River Journeys:  Part 3

Aradunnon's ankle turned as another tree root caught his foot. Or a rock, perhaps. He did not know or care. He ignored the momentary twinge of pain and kept running. His attention was focused on the river, searching for any sign, anywhere, of Galithil and the other children. Thranduil, Celonhael, and their guards rushed along with him, also searching. Dannenion and Dolwon were just in front of them. Everyone was silent. They had been running along the bank of the river for too long to have any breath left to waste. Their search was too important to risk any distraction.

Aradunnon tried not to think about the fact that they had been at it for hours without finding any sign of the children. He tried not to even acknowledge the fact that his connection to his son's fea seemed, at best, very fragile. He would find him safe, he repeated silently to himself. That mantra kept him going far better than any effort to pace himself and regulate his breathing might have done.

"Look, up ahead," Dolwon shouted, pointing as he ran. "A tree fallen across the river."

"It would surely have stopped them. That is where we will find them," Dannenion cried, doubling his speed to reach the fallen oak.

Everyone followed suit and Aradunnon knew he was not the only parent praying that they would indeed find their sons sitting on the riverbank waiting to be found.

But when they reached the tree, its roots rising into the air taller than the elves, there were no children sheltering under them. Or anywhere else that could be seen.

"Berior!" Celonhael shouted, hoping to hear some response, but the forest was silent save for the sounds of birds and frogs.

"Look for tracks. Any sign that they pulled themselves out of the river here. Perhaps they have already made for the Path to return to the Stronghold," Conuion ordered the guards.

"That makes sense," Dolwon agreed, his tone overly hopeful. "Why wait when you can walk yourself."

Dannenion nodded. "We would not have seen them from the riverbank, and they would not have seen us," he agreed. "So that would explain why they are not here and why we did not see them on the way here." He sounded to Aradunnon as if he were trying to convince himself of the possibility of his own words.

Aradunnon said nothing. He was a good enough scout that if the children had climbed ashore here, he would have already seen the signs of it. And he knew Conuion knew it too--he was a better scout than Aradunnon. They were cushioning the disappointment for Dolwon and Dannenion as they would try to soften any bad news they had to tell to any villager. Aradunnon found himself wishing there was some way to make this less harsh for himself. Lips pressed together in a grim line, he stepped around the roots of the tree to better search its trunk and branches in the water. Thranduil silently did the same. Aradunnon leaned forward, hand on the cold, slippery trunk and gazed sharply at the water rushing against the tree. His gaze followed the length of each branch as it protruded into the air or water and he inspected the trunk between each branch. He was halfway down the length of the tree when he saw a sight that made his stomach tighten so dramatically that for a moment he thought he might be sick.

Green fabric with silver embroidery waved violently in the current, wedged between a branch and the trunk.

"Elbereth, please, no," he whispered and climbed onto the trunk. Balancing himself on its slippery surface, he moved to rush out into the river.

He had not taken a step before Colloth grabbed his right arm and Thranduil seized his left. It was Thranduil that tugged him off the trunk.

"No, Aradunnon. Colloth will go," Thranduil insisted, holding him by one arm and his tunic front.

Aradunnon could not even find words to protest. Looking over his shoulder at the green and silver tunic in the water, he simply pulled away from his brother's grasp, at first as if he expected to be released, and then, when he was not, more aggressively. Thranduil and someone else pushed him against the roots of the tree and held him in place. A root dug painfully into his back and he focused on his brother. Thranduil looked at him with a mixture of sorrow and pity and determination. Fury ignited in Aradunnon's chest and, before he could think about what he was doing, he raised his free arm, hand balled in a fist, intending to force his brother to release him if necessary. That was his son. He had to go help him.

Thranduil did not flinch in the face of that threat. Another hand, Celonhael's, closed around Aradunnon's wrist and dragged it down without a word.

Aradunnon loosed an incoherent cry of rage and threw his weight forward to escape. When he failed to do so, instead of making another attempt, he used all his will to master the power of speech. "Let me go, for pity's sake. I have to go help him," he managed to cry.  

Thranduil only shook his head. Aradunnon noticed the guards, and even Dolwon and Dannenion were gathered around him too, silently watching the spectacle he was making, their faces solemn.

"If he is there, muindor nin," Thranduil said, his voice soft,  "he is beyond your help. I will not lose you along with him. Be still and let us see what Colloth finds."

Aradunnon stared at Thranduil, brows furrowed, not understanding him. Then, as realization dawned, he shook his head and tried again to pull in the direction of the river. But his legs failed him and he collapsed to his knees, held in place by his brother and uncle's hands on his shoulders. He stared at his guard as he climbed along the fallen tree.

When Colloth pulled up an empty, torn tunic, Aradunnon slumped forward, face in his hands.

It seemed like hours before Colloth returned to the riverbank. He used his sword to poke about in the rushing, white water all along the tree near where Galithil's tunic had been snagged. Then he inspected the trunk in two different places, one on either side of the tunic. Then, to everyone's dismay, he crawled further out along the trunk towards the opposite bank, only stopping when it was obvious that the narrowing trunk would no longer support his weight. Finally, he scrabbled back along the trunk to the shore, to be met by seven tense stares.

"Nothing," he said, offering Aradunnon the tunic scrap. Aradunnon took it and held it tightly. "There is definitely no..." His lips formed the word body, but he obviously thought better of saying it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Aradunnon wondered what his expression must look like and tried to bring himself under better control. "No one there," Colloth said instead. "I did see scars on the tree's trunk in two different locations. It looks like something, possibly the rafts, scraped over the trunk in both places. But I could not see rafts or the children anywhere in sight down river." He paused and looked down a moment before facing them again and continuing. "There are signs along the trunk that they made for the opposite bank, which would make sense, because parts of the trunk closer to this bank would have been too difficult for a child to traverse. But the trunk at the opposite bank is slender and it does not fully reach the opposite bank. And its furthest tip is broken off. Freshly broken off." He looked down again. "The opposite bank is all river rock. I could not see it well enough from where I stood to detect whether any of the children made it there or not."

Aradunnon tightened his grip on his brother's hand, still resting on his shoulder.

"So they got out on the other side of the river. They are over there, then," Dannenion said. His tone was flat now, holding little, if any, of his earlier determined hopefulness. But Aradunnon gave him credit for at least making the effort to remain positive.

Thranduil sighed and wiped his hand across is face. "Well, they came this far. That much is now certain. We keep looking."

He offered a hand to Aradunnon, to help him stand. Aradunnon had not even realized he was still kneeling on the ground. He grasped his brother's hand and hauled himself up. 'Galithil was not there,' he told himself firmly. 'Neither were Legolas or Berior. Just a piece of tunic, nothing more. They may yet still be alive.' But his son's fea seemed so far away.

*~*~*

A cold breeze on his face was the only sign that he was, for the moment, above water. Spit, half-cough, half-gasp for air until water filled his mouth and nose again. Then clamp his mouth shut and flail his free arm to fight to the surface again. And pray Galithil, who he still tightly held against him with one arm, was also gasping air when the opportunity arose. Rocks along the river bed pummeled Legolas's feet and shins. He slammed against bigger ones every so often. The pain this caused made him gasp involuntarily, whether his mouth and nose were above water or not. When they were not, the result was even more painful.

Only on the very edge of his senses was he aware of anything but rushing water. There he heard Berior and Anastor and Noruil shouting at him as they ran along the bank. Grab on. Catch that. Watch out. And he tried to do as they so desperately wanted him to do. He tried to focus enough to see the things they thought he should be able to grab or avoid. But every time his face was above water, it seemed he barely had time for the briefest of breaths. Not nearly enough time to shake his hair from his face or wipe the water from his eyes. Then he was sucked under again and he needed his arm to try to swim. He had no time to look for things to grab.

But he needed to find something if he was going to get himself and his cousin out of this.

"Look up! Grab a branch!" he heard Berior yelling.

Legolas tried to will his arm to reach straight up. To grab the branch that must be there. But his arm had a will of its own, working solely to leverage his face out of the water. Raising it above his head only made him feel as if he would sink lower into the water. So, it slammed back down against the surface of the water. At least that resulted in the cold breeze that meant he could take a breath.

Legolas sucked in air greedily until something pulled tight against his throat, cutting off his ability to breath entirely. He gagged and his free hand instinctively clutched at his throat. His tunic was caught on something, strangling him. He clawed at it to rip the fabric.

"Stop that, you fool," Anastor's voice shouted. And something seemed to shake him.

Legolas instantly realized what that meant. He let go of his tunic front and reached above his head and slightly behind him, his cold fingers grasping warm flesh. He tightened his grip and pulled up. That caused a sharp cracking.

"Stop it!" Anastor called again, this time his voice a little more panicked.

Something poked Legolas in the side once. And then again, more firmly. It hurt his already bruised ribs, so he twisted away from it, though doing so caused his tunic to tighten even more around his throat.

Anastor's hand on his collar shook him again. "Let go of me and grab the pole," he ordered. "Berior and Noruil will pull you in."

The 'something' poked him again, as if to emphasize Anastor's words.

Legolas shook his head and the hair in his face fell against his shoulders. He forced his eyes open, despite the muddy water in them. He was looking straight up, the better to keep his mouth out of the water. Anastor, clinging to an impossibly narrow branch, filled his vision. Legolas sucked in a little more air and his mind cleared a bit. Anastor's branch was bent past the breaking point it seemed to Legolas. He immediately let go of Anastor's forearm and splashed his hand in the water, searching for the pole. While he did, looked about himself trying to find the shore. A finger grazed the pole. Legolas grasped it as hard as he could, tightening his grip around Galithil even more, and pulled.

As soon as he did, the pole started to pull him towards the bank. Then the hand let go of his tunic and from the corner of his eye he could see Anastor swinging precariously on his narrow branch as it snapped back into place. The release of his tunic allowed him a precious moment of easy breathing before the full force of the water tried to drag him away from the pole and further down the river. He grasped it even harder, absolutely determined that he would never let it go.

Moments later, he was being pulled against rocks on the river bed.

"Stand up!" Noruil called.

And Legolas tried. But between Galithil's weight--miraculously, Legolas was still clutching him--and the fact that he was completely exhausted, Legolas only staggered and fell forward, never releasing the pole.

"He is nearly drowned. He cannot walk," Berior's voice said.

Someone grabbed the back of his tunic and the back of his leggings and hauled him to shore. He sprawled, face down, on the rocks and mud. Next to him, someone was turning Galithil over on his back. Legolas could feel the length of his cousin's body against his. He used the hand that had been clutching his cousin's tunic and shirt front to grasp a handful of mud. And rocks. Little pebbles on the riverbank. Nothing had ever felt so good in his hand than that mud and stone felt now. He pressed his legs and arms and face against the solid ground for a moment, just to make sure it was really there.

"Legolas?" Berior called. His voice, from above him, was quiet.

Legolas drew one more long breath and then pushed himself up to a sitting position. It was far more difficult than it should have been and it made his head spin. He clutched his forehead with one hand and used the other to prop himself up. His arms shook and he could not stop them. "I am fine," he rasped. "Galithil?"

That question was answered by a spasm of coughing. Legolas turned towards his cousin. Berior, Anastor and Noruil all hovered over him fearfully. Galithil sputtered and gurgled, spitting up water as he gasped for a breath he could not catch.

Legolas understood what that meant, having only just suffered it himself. Water was in his cousin's mouth and throat. Flat on his back, he would never clear it out. "Turn him over," Legolas cried. He caught Galithil's far sleeve and tugged, pulling him onto his side.

Water spurted from Galithil's mouth  and nose as he choked and heaved.  But slowly, his gasps no longer gurgled with water. And finally they were normal, if shallow, breathes. Normal if you could ignore the fact that they were often punctuated by soft moanings. Legolas let him roll back onto his back.

"We made it," Noruil whispered. "We all made it."

Legolas looked up at him. He did not appear to believe his own words. Legolas could not deny that he barely believed them himself.

"No thanks to your complete foolishness," Berior exclaimed, rounding on Anastor and Noruil. "How could you think it was a good idea to take your rotten old raft onto the river when it is like this?" He pointed at the raging water next to them.

Legolas shut out whatever Anastor's angry response was going to be. Instead, he focused on mastering himself. He was still shaking from exhaustion and fear. Problem was, this was not over yet. Not until they were home, where Galithil's injuries could be tended. Taking slow, deep breaths, Legolas willed his arms and legs to stop shaking. Then he clenched his fists a few times, to try to bring strength back to his limbs. Then he looked about himself. Still ignoring Berior's argument, he slowly stood and walked to the water's edge, refusing to acknowledge how much his head and ribs and shins pounded painfully, He looked up and down the river. Then he looked down on Galithil's still form. His left arm was broken for certain, as he had thought it was when they had first pulled him from the water.

When Anastor had pulled him from the water, Legolas corrected himself. Just as Anastor had pulled him from the water.  Legolas looked up at the slender branches over the river that Anastor had risked climbing through to catch him.  Legolas was shocked they had held Anastor's weight, much less withstood the pull of the river while Anastor held on to him. 'I would never have done that,' he thought, staring at the branches. 'Not even for Galithil or Berior, much less for Anastor.' Begrudgingly, Legolas's opinion of Anastor slid upward the tiniest bit. And arguing with him was a poor way to repay him.

"Enough," Legolas said quietly, stepping between Berior and Anastor and Noruil. "We still have to find help for ourselves and Galithil. And we are far, far away from the stronghold, so we have to keep working together." He looked directly at Berior.  "Fighting will not help," he added, appealing to his youngest cousin's normally even temper.

Berior made a sour face that he quickly suppressed into a neutral expression and turned away from Anastor. "One or two of us can go for help while the rest of us stay and look after Galithil," he suggested.

"Go? Go where? Where are we?" Noruil countered, not so willing to give up the argument. "Is there a village near here? You do not have the slightest idea."

"I know precisely where every village in this forest is," Berior shot back. And after the number of maps he and his cousins drew in lessons, it was true. "And there are no villages on the river between the stronghold and the raft elves' village. We could not be so far east as to be near their village."

"I would wager we are," Legolas replied. He gestured towards the sun with his thumb. "It is only a few hours before dark. We have been on the river almost the entire afternoon. At a normal pace, barrels make it to the raft elves before dark if they are released just before supper. And we were traveling much faster than a normal pace. It will definitely be faster for us to go to the raft elves' village than back to the stronghold. And at least we are on the right bank of the river for the raft elves. The Path is over there," he said, pointing to the far side of the river.

"Legolas," Berior said with wide eyes, "we are not allowed to go past the tallest beech! If we are all the way to the forest edge, we are so much trouble!"

Legolas laughed out loud in response to that. "You are worried about going out of bounds! Forget about it. That is only the least of the reasons our adars are going to lock us in our rooms, chained to a wall, until we come of age." He shook his head and, sobering, turned his attention back to Galithil. "We are all going together. We need to think of some way to bind Galithil's arm so it does not become worse or pain him too much. And we need a way to carry him."

"I have an idea for carrying him," Anastor said, picking up their remaining pole.

*~*~*

Legolas leaned up against his father and tried not to squirm too much. He really did not want to draw attention to himself or inspire his father to start asking questions again about how badly he was hurt. Anastor and Noruil were doing a fine job of stirring up his father, if his ever-tightening arm around his shoulder was any indication. Normally Legolas would have protested his father holding him so closely--both because it hurt at the moment and because he expected Anastor and Noruil would use it to tease him later. But, for now, he did not resist. No matter how hard he tried, he could not erase from his mind the vision of the absolutely sick, nearly desperate, expression on his father's and uncles' faces as they ran into the raft elves' village. Almost as bad was their utter relief upon seeing their children. These were expressions Legolas never wanted to see on his father's face again, much less be the cause of. So he did not have the heart to deny his father the right to embrace him right now. And besides, he was still cold from the icy water. Even the fire in the hut the raft elves had invited them to spend the night in was not enough to warm him. So he did not mind so much his father's arm around him. Assuming Anastor and Noruil's story did not drive his father to snap him in half.

"And then, after all of us were ashore, and holding the pole, Legolas started across, dragging Galithil..." Anastor explained.

"And just as he was halfway across, the tip of the trunk snapped..." Noruil cut in.

"And even with all of us trying to hold it steady, Legolas and Galithil's weight was too much. We could not do it..."

"And the pole turned down river...."

"And Legolas was not holding on to it hard enough..."

"Because he was trying to hold on to Galithil, probably...."

"So he was pulled away, down the river..."

"And we had to chase after him, holding the pole out there for him to grab..."

Legolas tried to ignore their story. Their far-too-detailed-for-his-taste story. Honestly, no wonder they were always in trouble. If they jumped over waterfalls, hunted boars and sailed rafts on flooded rivers with as much regularity as it appeared, and then told their parents every gory detail of the tale as they were doing now, they were lucky their parents did not send them off to Valinor for safe keeping, woodelves or not. Before they sent themselves off to Mandos.

Legolas loosed a long breath to try to release some of the irritation he was feeling. But he was not nearly as irritated as he normally would have been with Anastor and Noruil, he realized. Before he had time to wonder about that, his father's voice cut off his musings.

"Why ever did you follow them into the river in the first place?" he asked, his tone both sharp and exasperated. "Why not simply come for help as Maidhien did?"

Legolas ran through all his reasons for that decision, for it had been his own and not Berior's. He judged Galithil needed immediate help, not help that wasted time looking for parents and then finding Galithil somewhere on the river after losing sight of him.  And, in the heat of the moment, following on the river seemed a faster method, more likely to stay within reach of Galithil--though Legolas was no longer certain he had been correct on that score. But he was certain that if Aradunnon had been there, shoving off on one of the rafts would have been exactly what he would have done. Thranduil might have even done the same. Somehow, Legolas did not think any of those excuses were likely to satisfy his father at the moment.

"Because Galithil is our cousin," Berior said softly when Legolas did not speak.

Legolas looked at him and nodded. That was all the argument necessary. Then his gaze drifted to Anastor and Noruil. "And because Anastor and Noruil are our friends," he added, much to his own surprise. And apparently to the adults' as well.

That statement made Thranduil and Aradunnon--both in mid-breath, and clearly ready to argue the foolishness of sailing flooded rivers--draw up short, close their mouths and stare at Legolas. So did Dannenion and Dolwon. Theirs was more of a glare.

"When did that happen?" Thranduil finally managed to ask.

For a moment, Legolas wondered the same thing. "When Anastor pulled Galithil out of the river," he answered. "When Anastor risked his life to pull me from the river."

That left Thranduil silent.

But not Dannenion. "You did what?" he demanded, turning his glare on his son.

Anastor only shrugged. "Legolas and Galithil and Berior are our friends," he replied, copying Legolas's earlier answer.

"When did that happen?" Dannenion exclaimed.

"When Galithil risked his life to stop our raft and Legolas and Berior risked their lives to sail after us and help us," he answered.

Thranduil and Dannenion both looked as if they had swallowed vinegar instead of wine, but they said nothing more.

Aradunnon shook his head. "Adversity makes strange bedfellows. It even makes enemies into allies, the old wives say. All warriors know that. Apparently our children have already learned it."

"To their credit," Celonhael added softly. "Their willingness to work together saved their lives."

Legolas noticed his father and Dannenion remained silent. Well, Legolas had seen enough of his father's reactions to his traditional enemies to know that he did not easily trust those that had once injured him. That was not likely to ever change and it was an instinct that had undoubtedly served his father well, else Legolas trusted he would not persist in it. But in this one instance, Legolas was more willing to agree with his uncle's appraisal of the situation. If they had not worked together, at least some of them would not have survived. That seemed worth a truce with Anastor and Noruil. He would try it if they would. Only time would tell if they would. And, if they did, if it would be worth it in the end.

*~*~* AN: That is the end of River Journeys. I hope you enjoyed. I will add more short stories from different points in Thranduil and Legolas's lives to this series, as I intend for it to be a place where I can put unrelated short tales. But before I add more here, I will continue with another story in the Interrupted Journeys series. I hope to start posting that soon.