woman began to assess his condition. Thranduil took no notice of  the others in the room, all his attention was focused on Legolas and the two humans who worked to save his life.

        
                                                Narilt took this opportunity to explain to his Lord how the elves came to be guests in his keep. As he had expected, Feren took no issue with his handling of the situation. Indeed, the longterm, friendly relations between Greenglade and Rivendell ensured that any elf needing assistance would receive whatever they needed at Greenglade. Narilt, however, had seen enough of the state the younger elf was in to voice his concern about it to his lord, “ Lord Feren, with respect, I think we might be wise to send a messenger to Lord Elrond about these two. The younger one is in bad shape, and I’m not for sure but only an elf-healer might be able to do for him.”

                                                Feren eyed the pale form on the table and silently concurred with his captain’s assessment. “ Very well, send your best rider on our fastest horse at first light. Captain, satisfy my curiosity on one point, if you would.” Narilt looked expectantly at his liege-lord. “ Where in bloody Hell did you chance to happen upon Wood elves in these parts?” Narilt’s mouth fell open in shock. These were Wood elves? Feren chuckled at his captain‘s expression.

                                               “ My lord, I didn’t realize.. That is .. Umm.” Narilt stuttered to a stop, having no idea what to say. Wood elves were dangerous creatures, nothing like the peaceful folk in Rivendell. If one listened to the absurd granny-tales passed about of the Wood elves, one would be certain that they ate babies for breakfast. Narilt was no where near that superstitious, but he had heard enough tales that sounded credible to make him second guess his snap decision to bring the two to his Lord’s home.

                                                Feren guessed his captain’s train of thought and hastened to reassure him, “Peace, Narilt. Most of what is trotted about of them is nonsense spread by those who know no better. Forget you that I was raised in Mirkwood’s shadow? So long as we deal fairly with them, they will do no harm.  They do not usually mix with mortals, but are not given to harming any that do not first harm them or trespass in their lands. I can only think that they must have been traveling to Rivendell. I can think of no other reason they would be so far from their home, even though it was my understanding that they are not on good terms with Lord Elrond’s folk. Strange goings on, indeed. The rest of their party was killed?” Narilt nodded, fascinated with Feren’s revelations. Feren continued,                          “ Surprising, that. Wood elves are fierce fighters, especially against orcs. They must have been vastly outnumbered. Did you manage to find out anything about them?”

                                                Narilt cleared his throat self-consciously, “ My lord, the wounded one was not able to speak for most of the journey here, and the other’s not much of a talker. He did tell me that the younger one is his son, the only child he has. He also said that his experience with Men has been bad, but he did thank me for our assistance.” Feren’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline upon that tidbit of information. “ My lord,” Narilt continued, “ I think he might be someone of importance, judging by his manner.”

                                                “ Never can tell with elves, Narilt. They all carry themselves like nobility. Although, you might just be right about this one. The sooner we contact Rivendell the better, methinks.”  Narilt nodded, and respectfully took his leave to arrange for the messenger to leave for Rivendell at dawn.