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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.
 
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8.  In the Dark

Legolas stirred the stew in his bowl, letting the conversation between Eilian and his father flow over his head unheard.  At weapons training this morning, Turgon had made another plea for Legolas to go hunting with him. He planned to go that night and had declared that he would do it whether Legolas came or not, but every time the weapons master had turned his back, he had coaxed relentlessly for Legolas’s company.  He had even proposed a way for Legolas to slip out of the palace, and Legolas had to admit that Turgon’s plan might work.  Turgon would want to know what Legolas had decided when he and Annael came to play at the palace after lessons this afternoon.

Legolas was not sure what he was going to do.  He, too, wanted to hunt the big deer and he had loved being in the woods at night, but his stomach tightened with fear of his father’s wrath every time he was tempted to give in to his friend’s urging.  The tension was making him irritable and robbing him of his appetite.

“Eat your meal, Legolas,” Thranduil’s voice drew him out of his reverie. He looked up to see his father’s shrewd blue eyes upon him, and he immediately began spooning stew into his mouth and swallowing it despite the tightness in his belly.  He did not want to have to explain what was on his mind.  To his relief, Thranduil watched him for only a moment longer and then turned toward Eilian again.  “It is up to you, of course, but I think that the roan is a better choice.”  Eilian was getting a new horse to take back south with him because the one he had been riding was unhappy there.

Legolas studied his father and brother.  Something was the matter.  He knew it because they had both been preoccupied and more silent than usual at evening meal last night, and his father had been on edge.  Moreover, they had stopped talking when Legolas had come into the dining room a little while ago.  Sometimes they did that when they were quarreling, which they did rather often, much to Legolas’s dismay, but he did not think they had been quarreling today, for their voices had been tense but not angry.  No, something was the matter and they were not telling him, which meant that it probably had to do with warrior things like battles and Orcs. He frowned into his stew.  Annael might be able to tell him what was going on because his father often explained things to him, but Thranduil evidently still thought that Legolas was a baby and told him nothing.

The door opened suddenly and Ithilden strode into the room. “Ithilden!” exclaimed their father in a voice filled with relief, and Eilian, too, relaxed in his chair and smiled.  Legolas looked at them alertly.  They had been worried about Ithilden, then.  Legolas knew that his oldest brother had gone to visit the Dwarves, but he had not thought that the visit was dangerous. He felt a flash of resentment that this important fact too had been kept from him.

“Adar,” Ithilden bowed respectfully and then ruffled Legolas’s hair on his way to embrace and then clasp arms with Eilian, who had risen from his chair.  “When did you get home?” he asked, as servants scurried about, setting a place for him and putting food in front of him.

“Yesterday,” Eilian answered and then added, “We brought -,” he hesitated, his eyes flicking in Legolas’s direction. “I brought dispatches for you,” he finished, although Legolas was sure that was not what he had meant to say.

Ithilden nodded but said nothing. The servants withdrew.  “I have much to tell you, Adar,” Ithilden said, “and I know you would probably prefer to wait until we are finished eating to discuss matters in any detail, but you will be relieved to know that I do not think the Dwarves are the source of the brittle swords.”

“I am not so sure. Events have occurred that you do not yet know about,” Thranduil answered shortly.

“So I gathered when you sent warriors to meet me,” Ithilden answered.  “What has happened?”

“We will speak about this later,” Thranduil declared, glancing at Legolas.  Ithilden opened his mouth and shut it again.

Hurt by being excluded and stung by what felt like an insult, Legolas could not keep himself from speaking heatedly.  “You all act as if I am still an elfling, but I am not,” he cried. “You do not have to stop talking because I am here.”

“Watch your tone of voice, Legolas,” said his father sharply.  Legolas bit his lip unhappily, and Thranduil’s face softened a little.  He drew a deep breath and spoke more gently.  “I know you are growing older, iôn-nín, but this is not for you just yet.”  He smiled at Legolas.  “You should tell Ithilden about the new archery class.”

Legolas knew that he was being placated, but he could not help responding.  The new archery class was so exciting that that he could not pass up the opportunity to tell his brother about it, forgetting, in the sheer joy of the promise of new skills, all worries about Turgon’s coaxing and the secrets his family might be keeping from him.

***

Ithilden stared at the sword that lay on Thranduil’s desk and listened to Eilian’s account of where he had gotten it.  When Eilian had finished, he regarded Ithilden anxiously, and Ithilden was aware, as he had been since they entered the office, that Eilian was worried. Ithilden looked up at his father.  “I can see that this is a Dwarven sword, Adar, but I do not think it was the Dwarves who gave it to the Orcs.”  Beside him, he heard Eilian let out his breath, as if in relief.

Thranduil snorted. “The Dwarves would not give a sword to anyone, but they would certainly sell it, and if they can collect payment both from us and from whoever is supplying the enemy, then so much the better.”

Ithilden shook his head. “The Dwarves denied any involvement, and I believe them,” he insisted, ignoring his father’s skeptical look.  “You did not hear them, Adar. They were outraged that anyone would pass off the inferior swords as of their making.”

Thranduil made an impatient gesture.  “Of course they would not admit to anything!”

Exasperated by his father’s stubbornness, Ithilden glanced at Eilian and found his brother looking at him with something akin to hope in his grey eyes.  “What do you think happened then?” Eilian asked, and Ithilden was grateful for the trust in his judgment that Eilian seemed to be showing.

“I think we need to question the Men who are acting on the Dwarves’ behalf,” Ithilden argued, “Rudd and Cadoc or perhaps the bargemen who deliver the shipment. Any of them could have had an opportunity to take some of the Dwarven weapons and substitute something cheaply made.  Then they could sell the Dwarven swords to whoever paid them the most.”

“That is possible, of course,” Thranduil acknowledged brusquely, leaning back in his chair, “but I do not see that anything you have told me clears the Dwarves.  For all we know, if the Men are giving us shoddy goods and selling the weapons elsewhere, they are doing it at the Dwarves’ behest.”

“I do not think so,” Ithilden could feel himself becoming heated and knew that he needed to keep a firm grip on his temper if he was to have any chance at all of making his father listen to him. He paused briefly to get himself under control and then went on.  “I do not know yet if the Men are involved, although I suspect they are, but I am almost certain that the Dwarves were not lying to me. I think I would have been able to tell.”  He met and held his father’s sharp gaze.  For a moment, Thranduil’s face was enigmatic, and, then, to his relief, his father seemed to reluctantly grant him his point.

“We will question the Men, of course,” Thranduil said with a sigh, “but we will keep the Dwarves in mind when we do.  I want this decided soon, however.  When will the Men be here again?”

“Judging from when they left Dale, I would think it would be any day now,” Ithilden answered, trying not to show how relieved he was.  “By your leave, Adar, I can go and find out if the border guards have seen them yet.” He rose and waited for permission to leave.

“Wait,” Thranduil held up a hand, and from the grim look on his face, Ithilden knew immediately that he would not like what his father was going to say.  “You should know that I asked Deler to ready a war party to be ready to leave whenever I give the command.”  Dismay swept through Ithilden as he stood gripping the back of the chair from which he had just risen until his knuckles went white.  Thranduil had the right to do whatever he liked with the Realm’s troops, of course, but Ithilden was appalled by his father’s readiness to take action when they were not yet certain of what had happened. But then, he reminded himself, his father believed he did know.

Ithilden was groping for words that would not offend his father and yet would say how reluctant he would be to send his warriors into battle without more certain knowledge, when, surprisingly, Eilian came to his rescue.  “The Valar grant that we will be able to settle this without unnecessary slaughter,” he said simply.

Ithilden looked at him gratefully and, after a second, Thranduil rubbed his hands over his face and suddenly looked weary instead of angry.  “Indeed,” he agreed.  He waved his hand in Ithilden’s direction. “Go,” he said, and Ithilden bowed and then hurried off to his office, wondering what other unpleasant events might have taken place in his brief absence and unable to see how he would ever dare to go away again.

***

Legolas inspected the hook at the end of his line and then dropped it back into the water and sat down next to Turgon and Annael again.  They were fishing in a little pool that had been formed in the palace gardens by diverting water from the nearby Forest River.  Fish did make their way into this pool, but none of them had yet succeeded in catching any.

“Annael,” he asked, “did your adar say anything about Ithilden’s trip to see the Dwarves?”

“No,” Annael looked surprised at the question. “He is very busy right now.  The Home Guard might be going somewhere, and he has to help get ready.”

“Where are they going?”

“I do not know.  He did not say.”

Legolas turned this piece of information over in his head, but he did not see that it got him very far.  Finally, he gave up.  He had more important things to worry about.

“You must make up your mind, Legolas,” Turgon said.  “I am going tonight. Are you coming or not?”

“Do not do it,” Annael advised, ignoring the scowl that Turgon sent his way.  “You will just get in trouble.”

“Annael, you are being a baby about this,” Turgon snapped. “Besides, it is easy for you to say do not go. You have already killed a deer.  I am tired of having Tynd and Riolith call me an elfling.”

“I am not being a baby,” Annael protested with dignity.  “My adar says that I am very grown up and that if the Home Guard does go away, I should help my naneth.”

Turgon ignored him and turned back to Legolas.  “Have you decided?”

Legolas thought about it. He, too, was tired of being treated like an elfling, not just by Tynd and Riolith but by his family.  And despite all his father’s warnings, he and his friends had not seen the slightest sign of danger the last time they had gone hunting at night. Indeed, Legolas had concluded that what his father must have really been angry about was his deception of Annael’s parents, and he did not intend to do that again.  And yet even though he thought that Thranduil had been exaggerating the forest’s dangers, he did not like the idea of Turgon going hunting alone.  Turgon was not an experienced hunter and anything could happen.  He hesitated and then he thought about the star dusted sky and the fall of moonlight on the deer’s back, and his heart rebelled.  That beauty was in the forest every night.  Surely he was entitled to see it occasionally.  He turned to Turgon.

“Yes,” he said. “I have.”

***

Legolas lay on the floor of the family’s sitting room reading the last few pages of the book his tutor had told him to finish that evening.  He was having trouble concentrating because he knew that he needed to get started soon if he was to be on time in meeting Turgon.  He glanced over to where Eilian sat with a book in his lap, but his brother was preoccupied with staring into the fire rather than reading.  His father and Ithilden were elsewhere, summoned to speak to one of Ithilden’s messengers who had come a few moments ago.  Legolas thought that Eilian might be worried about the messenger.  Not that any of them would tell Legolas what the matter was anyway, he thought.  He scrambled to his feet.

“I am going to bed now,” he told Eilian, who looked up from his musing in surprise.

“I guess it is nearly time,” Eilian said with a smile, “but you are being very good to go now without Adar here to tell you.  When I was your age, I hated going to bed and was always begging for five more minutes.  I think I believed that all the exciting things were happening after I went to sleep.”

Legolas shifted uneasily from one foot to the other.  “Good night,” he said and started for the door, but Eilian caught at him and pulled him into an embrace.

“Good night, brat. Pleasant dreams.”

Legolas fled from the sitting room to his own chamber.  In his room, he closed the door and leaned back against it for a moment, composing himself. He wished that Eilian had not been so nice.  Drawing a deep breath, he pushed away from the door, went to his bed, and arranged the pillows under the covers so that it would look as if he were asleep there. Then he put out the lanterns, picked up his book again, and cracked the door open to look up and down the hall. No one was in sight, so he slipped out of his room and hurried quietly toward the door leading from the family’s private quarters.  He avoided looking at the guards on his way out and went down the short hallway and through the antechamber into the Great Hall.  To his relief, he did not think that anyone had paid any attention to him.  He had not thought that they would, for he had gone to the Great Hall in the evening before to read and listen to Thranduil’s minstrels.

In the Great Hall, he sat on a bench near the back and let his heart slow down.  He looked around.  A few Elves were gathered near the fireplace but they were absorbed in their own music.  When he was certain that no one was paying any attention to him, he slipped the book down behind the bench and retrieved the cloak that he had hidden there earlier that day.  He rose, donned the cloak, and crept out of the Great Hall to go to the main doors.  This was the part of Turgon’s plan in which he was least confident, for the guards at the doors were unlikely to let him walk off into the night by himself without a plausible explanation.  Think of the starlight in the forest, he reminded himself and, taking his courage in hand, he walked boldly out between the guards and paused on the top step, looking around in the gathering spring twilight.

“Have you seen my friend?” he asked one of the guards.  “He is coming to walk me to his cottage, so I can stay with him.”  At that moment, a figure stepped out of the shadows of the trees at the far end of the bridge and waved to him.

“That is probably him now,” said the guard.

“Good night,” Legolas said and ran across the bridge to meet Turgon.  The two of them hastily scampered along the path that would take them most quickly out of the sight of the guards.  They stopped near a clump of hawthorns, and Turgon crouched to retrieve their bows and quivers from their hiding place among the bushes.

“I cannot believe it,” Legolas said a little breathlessly, as he strapped on his quiver.

Turgon laughed.  “I knew my plan would work,” he gloated.  Then he moved off toward the forest. “Come,” he called, “our buck is waiting for us.”

The two of them leapt into the trees and began to move swiftly through the branches. By now, they knew exactly where they were going because they had come this way several times during the day.  As they went, dusk deepened into night, and more and more stars opened overhead.  Legolas reveled in the feeling of moving freely under their silvery light.  How could he ever have hesitated to come out into this?

As they approached what they thought was the deer’s territory, they slowed their pace and finally stopped next to one another, high in an oak.  “Where shall we look first?” Turgon asked.

“We should probably just start with the clearing that is closest,” Legolas said, and they began their search. An hour later, they still had found nothing and Turgon was growing impatient.

“We should go to the clearing where we saw him the other time we came at night,” he asserted, “even if it is farther away.”

“Very well,” Legolas agreed. He was enjoying being out at night so much that he was not particularly concerned about whether they found the deer tonight or not.  He knew enough not to tell Turgon that however.

They turned away from the river and began moving toward the clearing where they had previously seen the deer.  Suddenly, Legolas halted his progress.  Were those sounds the noise of someone moving through the woods toward them?  Turgon came to rest beside him. “Someone is coming,” he murmured.  They listened for a moment. “It sounds like a Man,” Turgon added in surprise.

A few seconds later, a Man came into view on the path beneath them.  “It is the same Man we saw before,” Turgon whispered angrily, and before Legolas could stop him, he had scrambled down through the branches and dropped to the ground in front of the startled Man. The Man grabbed for his sword but took his hand away from its hilt when he saw Turgon.  Still hidden in the tree, Legolas quietly fitted an arrow to his bow string.  The excitement of seeing the buck and his dismay at being caught returning from their previous night hunt had driven all thoughts of this Man from his head, but seeing him here now made Legolas uneasy.

“What are you doing here?” Turgon demanded.  “With your heavy Man steps, you are going to frighten away every deer within a league.”

The Man’s opened and shut his mouth wordlessly for a moment, plainly taken aback by Turgon’s accusation.  Then he laughed.  “I beg your pardon, young Master Elf,” he said with an exaggerated bow.  His Sindarin was slow and awkward. “You are right. I will be on my way and leave the woods to hunters such as you.” He started forward but Turgon stood in his path.

Turgon glared at him for a moment, and Legolas fervently hoped he was not going to do anything stupid.  Then, grudgingly, he stepped aside and let the Man pass.  Legolas waited until the Man was out of sight before he dropped quietly onto the path next to Turgon.  They stood for a second staring in the direction the Man had taken.

“I wonder what he was doing here?” Legolas mused.  He turned and looked back up the trail the Man had been following.  He was reasonably sure it led to the clearing where they had seen both him and the deer the last time they had been out at night.  “Come,” he said and started along the path.

“The deer will not be there now,” Turgon complained, “not after all the noise that Man was making.”

“Then let us see what is there,” Legolas said simply.

Turgon scowled at him.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean he had to have been doing something out here and he was not hunting.  The last time we saw him he took something that had been hidden in the clearing.  Maybe he hid something this time.  Are you not curious?” Legolas asked.  He had remembered the clanking noise they had heard when the Man had unearthed the cloth-wrapped bundle.

Turgon said nothing but his scowl faded into an interested look, and he trotted along after Legolas without further complaint.   They reached the clearing quickly, for they had not been far away, and it took them only a moment to locate the log from behind which the Man had taken a bundle the last time they had seen him.  Legolas began to dig in a pile of leaves that were heaped there.  He snatched his hand back with a shake as something crawled across it, and then both of them gave a snort of laughter at his reaction to an insect.  He pushed aside more of the leaves and this time his fingers brushed against rough wool.  “There is something here,” he said, and Turgon began pushing leaves aside too.

“What is it?” Turgon asked, as the two of them stood looking down at a long bundle wrapped in a grey cloak.

Legolas twitched aside the edge of the cloak and blinked.  “Swords!” he exclaimed.

The two of the looked at one another, and then Turgon reached down and picked up one of the weapons.  “It is beautiful,” he said in awe.

Legolas had to agree as he too picked up a sword.  Starlight reflected off the rune-marked blade and, although the sword was longer than the one he used on the training field, it felt responsive in his hand.  He stepped away from Turgon and swirled the weapon about him.  It felt like a natural extension of his arm and its blade sang slightly as he swung it.  He lowered it reverently and peered more closely at the runes to see what magic they might be invoking.  The shapes looked familiar, but they were not Elvish and abruptly he recognized them as Dwarven.

Memory stirred.  His father and Ithilden were buying weapons from the Dwarves.  And what had Ithilden said at mid day meal?  Something about brittle swords.  He frowned.  Was there something wrong with these swords?  They did not look brittle but, then, he did not know how to test for that.  He was suddenly struck by the oddity of these wonderful swords being here in the clearing.

A short distance away, Turgon was trying to swing his sword in one of the drills they had learned on the training field.  The sword was too long for him though, and he was awkward.  “Be careful,” Legolas admonished him.

Turgon laughed and lowered the blade.  “You sound like one of the weapons masters,” he teased. Even in the dark, Legolas could see that his eyes were shining. He turned to Legolas. “Do you think we could keep them?” he asked hopefully.

“No!” Legolas exclaimed immediately. “They are not ours.”  Reluctantly, he put the sword he was holding back with the others.

“Whose are they then?” Turgon demanded. “Do they belong to the Man? Why would he leave them here?”

“I do not know,” Legolas said slowly.  He looked at his friend.  “I wonder if I should tell my adar about them?”

Turgon’s mouth fell open. “How could you do that?  He would know you had been out at night.  And besides, the swords probably do belong to the Man.  Why would your adar care about them?”

Legolas hesitated.  Turgon was right.  Telling Thranduil that they had found swords in the forest would necessarily lead to all kinds of unpleasant explanations.  And besides, he told himself, Turgon was undoubtedly right.  His father had bought weapons from the Dwarves; the Man had probably done likewise.  Why he would choose to keep them in the woods was a puzzle that Legolas did not have to solve.  He stepped back from the enticing bundle of swords and gestured to Turgon to return the one he was holding to the pile. With an audible sigh, his friend complied.

“What shall we do now?” Turgon asked.

Legolas was looking toward the other side of the clearing, where the deer had disappeared the one time they had seen him.  He and Turgon and Annael had explored that side of the clearing in daylight and had found nothing, but it was the most promising direction he could think of. “Let us search for signs of the buck over there,” he suggested, motioning in the direction he meant.

They crossed the clearing and set out along the faintly defined path, watching the ground for signs of the large buck. The path soon divided, but they knew that the two arms would rejoin after a quarter of a mile or so.  Legolas motioned silently, and the two of them divided so that each could follow one of the arms.  Legolas had gone only a hundred feet or so before he stopped dead.  There before him on the ground was one of the large buck’s prints.  His heart beginning to quicken, he hastily scanned the area and found two more prints showing that the deer had actually crossed this path, although he had apparently not followed it.  He could scarcely contain his exultation as he sounded the bird signal to summon Turgon.

Then, seemingly from nowhere, he heard a low growl.  He froze in place but turned his head toward the direction from which the sound came.  There, visible through the trees, was a wolf, her glittering eyes fixed on him and another low growl sounding deep in her throat.  He stopped breathing and the hair on the back of his neck stood up.  It was rare to see wolves in the forest, for they tended to flee when people were near.   Her cubs must be nearby, he thought frantically.  He had been taught that wolves were unlikely to attack people but that a she-wolf who thought her cubs were being menaced was dangerous indeed.  His fingers tightened on his bow, and his arm inched toward his quiver.   The wolf had crept one step closer to him and was crouching when, suddenly, Turgon could be heard approaching through the woods.  The wolf hesitated and then backed off into the shadows, and Legolas took advantage of her retreat to back away hastily himself.

“Turgon, there is a wolf here,” he shouted.  “Go back to the clearing.”  Judging by the noise of his progress through the woods, Turgon paused and then began to move toward the clearing, much to Legolas’s relief. He had feared that his friend might find the news of the wolf’s presence enticing. Turgon usually loved anything that smacked of danger, but perhaps Legolas’s tone of voice had affected him, for, to his shame, Legolas knew that he had sounded frightened.

He retreated as far as he could down the path, not wanting to turn his back on the wolf before he had to, and then he turned and ran.  If he got far enough from her den, she would lose interest in him anyway, he reassured himself, hoping he was right. He burst into the clearing to find Turgon waiting for him with every sign that he had been about to start after him.

“What happened?” Turgon demanded.  “Did you see the deer?  What is this about a wolf?”

“The deer’s prints were there,” Legolas managed to gasp out, trying to control his shaky breathing, “but there must be a wolf den because a she-wolf threatened me.”

Turgon looked back down the path, and for a moment, Legolas was afraid he was going to suggest going back, but he did not.  Instead he looked back at Legolas. “You are shaking,” he observed in surprise.

“I am cold,” Legolas asserted crossly.   And indeed he was, although he knew that was not the reason he was shaking.  While they had been stalking the deer, clouds had blotted out most of the stars and a cold wind had come up.  Legolas realized that he smelled rain approaching.  “It is going to rain.  We should go home,” he said, trying to make it sound as if the changing weather was the only reason.

Turgon looked at him steadily.  “Very well,” he finally said and leapt into a tree. He waited to be sure that Legolas was following and then the two of them started toward home.  Before they had gone very far, however, the clouds opened and chill spring rain began, scattered at first and then increasingly heavy.  They put their hoods up, but Legolas’s cloak was soon soaked through so that his clothes, too, became wet and his skin began to prickly unpleasantly from the damp.  As they neared Thranduil’s stronghold, they dropped to the ground and stood uncertainly in what shelter they could find under a dense fir tree.

They had planned that when they returned from their hunt, Turgon would go home and Legolas would sleep in a sheltered spot until dawn, when he would simply walk back into the palace, past guards who would be different from those who had stood there the night before.  Somehow, it had not occurred to them that it might rain.  Legolas shivered slightly.  He was cold, he knew, and wet and rather miserable, but it was the thought of the she-wolf that had actually drawn forth the shudder.  He did not like to think of what might have happened if the wolf had not heard Turgon coming.

“I can sleep here,” he asserted with as much bravado as he could muster. “It is not very wet.”

“Very well,” said Turgon, and he sat down on the carpet of needles that covered the ground under the tree.

“Are you not going home?” Legolas asked, puzzled.

Turgon shook his head. “I will stay with you,” he said simply.  Legolas considered protesting but changed his mind, for if he was honest, he had to admit that Turgon’s company would be very welcome.  He sat down next to his friend. They removed their cloaks and then lay down, nestled together in the damp needles with the cloaks thrown over them.  The cloaks were wet, but they were better than nothing.  To his embarrassment, Legolas gave another shudder. Without a word, Turgon threw his arm over him.

The rain stopped soon after they had bedded down, and gradually, the shared warmth of their bodies eased their discomfort and they drifted off to a light sleep.  When Legolas’s eyes snapped back into focus, he realized that dawn had broken.  He prodded Turgon.  “We have to get up,” he mumbled, and Turgon stirred.  “We have to go home,” Legolas urged.  He rose and drew his still damp cloak around him. He inspected his bow, which he had sheltered under the pine needles as much as he could. It was damp, but he did not think it was permanently harmed.  At any rate, he hoped it was not.  Yawning hugely, Turgon, too, now came to his feet.  He regarded Legolas sleepily.

“I will see you later at training,” he said. Legolas flinched at the thought that they would both have to be back at the training fields in a very few hours.  He was exhausted.  Turgon hesitated a moment but then trotted off toward his own home without another word.

Legolas hurried toward the palace.  His breath quickened, but neither the guards at the Great Doors, nor those at the doors to the family’s quarters so much as blinked when he walked past them.  His heart was in his throat when he entered the family’s quarters, but the hallway was empty and he was able to creep along it and back into this own room.  He closed the door quietly and then stood for a moment in his damp clothes.  He had done what he had set out to do the previous evening, but he found that he felt no triumph, only a deep gratitude to be safely home again.

*******

As always, thank you to all readers and reviewers.  You encourage me and tell me interesting stuff.

WhiteWolf:  They are all working on solving the mystery and I hope they do too because writing another bunch of battle scenes would wipe me out!

TolkienFan:  Thank you so much for all your kind words.  You made my day.  I am afraid that Turgon never does get very much sense, but I like him anyway, although I can understand Thranduil’s exasperation with him.  Poor baby.

Dot:  I really do think that Eilian respects Ithilden.  He may not have realized how much he did until he had to deal with Thranduil on his own! And Maltanaur does, indeed, drive the brothers Thranduilion crazy sometimes.

Dy:  Well, he may have learned something from the little excursion in this chapter.  And if his father finds out, he may have more to learn yet!

Camp6311:  I figured that only one of the Orc leaders had a Dwarven sword.  I also thought that it might not have been uncommon for the leaders to have better weapons so Eilian might not have noticed the difference in the heat of battle.  I think you are right about Legolas. No good will come of this little excursion. At least, not for him.

Caz-baz: Legolas did not heed your advice, I am sorry to say.   But  Thranduil is being remarkably patient.

Legolas4me: It is sad to see the trusting, cuddly elfling grow up.  I felt that way when Dragon Confused ended “Elrond’s Boys” talking about how the twins belonged only to themselves now.

Mer:  I have a list of stories I want to write and some adult Legolas ones are in there but I don’t know if I will do one of those next.  I am grateful to be able to have my stories serve as your fix when you NEED something to read.

Antigone Q:  You can take your hands away from your face now. He’s already bad things.  I think it might have dawned on him that Adar is right about the woods being dangerous.

Coolio02: Turgon IS a good friend, as you can see in this chapter. I am very fond of the poor kid.

Frodo3791:  I moan and groan to my beta every time I have to write a battle sequence and then I cheer when it’s done, so I am glad that you liked it.

Luin:  It was interesting to try to think about how the shadow would affect the warriors in the south and how the elves might try to deal with it by sending people home periodically and so on. As you see, even the horses suffer!  And I have to confess, it’s tricky to write about Thranduil so that he still seems wise, even though he is dangerous.  He’s still keeping himself under control but he really is ticked off.

TigerLily:  I love the idea of a consultant getting all these people together and making them communicate.  Maybe we can get Sauron too.  ;-)   And I am afraid you were right, Legolas folded. Turgon is very persuasive.

Naneth:  Poor Thranduil. He has no little one left to call him Ada.  I know the pride he will take in Legolas as an adult, but still, he has to feel some loss.

Lamiel:  Eilian can indeed be bloodthirsty.  He’s so easy going most of the time, but he enjoys kicking Orc butt.  And, indeed, Thranduil will not be kind to whoever has double crossed him.

Feanen: Serious trouble for Legolas coming right up!

Dragon Confused:  Ithilden has been the brother I have developed the least, so sending him off to Erebor on his own was useful for me.  He’s a very good leader but probably needs a good massage to lower his stress levels. A nice thought.

Fadesintothewest:  I’m glad I surprised you!  I needed to draw the two stories together and a Dwarven sword in Orc hands was how I always intended to do it, so it’s nice to know I didn’t telegraph my move ahead of time.

StrangeBlaze:  In my own head, I can see the appeal that Turgon has for Legolas and it’s not just that he’s manipulative.  He can really be loyal and kind to his friends. He just has no sense and no respect for or fear of adults.

Karenator:  I have come to love Maltanaur too.  He really leaves the Thranduilion brothers with their mouths agape sometimes as he merrily does whatever he thinks he should be doing.  And I think that Eilian is growing but he was in over his head with the dwarven sword.  I am afraid no excuses for getting him naked are coming to mind!

Angaloth:  Well, your hope was in vain.  Legolas did go out, the fool.  If only he would stay as the sweet elfling all excited about his new archery class!  But no.

FirstMate:  Thank you for the kind words. I am shamefully fond of my OCs.  And I’m glad you liked the battle.  I find battle scenes hard to write but you can’t get away from them in Tolkien.

JastaElf:  Now, Jasta, as a parent, you know that kids don’t always listen to their inner good elfling.  Legolas has done a stupid thing and Ada, excuse me, Adar, will certainly not be please when he inevitably finds out.

Kay:  Maltanaur is just an immovable object.  Neither Ithilden nor Eilian can budge him an inch and I, for one, think that’s a good thing. Eilian might not have lived so long otherwise.

Nilmandra:  Yes, Legolas doesn’t think of himself as bad.  His actions make sense to him even though any adult could tell him he’s out of his wood-elf mind.

Alice:  Well, I updated. Did I leave you at a better place this time? ;-)

Karri:  Yes, and Adar is not going to be pleased with his growing up elfling.

Brenda G:  It is hard to have too much sympathy for Legolas. He digs his own grave here.  I’m glad you liked the battle.  I always dread writing battle scenes and am very happy when they are done.

Jay:  Yes, being “hasty” would not be a good idea.  Thranduil is ticked off but he’s still managing to stay in control for now. I would not want to be the culprit once he’s decided he knows who that is, though.

LKK:  Gelmir does deserve a new sword.  Maybe one of the ones from the woods can be shipped to him.

Tapetum Lucidum:  Yes! Eilian is becoming a good leader and he will be rewarded. ;-)  I don’t have a military advisor. Everything I think I know I learned from the internet.  A real military strategist would probably laugh.

JustMe:  Legolas could not have picked a worse time to defy his father.  Thranduil is ready to do some damage and Legolas better hope he’s not the target of choice.

 





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