Disclaimer: Don’t own it. Wish I did. Not profiting from it. Wish I was.

                                                             Chapter 13

                                                   Morning found Thranduil once again greeting the sunrise from the deeping wall. The room he and Legolas had been given had no windows and both were sorely missing the sounds and smells of the woods. Legolas had not yet been pronounced well enough to venture from his bed for more than a few minutes and was chafing under the restrictions to his activities. That more than anything else reassured his father that he was truly on the mend. An almost silent footfall behind him alerted him to the presence of another. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his guess as to the newcomer’s identity.

                                                  “Mae Govannen, Peredhel,” Thranduil smiled cordially. “This is becoming a habit for both of us.”

                                                    “Indeed it is. I find that I miss open windows, “Elrond sighed. “ I have just come from your son’s bedside. I believe he will be able to be up for awhile today so long as he does nothing strenuous. He is healing far faster than I would have predicted.” Thranduil chuckled.

                                                     “You know Legolas hates being confined. It makes a good incentive. He misses the woods as much as I do.” Thranduil cast a sideways glance at Elrond. “I suppose it is my turn to subjected to your scrutiny, healer?”

                                                     “Not at all, mellon. You are nowhere near the difficult patient your offspring is. I believe I can trust you to your own good judgment from now on. No, I wanted to speak with you on another subject.” Elrond sobered, looking at his hands. “I received word back from Imladris a little while ago by message bird. The contingent from Lorien arrived safely yesterday evening. While they saw plenty of orc sign, they were not harassed in any way on their journey. I have had no word from Celeborn or Galadriel as yet, and do not wish to speculate on what any of this means until I do hear from them. Erestor also took the liberty of assuring your people that both you and Legolas were safe. I do hope that meets with your approval. I was not aware that he had done so until the bird arrived.”

                                                “It was a kind gesture and I will thank him for it when I see him. Did he mention aught else in the message?” Thranduil asked, dreading the answer.

                                                  “No, he said nothing of the attack or of Legolas’ injuries. He thought it best under the circumstances to leave that to you.” Elrond assured his companion.

                                                   “Good. I would prefer to inform the warriors’ relatives of their deaths in person. No one should hear such news from a message bird. Has Lord Feren’s guard turned up anything?” Thranduil’s face showed faint traces of the strain he had been under the last few days. While he was healing, he was still not fully recovered in either body or soul.

                                                   “A great deal of orc sign, and much closer to the Keep than usual.  Feren is preparing for an attack. The orcs have never dared anything so bold in the past, but with as many as seem to be in the area, it is a possibility that cannot be ignored. I am considering asking Glorfindel to accompany some of the Imladris guards here as a precaution.”  Elrond spoke candidly, knowing that although Thranduil was still healing he would not appreciate being coddled.

                                                   “It is as I feared, then. I think an attack may be inevitable if the enemy knows that his first attempt failed.  Sending for re-enforcements may be wise. While I am, on the whole, favorably impressed with Feren’s guard force, I would feel a bit better with more seasoned elven warriors about. I also sincerely hope they hold off until Legolas is well enough to at least pull his bow, or we will have to truss him up to keep him from participating.” Thranduil grimaced at the thought of having that particular confrontation with his headstrong son.

                                                   “A direct order from you would not be sufficient? “ Elrond asked, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement at the thought of Legolas trussed like a baked fowl. Thranduil loosed a longsuffering sigh.

                                                     “Elrond, the arrow in his shoulder was meant for me. He stepped into it’s path deliberately. Believe me when I say that I believe him capable of disobeying any order if he has it in his mind that he must do so for my sake.“ Thranduil met Elrond’s eyes steadily. “Please say nothing to him of the arrow. He does not know that I know.” Elrond’s eyes widened at this revelation, but he nodded his assent.

                                                  “I will say nothing, but I believe you should.”

                                                   “Rest assured, Peredhel, I shall.” His face was expressionless again, in an attempt to conceal the strong emotions that threatened to overwhelm him when he remembered his horror at seeing the arrow strike Legolas. Elrond wisely refrained from comment, maintaining his silence until he saw the tension in Thranduil’s body ease a bit.

                                                    “Shall we go shock the humans again by drinking wine with our breakfast?” Elrond asked archly, attempting to break the gloom surrounding his companion. Thranduil laughed aloud, the memory of the expression on Feren’s face the day before surfacing.

                                                     “After this, I believe we should do just that. I suppose their grandchildren will believe us all to be sots by the time this tale grows in the telling.” With that, the two elves turned and re-entered the Keep.

                                                     “ My dear King Thranduil, “ Elrond jibed, “ it would take a great deal more than a paltry few glasses of wine to turn you into a sot. You have developed far too great a tolerance for it.” Thranduil grinned wolfishly at him.

                                                      “When this is over, my dear Lord Elrond, you may challenge me at any time and see how much greater my tolerance is than yours.” Thranduil arched a brow at him, the gauntlet down.

                                                        “That will be a contest I would enjoy. I officially challenge you. “Elrond grinned back at him, resembling his mischievous sons to a startling degree. He was rewarded with a hearty laugh from his opponent.

                                                          “I accept. You have but to name the time and place, Peredhel.” Thranduil’s eyes gleamed in anticipation before sobering slightly. “When this is over, of course.”

                                                “Of course. It would not do to hold this challenge anywhere but Imladris or Mirkwood.” Elrond grinned once more, and then sighed. “Shall we see what our wayward offspring have managed to get themselves into in our absence?”

                                                  “If mischief is afoot, it is more likely your offspring’s doing than mine at the moment.”

                                                  “Do not sell Legolas short. Even injured he is as fully capable of creating mayhem as Elladan or Elrohir.”  A chuckle escaped from Thranduil as they entered the Hall.

                                                   “I know that. It was merely wishful thinking on my part.” Elrond’s responding chuckle was met by four inncoent expressions as the two elder elves approached the table where the three younger elves and one human were seated.

                                                      Thranduil gave his mischief-maker a wry look. Legolas blushed, but did not refute his father’s statement. Thranduil merely smiled at Legolas, taking a seat next to him. The food laid out had already been pillaged. Elrond and Thranduil exchanged a look a fatherly exasperation before sorting through what was left for their breakfast.

                                                      “So what were you incorrigible young demons planning for today? “ Elrond asked dryly?

                                                        “More weapons practice, Ada,” Elladan replied promptly. “Estel needs work on his swordsmanship.” That earned him a glare from his foster brother. Elladan grinned unrepentantly.

                                                         “Legolas, you may watch them practice, but under no circumstances are you to participate in any way.  I will not tolerate any disobedience from you on this, ion-nin.” Thranduil’s expression when Legolas made to protest caused his son to drop his gaze and nod obediently.

                                                           “Yes, Ada, you have my word.” Legolas replied softly. Thranduil’s hand cupped his son’s chin, gently raising his son’s face so that their eyes met again.

                                                 “Good. Legolas, you will need your strength far sooner than I would like, I fear. We cannot risk a relapse.” In the Silvan dialect, he added, < I will not lose you from a foolish mistake, little Greenleaf.> Legolas’ eyes misted, and he quickly looked away, nodding his assent. Satisfied, Thranduil turned back to his breakfast, his own eyes slightly damp. The others politely ignored the exchange, the younger members of the group trading friendly insults back and forth until the emotional moment passed. 

                                                   As soon as they had eaten their fill, they parted ways. The younger elves and Estel headed for the salle, Legolas supported between Estel and Elrohir. Thranduil and Elrond went in search of Feren to discuss contingency plans for a possible orc attack on the Keep.