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Growing Under Shadow  by daw the minstrel

Disclaimer:  I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they belong to him.  I gain no profit from their use other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

7.  Battles

Eilian crouched motionless on the branch, watching the Orcs pass beneath him.  His pulse quickened as the stream of Orcs continued to flow. This was by far the largest Orc band he had seen since the Southern Patrol had retreated north of the Forest Road.  Moreover, this band was exceptionally well armed, and at least half of them were archers. Taking on this group would not be easy, he thought grimly, and yet they certainly could not allow them to pass because several Elven settlements lay in the direction the Orcs were traveling.  Next to him on the branch, he heard Maltanaur let out a soft sigh.  He, too, evidently anticipated a nasty fight and, like Eilian, he had less heart for it than usual, for they were both weary. The two of them were due to go home on leave the next day and they were both craving the respite.

What did the presence of this large Orc band mean? Eilian wondered.  Were the Orcs on the move, trying to push the Elves back yet further toward Thranduil’s stronghold?  Had there been some change in their strategy?  Even as he speculated about the reasons for the Orcs’ massive presence, he saw something that made him come to full alert.  A group of archers had come into sight, one that was obviously some sort of guard for the two big Orcs in their center.  The presence of the guards alone would have told Eilian that these Orcs were some sort of officers or other leaders of importance, but the elaborately worked armor of the two made the conclusion inescapable.  Could the presence of these two be the reason the band was so large? Eilian thought.  Could they possibly be important enough to command such a large force or, perhaps, merit such sizable protection?

He glanced cautiously at Maltanaur, who was staring after the now departing Orc leaders.  With a tiny nod of his head, Maltanaur acknowledged his glance and indicated that he, too, saw the presence of the two big Orcs as significant.  Neither one of them moved, however, until the whole band had disappeared into the woods.  Then they both rose and began a rapid passage through the trees to where the Southern Patrol was camped.  Tonight’s scouting trip had been richly rewarded, indeed almost too richly.

At the edge of the campsite, they leapt to the ground and ran forward, causing a stir among the warriors lounging around the camp. Todith had risen to his feet at their arrival.  “You have found something?” he demanded.

“Indeed we have,” Eilian said, his voice tight, “a large band of Orcs, perhaps as many as a hundred.  They are well-armed, about half of them archers. And,” he added, “they have two Orcs with them who appear to be of some importance.”

Todith grimaced at Eilian’s description. It occurred to Eilian that Todith, too, looked more bleak than usual, and yet he had been home only a month ago.   The Shadow was becoming stronger here, Eilian thought unhappily, even though they had moved north.  “Where are they?” Todith asked. “Which way are they headed?”

“They are west of us, heading northeast.”

The three of them looked at one another. “We cannot let them near the settlements,” Todith said slowly, “but given how many there are, I do not think we are going to be able to wipe them out, either.  Our goal should probably be to turn them aside, back south again preferably.”

“And take out the two important ones,” Eilian urged.  “If they are leaders of some sort, removing them could cripple their forces for a time.”

Todith nodded. “Agreed.”  He looked thoughtful.  “Where are the two we want in relation to the rest of the band?”

“When we saw them, they were near the back, but not all the way at the end,” Maltanaur answered.

Todith thought about this, frowning. “I see nothing for it but to split our forces,” he said reluctantly.  “We need about half of us to be more or less in front of them to keep them from advancing and the rest of us ready to attack them at the point where the leaders are.”

Eilian grimaced.  Splitting one’s forces was always dangerous because battles were unpredictable and, when the unexpected occurred, it was harder to coordinate the actions of forces that had been divided.  It was the kind of situation in which he was normally good, however, because he had always been able to improvise quickly when the need arose.

“I will lead the group that goes at them head on,” Todith went on. “You take the one that attacks their midsection.”  Eilian nodded with satisfaction.  He liked the idea of confronting the group around the leaders. Todith smiled at him slightly. “You can have Tinár,” he added.

Eilian smiled back at his captain. “It would be a pleasure.  His speed should make him useful in getting rid of all those archer guards.”

“Get them ready,” Todith ordered, and Eilian walked away, calling orders to various parts of the camp.

“Tinár,” he barked, “you are going to have a chance to show that you are as good with that bow as you are constantly bragging you are.”

The young warrior looked annoyed but had by now learned not to object to Eilian’s needling, knowing that if he did, Eilian would stand intimidatingly close and snarl a reprimand at him.  “I will do my best,” he responded rather woodenly.

Eilian bared his teeth at him and clapped him on the shoulder. “That is the spirit!”  If Tinár could learn to confine himself to comments like that one, Eilian thought, he might actually become marginally tolerable to his fellow warriors.  Eilian would have to remember to clamp down hard on the boastful little fool as soon as the battle was over.

He took a minute to speak to Maltanaur and Gelmir.  “Our personal charge is to make sure the two leaders do not survive this fight.  Stay to my right and concentrate on whichever of the two is nearer you. I will keep Tinár with me, and we will be responsible for the other one.”

“I do not think so,” said Maltanaur easily.  “Gelmir can mind Tinár, and I will stay with you.”

Eilian snorted with exasperation made sharper by the grin on Gelmir’s face.  “I am this group’s lieutenant now,” he told Maltanaur. “What makes you think you can question my orders?”

Maltanaur smiled indulgently at him.  “You are a very fine lieutenant, but I am afraid I take my orders from my king, and questioning those orders is beyond even me.”

Eilian knew when he was defeated. He looked at Gelmir.  “Do not worry,” Gelmir told him happily. “I am looking forward to telling Tinár that he is much too slow and inaccurate.” Eilian laughed and dashed off to gather his own weapons and then check to be sure that everyone else was ready.

The experienced warriors of the Southern Patrol needed little preparation and within a short time, they were underway, moving swiftly through the trees.  Eilian soon found himself waiting tensely in the branches of an oak tree, with Maltanaur at his side and about half of the Southern Patrol warriors nearby.  They were far enough from the group that Todith led that they had needed to place an Elf between them to pass signals between the two groups.

The plan for this battle was like that of scores of others that Eilian had fought in the last few years: get into position, wait for the Orcs to arrive, use the first few rounds of arrows to kill as many of the Orc archers as possible, and then use bows and, when necessary, swords to take on the remainder.  The only variation was that in this case, they would be trying to stay north of the enemy so that those who would inevitably escape would flee south, away from the areas the Elves were trying to protect.  They had waited perhaps fifteen minutes when the wind brought the sound of heavy, clumsy feet followed by the stench of Orcs. Eilian sounded a call that was he knew would be quickly passed along to Todith and then he waited, his fingers twitching slightly on his bowstring when the enemy began to filter through the trees and sweep past them.

Eilian and Maltanaur had tried to estimate how far behind the first Orc warriors the leaders were so that they could be in position to attack them when Todith engaged the vanguard, but they could not know if the Orc forces were still spread out in the same way.  Thus Eilian was not completely surprised that the leaders had not yet come into sight when Todith’s signal was passed along the line of Elves, but he did feel a sharp twinge of disappointment. If they did not manage to kill the two leaders, then they would have accomplished little of any lasting value tonight.  He closed his mind to the thought that none of their efforts lately seemed to have much lasting effect anyway.  It is the Shadow weighing on me, he reminded himself resolutely, and tomorrow I will go home.

At Todith’s signal, the warriors around Eilian rose in a single fluid movement, loosed their arrows, and then swiftly shot again.  Speed mattered here because, when they were so outnumbered, they needed to eliminate as many of the Orcs as possible before they were forced to engage them with swords.  Eilian drew and released and drew and released in a rapid, steady rhythm that left little time for anything other than dodging the arrows the Orcs were now sending into the trees.  From the corner of his eye, he could see Tinár in the next tree doing the same, and Eilian had to admit that he was quick and deadly with a bow.

Orcs were still swarming up to join the battle scene beneath him, but the leaders were not yet in sight. The band must have become more spread out than it was when he and Maltanaur had seen it earlier, Eilian realized. He took a moment to glance around and check on the positioning of his warriors, for the direction of this group was his responsibility once the battle had started. All the plans that he and Todith had laid ahead of time were open to change once the enemy had been engaged.

With alarm, he realized that the Orcs had fanned out and that some were now approaching from behind the line of Elves.  He began frantically signaling for a group of his warriors to block these Orcs’ approach, and Elves moved swiftly to do his bidding, but not without cost.  A green and brown clad warrior fell from the trees with a black-feathered arrow in his side. Eilian did not need to issue an order before two of the Elf’s companions had dropped to the ground to wrestle the wounded warrior back into the trees as those above them shot a rain of arrows to keep the Orcs away.

“Eilian!” called Maltanaur, and he turned to see the two Orc leaders running into sight, with their escort now sending heavy volleys of arrows into the trees around them.  Eilian dodged but not quickly enough to avoid the arrow that barely creased his left shoulder.  He swore at its bite but knew immediately that it was not a serious enough wound to put him out of the battle or even to stop him from using a bow. His supply of arrows was running low though, and he was soon going to have to take to the ground and continue the fight with his sword.  He took careful aim and put an arrow through the neck of one of the leaders’ guards.

To his right, he could see Tinár leaping to the ground, his sword flashing, and Orcs closing in on him. Of course, Tinár would be out of arrows before anyone else was, Eilian thought in exasperation.  He wasted far too many of them.  Gelmir loosed two rapid shots and then followed Tinár.  Eilian used his last three arrows to kill Orcs who were attacking Tinár and Gelmir, looked around to be sure that his warriors were where they should be, and then he, too, was on the ground, swinging his sword and hacking his way toward the Orc leader who was his designated target.

For what seemed like an eternity, he stabbed and slashed at Orcs, with Maltanaur at his back. The stink of the enemy was in his nostrils, and their blood discolored his blade and stained his clothes. The clash of weapons was all around him.  Sweat stung his eyes and his sword arm began to ache from the force of blows given and blocked.  And then, surprisingly, he was face to face with the Orc leader.

The two of them circled warily, with their swords raised before them.  And then Eilian grinned.  The Orc blinked in surprise and Eilian stabbed at the fingers of the Orc’s sword hand, causing his opponent to jerk the hand aside. With a speed that came from hatred, Eilian leapt forward into the opening, brought his sword down onto the side of Orc’s neck and then drew the edge toward him, slicing deep into the vein.  Black blood spurted. The Orc clapped his left hand to his neck and then slowly crumpled to the ground.  Glee bubbled up in Eilian’s throat, but he had no time to indulge it, and he spun toward where Gelmir and Tinár were closing with the other leader.  He was in time to see Gelmir drive away two guards as Tinár shoved his blade up under the leader’s chest armor.  As the leader fell, Orcs who had been running to his aid froze.  A ripple of dismay flowed through the Orc forces, and suddenly they were on the run with Elves in pursuit.

Eilian joined in the chase, but when it became obvious that many of the Orcs were going to escape, he signaled for his warriors to pull back and begin sweeping the woods looking for stragglers.  He himself returned to the battle site to meet with Todith and assess what the battle had cost them.  He found the captain busy ordering the emergency treatment and removal of wounded Elves.

“How did we fare?” Eilian asked, wiping his forehead on his sleeve.

“We succeeded in driving them off,” Todith answered grimly, “but I estimate that at least half of us have some sort of wound.  Three of the wounds that I have seen are probably serious enough to require that the warriors be sent home.  And,” he drew a deep breath, “I fear that Córion is dead.”

Eilian winced.  Córion was young, having come to the patrol when Tinár did.

Todith glanced at him. “Have someone see to your shoulder,” he ordered and then moved off.  As if Todith’s words had brought his wound to life again, Eilian’s left shoulder began to ache.

“Eilian!” called Maltanaur’s voice, and he turned wearily to see Gelmir and Maltanaur bending over the Orc leader whom Eilian had slain.  He walked toward them.  Gelmir had a cut on his thigh, Eilian noted. They could tend to one another. It would not be the first time.  “Look at this,” Maltanaur said.  He had rolled the body over and the Orc now lay outstretched with his sword on the ground near his hand.  It took Eilian a moment to realize that it was the sword that Maltanaur wanted him to look at.  He blinked and then looked up quickly.

“Tinár!” he called sharply, and after a moment, the young warrior appeared at his side.

“That big Orc turned out to be less fearsome than he looked,” Tinár babbled. “I was able to dispose of him in sort order.”

“Shut up,” Eilian said automatically. “Give me your sword.”

“My sword?” Tinár asked uncertainly.  He glanced at Gelmir, who grinned wolfishly at him.  He evidently knew quite well that Gelmir lusted after the weapon.

“Yes,” said Eilian. “Hand it over.”  Tinár pulled the sword from its sheath and handed it to Eilian, who crouched and placed it on the ground next to the Orc’s sword. They all stared. The two weapons were identical.  Eilian handed Tinár’s sword back to him and picked up the other one, running his finger thoughtfully along the Dwarven runes on the blade.  His Dwarvish was rusty, but he could certainly read this declaration that the weapon was the work of the Dwarves of Erebor.

“How do you suppose an Orc came to be in possession of a Dwarvish weapon?” Maltanaur asked slowly.

“A very good question,” Eilian responded soberly.

“I do not suppose you are going to let me have it,” Gelmir mourned.

Eilian sighed. “No, Gelmir. I think the sword needs to go home with me tomorrow.  I suspect that Ithilden and the king will also ask how it came into Orcish hands.”  He rose with the weapon in his hands.  If the Dwarves were selling weapons to the Orcs, he thought, his father was going to descend on them with all the fury of a vengeful dragon who has been roused by thieves.  The very thought of war with the Dwarves made him want to weep.  My despair is caused by the Shadow, he told himself, but this time, he was not sure he believed it.

***

Feeling weary to the bone, Eilian crossed the bridge and entered the palace.  An hour ago, he and Maltanaur and two other warriors had arrived home with their three seriously wounded companions and the body of Córion.  Eilian had sent Maltanaur and one of the others to take the wounded to the infirmary, while he and the remaining warrior had gone to the cottage of Córion’s family to break the news of his death and return his body to his devastated parents.  It was the first time Eilian had ever had the task of telling a warrior’s family that he had died.  He felt as if he had been flayed raw by the grief he had brought to the little cottage.

Then he had stopped in Ithilden’s office to leave the dispatches that Todith had sent with him only to find that his brother was away in, of all places, Erebor, although the aide had discreetly refused to tell Eilian why.  Eilian had immediately wondered if Ithilden’s journey could be connected to whatever had put a Dwarven sword into an Orc’s hand, but that was only part of why he had been dismayed to find Ithilden gone. His absence meant that Eilian now had to tell Thranduil about the sword without his brother there to act as a calming presence. Eilian had not realized how much he was counting on Ithilden until the aide said he was gone.

“Is the king within?” he asked the guard at the doors of his father’s Great Hall.

“No, my lord. He is meeting with his advisors in the Council Chamber.”

Eilian hesitated but decided not to disturb the meeting.  The matter of the Orc’s sword was far better discussed in private.  “Pray tell him I would like an audience with him when he is free,” he told the guard and went on to own room, where he dropped his belongings onto the floor near the door.  He looked longingly toward his bathing chamber but decided that a wallow in hot water would have to wait until after he met with Thranduil.  His father would expect him to be available when he was summoned.

“Eilian!” Legolas burst through the open door behind him, and he turned with a grin to embrace his little brother, who, given the bow clutched in his hand, had probably just come from the weapons training field.

“You are growing again!” he laughed, ruffling the blond hair that now came up well past his elbow.

“I started in the middle archery class today,” Legolas crowed, “and Penntalion said I did well.  I can always hit the target when I am standing still, even when it is at the other end of the field.  I was as good as anyone in the class at doing that, but we are going to learn to shoot while moving, and I cannot do that yet.”

Eilian smiled at the flood of enthusiastic words. “You are going to be a very good archer, I think.”

A servant appeared at the door. “My lord, the king will be in his office momentarily and asks that you join him.”

Eilian nodded. He picked up the sheathed Orc’s sword, and he and Legolas moved out into the hall to find Thranduil coming through the doorway to the family’s quarters.  He smiled broadly at them and came forward to embrace Eilian and then exchange a warrior’s armclasp with him.  “Welcome home, iôn-nín. We have missed you.”

“And I you, Adar,” Eilian murmured, suddenly feeling more light hearted than he had in weeks.

Thranduil shifted his glance to Legolas, who was bouncing on his toes, plainly bursting to speak. “How did the archery class go?” Thranduil obligingly asked.

“Adar, I did very well!  And we will learn how to shoot while moving and from horseback too!”

Thranduil smiled at him.  “May I come and watch you one day?” he asked.

“Yes! Come!  Eilian, you come too while you are home.”

“Put your bow away now, Legolas,” Thranduil broke in. “I need to talk to Eilian.”

“Yes, Adar,” Legolas obediently responded and trotted happily off down the hall.

Eilian followed Thranduil into his office. “How long has he been doing that?” he asked in amusement.

“The mid-level archery class?  He started today,” Thranduil told him, as he sat behind his desk and motioned Eilian into the chair in front.

“No, I mean how long has he been calling you ‘adar’ instead of ‘ada’?”

Thranduil smiled wryly and sighed. “Since he got the bigger bow about two months ago.  He is firmly convinced that he is no longer an elfling.”

Eilian grimace slightly. “I suppose he is not.  I am a bit sorry for that, I have to admit.”

“I also,” his father agreed. “But this is not what you wanted to see me about, I assume.”

“No, Adar.” Eilian paused and collected his thoughts.  “First, I have to tell you that Córion was killed in a battle with Orcs three nights ago.  We brought the body home.”

Thranduil was immediately sober.  “Tell me about how things stand with the Southern Patrol,” he commanded, and Eilian gave an account of what had been happening, although he knew he was probably repeating what was in the dispatches that Todith had sent to Ithilden.

“But, Adar, there is something else I must tell you,” he finished. He drew the sword from its sheath and laid it on Thranduil’s desk.  “One of the Orc chiefs was carrying this.”  He watched his father with anxious eyes.

Thranduil stared at the sword for a long minute.  Then he picked it up and flexed it lightly, making its sinewy length send forth a small musical sound. Color began to rise from his neck into his face.  “I should have known,” he spat.  “The Naugrim would betray their own children for gold.”  He looked up, his eyes blazing.  “Send for Deler,” he ordered. “I want the Home Guard and any border guards he can muster to be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

Eilian hastened to the door and sent one of the warriors on watch after the captain of the Home Guard.  He came back into the room, where Thranduil was now on his feet, pacing like a caged mountain lion.  “Adar, what is Ithilden doing in Erebor?” he asked.  “Does it have something to do with this?”

“I would be very much surprised if it does not,” Thranduil bit out each word.  “The Dwarves have been sending us defective weapons.  I now begin to see what they have done with those for which we have paid.”

“When will he be back?” Eilian asked.  The confidence he felt in planning and leading battles with Orcs and spiders had fled in the face of this larger problem, and he was feeling out of his depth.  He did not doubt Thranduil’s wisdom and skill, but he knew of his father’s deep distrust of Dwarves and fervently wished for his older brother. Ithilden was the only person he knew whom Thranduil trusted and listened to, who was also experienced enough to understand what might be happening.

“I do not know,” Thranduil answered grimly. “I only hope he has not come to harm at the hands of these treacherous minions of Sauron.”

Deler appeared in the doorway and saluted.  “You sent for me, my lord?”

Thranduil began issuing orders for readying a war party.  “You will not set out yet,” he finished, “but you will be ready. In the meantime, send a small party toward Erebor to see if Lord Ithilden and his companions are on their way home.”

Deler saluted again and hurried from the room.  Eilian felt as if the Shadow and despair under which he lived in the south had followed him home.

***

Legolas carefully poured water from the bucket to fill the cracked bowl they had suspended between two rocks.  “Go,” he said, and Annael flashed him a grin and then ran off into the small woods behind his home while Legolas sat down next to Turgon and watched the water drip from the bottom of the bowl.  They were playing a game they had made up, in which one of them hid and the other two tried to track him after all the water had run out of their improvised water clock.  Legolas knew they would have a long hunt this time because Annael was very good at this game and, indeed, at woodcraft in general.

“When do you think that Penntalion will have us start shooting from horseback?” Turgon asked.  The three of them had been talking about their new archery lessons off and on all afternoon.

“He did not say, but soon I hope,” Legolas answered.

There was a brief pause.  “Legolas,” Turgon asked, “what about the night hunting?”

Legolas groaned.  “Turgon, I cannot.  My adar would be so angry if he found out that I do not want to think about it.”

“But you promised,” Turgon insisted.  “You said we would go again. And you know that your adar is being too careful.  Did you see anything dangerous the last time we went?”

“No,” Legolas admitted.  “But Adar will not listen to me when I tell him that.”

Turgon’s face set in a stubborn expression that Legolas knew only too well. “If you do not come with me, I will go alone.  The hunt would go better if you came, but if you do not, I will do it by myself.”

Legolas blew out his breath in exasperation, and Turgon turned to him to make a last plea.  “The night was beautiful, was it not?” he coaxed.  “The stars were so thick. Surely you do not intend to stay locked away from them forever?”

Legolas stared at him, feeling his resolve weaken.  “I will not trick Annael’s parents again,” he declared, clinging to this decision with unshaken determination.

“You do not have to,” Turgon answered. “Annael does not want to come anyway.  I will think of a way to get you out of the palace.”  He glanced at the bowl, from which the last water was now running, and jumped to his feet.  “Come on. Time is up.”  Legolas stood and followed his friend into the woods, foreboding and exhilaration warring in his heart. Turgon was right. Night in the woods had been unbelievably beautiful.

*******

Thank you to all readers and reviewers.  Writing would be lonely without you!

Bryn:  I think you are probably right at Ithilden being a little dense on the subject of love.  He will need to discover his feelings for Alfirin and learn to believe in hers for him.  And Thranduil was indeed “wicked” to send his oldest son as the messenger. What’s more, Ithilden knew it!

Camp6311: Well, the material I had planned for this chapter has spilled over into another one so maybe you are right and the story will last for more chapters than I had originally thought.  The threads are coming together though!

Orangeblossom Took: Legolas will be lucky if getting sent to his room is the worst that happens to him!

Angaloth:  I loved your review.  Your appreciation for all those stories really made my day.  Legolas is a little bratty, I have to admit.  He’s not exactly spoiled, but he certainly is his family’s baby and knows in his bones that he will be forgiven no matter what he does.

White Wolf:  Well, Legolas’s resistance to Turgon seems to be weakening.  What is he thinking?!!

Legolas4me: I am so glad you were offended on Thranduil’s part.  The nerve of those dwarves!  And you’re right that Thranduil wishes Legolas were not in such a hurry to grow up.  He was a very cute elfling who is now getting ready to bring his father’s wrath down on his head.

Dragon-of-the-North: I picture Thranduil as indeed believing that his kids should obey him without question. I think parents’ willingness to explain their orders is a relatively recent phenomenon.  “Because I said so” was an acceptable declaration even when I was a kid.  Sorry about the Orc carnage here.

Erunyauve:  I think there will be at least one more glimpse of Alfirin but not much more than that here.  There isn’t really room for romance in this story, I’m sorry to say.

Alice:  Ithilden has a tough job, trying to use his own judgment while working closely with his father whose centuries of wisdom are also worth listening to.  And I’m afraid Legolas is not so resistant to Turgon as he should be.

Dot:  My thoughts about Penntalion are that he is the bravest elf in my story. Can you imagine getting onto a training field with a lot of excitable elflings holding bows and arrows?  The scene between Ithilden and the Dwarves was fun to write.  I could put in all the snarky dialogue I wanted to.

Tapetum lucidum:  Annael does have good parents and Turgon’s are apparently on another planet.  Elflings running into spiders in the woods?  What an idea!  Your 5 year old sounds wonderfully persuasive!

Tiger Lily:  Yes, all will be cleared up soon, but it’s fun to watch Thranduil get all excited in the meantime.

JustMe:  You made me laugh with the lecture to Legolas that you knew would go in one ear and out the other.  And I doubt very much if Ithilden will be telling his father how much the Dwarf leader resembled him. Although that would be amusing!

Lamiel:  I’m guessing that Thranduil’s wife was Silvan, although, as you know, Tolkien doesn’t tell us much.  A face off between Turgon and Thranduil would be very amusing.

Frodo3791:  I would not want to be led into a room containing Thranduil and Ithilden if I were the one taking the swords.  Those two together would scare me silly.

Marnie:  Thank you. I was a little hesitant about sending Ithilden into Erebor because I wasn’t sure what it would be like, but it was fun to write all the offensive dialogue.

Brenda G:  Poor Ithilden is right. He is caught between his father and the dwarves, neither one of whom is well known for reasonability.  And you wanted more Eilian, so that’s pretty much all this chapter is.  I also think he’s the most openly passionate of Thranduil’s sons.

Feanen:  I’m glad you liked the chapter.  Hope this one appeals to you too.

Fadesintothewest:  I feel really sorry for Turgon. Nilmandra says that if I had written this story before the one in which he dies, everyone would be most upset with me!

StrangeBlaze:  Turgon was always a tragedy waiting to happen, I’m sorry to say.

The Karenator:  I picture Turgon’s parents as self-absorbed.  They love him but they barely notice him. If they caught him coming in late, they’d probably say “That’s unsafe!” and go back to what they were doing.  And what a great comparison between Thranduil’s use of Ithilden as a messenger and his later use of Legolas when Gollum escapes.

Nilmandra:  I think of Turgon as being kind of like the kids in “Lord of the Flies.”  He seems to have very little adult influence on his, so his loyalty is to his friends and the world of kids and, of course, he lacks judgment.  Thank you for all your help with this.

JastaElf:  Legolas does have a wonderful family that cares for him enough to discipline him when he needs it.  I feel sorry for Turgon too.





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