CHAPTER SEVEN
There was noise in the hall below, the sound of unexpected arrival of guests as members of my household staff moved about hurriedly, voices calling out in that peculiar tone of one trying to be heard but still muted. If their effort was to keep from disturbing the whole of Rivendell, their efforts were appreciated, but most unsatisfactory. I rose from my rest to make my way out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard, hoping to see what was causing the disturbance. Torchlight blazed into being, casting flickering shadows over a weary horse -- no, two horses; an old mare and a tall reachy gelding that I recognized as belonging to Mithrandir -- standing miserably in the rain. The wizard himself was moving toward the entryway with his cloak folded tightly about himself, his hat tipped forward to allow the rain to run off, and his head bent low against the weather.
[Mithrandir, flying back here? But he's only just left,] I pondered. [He's barely had time to reach Mirkwood and come straight back here.]
Alarm streaked through my mind at that thought, as the wizard had gone to investigate the growing evils in Mirkwood. What report could send him flying back in the darkness?
Grabbing for a robe at hand, I hastily shrugged into it, intent on meeting him in my library as quickly as possible, but the sound of heavy boots treading up the stairway and down my private corridor stopped me before I could leave my chambers. Evidently the messenger was coming to me. Circling the room, I lit a few candles and had the room brightly illuminated by the time Mithrandir stepped through the archway.
"Lord Elrond," he greeted me soberly -- and formally, I noted. His hat still dripped rainwater down onto his beard while dirtied water collected around his boots.
"Mithrandir," I replied with equal gravity. "What news brings you to our door in such haste? Is the enemy abroad again this storm-tossed night?"
"No, Lord Elrond. This is a personal matter. I come to petition you for sanctuary."
His words set my heart pounding. If the Istari felt the need for protection, we were all of us in peril. "Sanctuary? What enemy flies at your heels that you feel the need for protection?"
"Not so fearsome an enemy for me, but it is not for myself that I ask. It is for this one." He wizard opened his soggy cloak to reveal a small, disheveled child curled tightly against his chest. An elven child. Children come but seldom to elves, and each is cherished by its family and by the entire community. But clearly this one was not.
"And who is this?"
"This is Legolas," he advised me, his tone light and gentle, obviously not for my benefit. "Could you greet Lord Elrond, little leaf?"
The child's shivering increased and he burrowed beneath the beard. No, he wasn't shivering, I realized. He was trembling, presumably out of fear.
"How did you come by this child?" It was not the question I had intended to ask, but it somehow inserted itself in front of the other questions I thought more pressing.
Sighing, Mithrandir unwrapped an arm from about the thin child and ran a comforting hand over his wet hair. "A gift from his father. I won him as a gambling debt."
Shock did not begin to cover what I felt at that reply. A startled gasp from the archway to the sleeping chamber echoed my own reaction. It was Arwen, who was never far from any activity in Rivendell. My dear daughter would not take this tale well, I knew.
"And who might is father be?"
Hesitation. Anxiety. This from a wizard who had enough courage to go calling, uninvited, Dol Goldur? What enemy did this child bring with him?
"Legolas is the youngest son of King Thranduil," Mithrandir finally, reluctantly answered.
Thunder rolled outside, no less than the thunder crashing in my brain at this news.
"Thranduil has not been on speaking terms with anyone since the battle on the slopes of Orodruin," I informed the wizard. "Not with Imadris or Lothlorien. Such communications as is demanded between our realms is conducted under cold formality. Harboring the abducted child of my rival is not going to foster peace between us, Mithrandir. The answer to your request is as obvious as it is tragic: Legolas cannot stay here."
I could feel Mithrandir's misery clearly as his eyes closed against my words. "I understand. May we at least stay the night? He is exhausted and cold."
"Of course you're staying."
My headstrong daughter swept into action, interrupting all diplomatic efforts on my part. What were the relations between realms and a potential war to a female bent on aiding a frightened child?
"The two of you can argue all you like," came the soft but firm rebuke as Arwen headed for the little elf in Mithrandir's arms, "but this little one needs to be dry and warm, and he could definitely use some food. Are you hungry, Legolas?"
He turned his face away, hiding in Mithrandir's hair. To my surprise, the wizard set the boy on the floor, one hand gently stroking the dark hair as he stooped down beside him.
"This is the Lady Arwen, Legolas. She is a lovely, gentle lady, and she likes little boys."
The child leaned back against him and regarded my daughter with careful scrutiny, as though judging a potential enemy.
[Gentle… likes little boys? A strange thing to emphasize,] I thought. [What is the story here that we not know?]
"Arwen?" I addressed my daughter. "Perhaps you could take our young friend into the next room to get him dried off a bit?"
"And we'll find him some dry clothes as well as something warm to eat." She smiled warmly and reached out to take his hand, but the lad only backed away.
"Just in the next room, little leaf," Mithrandir rumbled. "I'll be right here. You can hear me talking if you listen. Go get dried off. If there's extras, bring me a bit of cheese, hmmm?"
A gentle push got the child moving forward, though he carefully avoided getting close enough to Arwen for touch him and refused to meet her eyes. Mithrandir straightened, and we both watched them until they were clear of the room.
"Elrond, the child needs help," the wizard began again, low and urgent. "His father is an abusive sot."
"It matters not what he is. You do not have rights to hold that child, nor do I have rights to harbor him from his father. You know as soon as Thranduil has slept off the wine he will be asking for his son's return, and I cannot hold him here."
"Thranduil gave the child to me in front of witnesses," Mithrander hissed, his blue eyes gone dangerously dark. "He is my little elf now."
"A king cannot simply give away an heir that way, and you know it," I replied no less heatedly. "He is Thranduil's son, and Thranduil's son he will remain. I will not put our realms at conflict because you've decided the child isn't being cared for properly."
"It's more than neglect, and you could see that if you'd take half a moment to look at him before making your decision. I couldn't leave him there another night, not after what I'd seen."
"I wish I could help you, Mithrandir. It is not easy for my heart to turn away a child in need, but--"
A shriek ended our conversation -- the brief, high-pitched, panicked scream of a child, followed closely by cries of adult dismay. The subject of our debate pelted back into my chamber at full speed, dodging the grasp of one of Arwen's aides as he cleared the doorway. The wet tunic was gone as were the boots, and the skinny body was clad only in worn leggings now. But no matter his state of dress, Legolas was leaving with all possible speed. He was fast, he was agile, and he was bolting for the archway that led to the stairs and outside.
Mithrandir was too far away to reach him, but as the child tore past me it was easy enough for me to snatch him up as he pelted past. He was strong for one so small, and struggled violently against my hands closed round his upper arms, but there was no contest between his strength and my battle- trained muscles. It took only two lunges against my unyielding grip for him to recognize the futility of struggling. He ceased, standing frozen before me and seeming to shrink in on himself as he stood quietly awaiting my next move. His gaze lowered to the floor, and the head bowed, tangled hair falling forward to hide his expression from me. I could see his heart pounding as he panted, bruised skin rippling over all-too-obvious ribs.
This was not right. This attitude of defeat, of surrender, was not a normal reaction. I knelt before him so that we were closer to eye level, but Legolas refused to acknowledge me. I removed one hand from his arm and reached to push the hair away from his face, so that I might see his eyes and gain some small clue as to what was happening, but as my hand touched his hair he flinched violently and cringed away.
"Here now." I forced the words out past the lump in my throat in what I hoped were paternal tones. "That's not necessary. I'm not going to hurt you."
I reached again, but this time the lad merely turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the blow he clearly expected, and whimpered in fear.
I released him instantly, horrified at what I'd just witnessed. The child spun into motion, but this bolt took him directly into Mithrandir's arms where the wizard knelt behind the child. That protective embrace was evidently an acceptible alternative to fleeing, and Legolas burrowed against the rough woven robe as though to hide within it. Mithrandir's gaze met mine, his eyes sad with the knowledge he knew that I now held as well.
"Your request for sanctuary is granted," I murmured. "Legolas is welcome here for as long as he wishes to stay, as a full citizen of Imladris."
Mithrandir tightened his hold on the child and stood, lifting him into his arms. Relief and gratitude in equal measure was reflected in his eyes as he met mine. "I don't know about you, little leaf, but since we're welcome to stay, I should like to be dry and warm. What about you? Does that sound good to you?"
There was a hesitant nod, but the small face remained buried in his beard.
"I thought a bath would be a good place to start, Father," a plaintive voice spoke. "He could warm up as he gets clean. He's filthy."
We all turned toward Arwen where she stood forgotten by the archway into the next room. She seemed both upset and embarrassed. "I didn't realize he'd panic."
"No, of course you didn't," Mithrandir said gently. "How could you know the quirks of such strange and weary travelers as we are?"
He turned to face my daughter, affording me a clear view of the bruised and – oh, Elbereth -- the scarred back. Rage such as I had not known for hundreds of years surged through me at the thought of such brutality on one so young.
"Thranduil?" I heard myself growl.
Mithrandir nodded, his attention still focused on Arwen and the child he held.
"How could he?" I demanded. "I know that he grieves, but this is beyond grieving. This is madness. This lad is little more than a baby."
"I agree. But the king gave his son to me, and I intend to hold him to it. Legolas is not the first heir, and his absence is no loss to the kingdom. I, however, think this young elf is someone very special, and I shall be delighted to serve as his guardian." He turned then, shifting the discussion as he addressed my daughter. "Lady, you suggested some dry clothes and perhaps something for the weary travelers to eat?"
She smiled, her confidence returning with the assigned role of hostess and caregiver. "I was leaving just now to organize that." With that she slipped out of the room, leaving us – lord, wizard and foundling - alone.
"Did she say bath, young one?" Mithrandir managed to unpeel the small elf enough so that we could see his face. Again there was a hesitant nod. "Oh, that sounds very welcome to me. What do you think? Should we try for warm and clean?"
The wizard began moving toward the bathing room. I followed, watching as Mithrandir deftly handled the needs of this fragile child.
"Ah, there's water already in the tub," he exclaimed in overdone enthusiasm as he leaned over the gently steaming water. "Is the water warm enough? Put your hand in there and test it for me." He bent low, angling the child toward the water so that one small hand might dip below the surface. "Warm?"
Legolas nodded and was carefully set down to stand on the floor. His gaze slid toward me, a wary sidewise glance clearly questioning the presence of the elf who had captured and frightened him so. I tried not to meet his eyes and settled into the chair in the corner of the bathing chamber.
"I hope Arwen brings enough for all of us," I remarked to no one in particular. "I think I should like an early breakfast myself."
Mithrandir nodded, though whether to the sound of breakfast or in approval of my joining his casual conversation I wasn't sure.
"I do hope there is some warm bread and honey," he said. "The bread baked here is the finest I've had in Middle-Earth. Come on, now, little leaf. We can't have a bath in dirty leggings. Off they come."
The tights were deftly slipped down off of legs that were just as skinny as the arms, and before the child had a chance to protest he was swung up and into the water. It was deep, reaching midway up the scrawny little chest. The child's eyes widened in shock, but he made no protest or effort to escape.
"It would have been a nice ride, but for the rain today," Mithrandir said casually. "And we had no problems in Mirkwood. Not even any spiders. Did you know of the spiders they have there? Quite large. And rather aggressive."
He cupped his hands, pouring water over the child's torso, then reaching for the soft soap in the pot by the tub. A dab was rubbed to lather between his palms, then gently spread across the small shoulders and down his arms.
"That is ill news," I remarked, keeping the conversation going. "Are they able to handle the menace?"
The wizard's attentions moved down to grubby fingers and darkened areas around his wrists. The fingers and fingernails improved with his ministrations, but the dirt encircling the small wrists remained. My stomach twisted as I understood. He paused in his washing to give the left elbow closer scrutiny, then released it to retreat beneath the water's surface once more.
"Well enough, I think," the wizard murmued. "I heard of many victorious battles, far more than would have interested anyone save the participants themselves."
His beard twitched, and he scowled. Evidently it had been a rather boring evening in Thranduil's hall. The soap on the hands was replenished, and Legolas's back was gently scrubbed, with great care taken over tender areas. I watched, amazed, as Mithrandir managed with paternal expertise what I would have considered to be far outside his range of experiences. Evidently there was a great deal for me to learn of this wizard.
"I didn't get many details, but it seems that Dol Goldur is still inhabited by some rather unsavory neighbors as well. The elves say that they will not go that way, so it may be there were no further details to give. Elrond, we are going to need fresh water here before much longer, I'm afraid."
"There is more in the boiler behind you. I believe we have enough at least to see to the comfort one small elf." I smiled at the elf in question, but doubted that it had any impact as his gaze carefully avoided my corner.
Coarse gray sleeves were rolled up and hands disappeared under the water for a cursory cleaning of what was out of sight. My cowardly heart was just as pleased to be spared any more heart-wrenching discoveries tonight.
"I do not know whether there will be any further investigations of that area on their part," Mithrandir continued. "I shall need to return to check into it myself. Mind your eyes, little leaf. Cover them tightly."
Water was cupped into large hands to be poured over the dark hair. Once wet, it smelled of earth and leaves and horse strongly enough to reach my corner. More soap was rubbed into the hair, mingling with but not eclipsing the scents of nature that suddenly filled the room.
"I'd say your bath came none to soon, little one. Another few days and we'd be sleeping in the stable."
One small hand snuck out from under the dripping tangles, and tugged impudently at the grey beard beside him.
"Are you implying that I might need a wash as well?" We both laughed at the emphatic nod.
"He has spent some time hiding in that wet bramble," I ventured. "Who better to judge?"
I offered a cup that I found on the window ledge, and Mithrandir scooped up water to pour through the soapy strands of hair. The water that ran from it was an appalling dirty shade, and the wizard's displeased frown echoed my own.
"I shall have my turn in the wash water soon enough, and then we shall all smell like flowers, won't we?"
More soap was applied, this time rubbed in more vigorously. More rinsing. More dirt. The child now sat in a most unappealing cloudy brownish-grey liquid. The water was released from the tub and allowed to run down the channels for disposal, while I filled two buckets from the boiler as the old water drained away. And two more. And two more, until the child had some warm liquid about him, though not as much. The seventh bucket I poured gently over the lathered hair, watching as still more grime ran away, though this time not so much. Another firm scrubbing and another bucket's-worth of rinsing had him relatively clean.
Both Mithrandir and I sat and stared at Legolas in shock. Where a dark- haired, smudged-faced elf had sat, we now had a fair-complected child with shining silver-blond hair. One with the high cheekbones and delicate features of his mother, as well as huge blue eyes. Huge and worried blue eyes. I was pleased that I was the first to break free from the spell of discovery and offer a sheet to wrap the little elf in as we waited for appropriate clothing.
"Quite the improvement, my lad. Now if we could only get Mithrandir as clean."
He looked up at me from the cocoon of fabric around him, startled, as though unsure whether I was teasing or insulting his friend. I smiled in hopes of appearing harmless, and was rewarded by the ghost of a smile in return. Actually, I think I saw one corner of his mouth twitch, but it was a start.
"I think I might put off my bath, if my companions would not be too offended. I think I hear the approach of someone who might be bringing us something to eat." Mithrandir gave the child a pat on the shoulder and rose somewhat stiffly from the floor. "Shall we go see?"
"Clothes first, then we eat -- oh, Elbereth, look at this child!" The lady of Rivendell stood frozen, transfixed by the transformation of our little guest. "He's beautiful! Father, is he not the image of his mother?"
"Is he?" Mithrandir asked softly. "It would explain much."
"He is," I confirmed. "I see much of his mother in him. Especially the eyes. And the hair. And yes, I think that it does explain much."
"I have clothes for wearing and for sleeping," Arwen advised, breaking the spell. "They were Ardelath's son's and outgrown, but they're still good. I'll see to some proper clothing of his own tomorrow. I gather he came with nothing else."
Her displeasure made it plain that this was not a question so much as a statement.
"Only a horse, dear lady. Only a horse. A fine one, I'm told, and one that is dear to him."
I nod at that information. Another piece of the riddle, which will no doubt find its rightful place in due time.
Clothing was handed to Mithrandir, who set it on one of the few dry spots on the floor that remained following our combined efforts to find the child under the dirt. Arwen was still staring with fascination at the lad, who anxiously shuffled closer to Mithrandir for all that he was immobilized by several windings of bath sheet.
"Why don't you dress, and join us when you're ready? I'm going to see to the food."
With that, Mithrandir turned and swept an arm toward the main chamber, clearly inviting Arwen to precede him. Startled, she complied and he paced after her. I followed after a moment of hesitation. With a moment's thought, I understood what Mithrandir was doing; he was giving the child some breathing space and wanted him to join us of his own choice. It was a carefully crafted moment, however, as we had possession of the only exits from the chambers and fresh-baked bread that I could smell even over the scent of floral-scented soap and the lingering smell of wet horse.
Arwen excused herself to see to sleeping accommodations for our guests, leaving the wizard and myself alone in the room. We sat quietly talking of what Mithrandir had learned in his travels through Lorien and Mirkwood. It was some minutes before I realized that Legolas had not yet joined us. Alarmed, I glanced toward the bath chamber, then at the clearly empty room. Mithrandir smiled, and pointed downward toward the center of the table.
Table. Down. I bent and peered into the shadows beneath the table to find our little elf fully clothed once more, sitting back against Mithrandir's shins and gnawing contentedly on an apple with his teeth to the left of center. He tilted his head for a better angle as I watched, and another awkward bite revealed the reason for this – he had no front teeth. Feeling my gaze upon him, Legolas froze. Startlingly blue eyes widened into mine with uncertainty and no little fear. I smiled, though I felt hurt beneath it and then straightened, leaving him to his shadows and his apple.
No, I couldn't leave it. My heart wouldn't have it. Snatching up another apple, I sliced it quickly into little-boy-sized wedges and piled it on a plate. Then as a second thought I added several slices of slices of cheese.
"He's too thin," I explained, trying to sound clinical. Setting the plate on the floor, I used the toe of my shoe to scoot it toward Legolas without looking.
We both waited for a tense moment, wondering what the reaction to my gift would be. The sounds of crisp apple cleanly bitten reached us, followed by a soft and contented humming sound. And then I felt a gentle pat on the toe of my shoe, much as one would pat a horse in appreciation.
A thank you from my newest son.
The sun was rising. The sky was a pearly rose grey, the thunderclouds having long since cleared away. The dawn would be a beautiful one today. And my heart felt very light with its commitment to this beautiful child. Mithrandir added more honey to a slice of bread and slipped it under the table as he smiled at me, his eyes filled with wisdom and understanding.
There was noise in the hall below, the sound of unexpected arrival of guests as members of my household staff moved about hurriedly, voices calling out in that peculiar tone of one trying to be heard but still muted. If their effort was to keep from disturbing the whole of Rivendell, their efforts were appreciated, but most unsatisfactory. I rose from my rest to make my way out onto the balcony overlooking the courtyard, hoping to see what was causing the disturbance. Torchlight blazed into being, casting flickering shadows over a weary horse -- no, two horses; an old mare and a tall reachy gelding that I recognized as belonging to Mithrandir -- standing miserably in the rain. The wizard himself was moving toward the entryway with his cloak folded tightly about himself, his hat tipped forward to allow the rain to run off, and his head bent low against the weather.
[Mithrandir, flying back here? But he's only just left,] I pondered. [He's barely had time to reach Mirkwood and come straight back here.]
Alarm streaked through my mind at that thought, as the wizard had gone to investigate the growing evils in Mirkwood. What report could send him flying back in the darkness?
Grabbing for a robe at hand, I hastily shrugged into it, intent on meeting him in my library as quickly as possible, but the sound of heavy boots treading up the stairway and down my private corridor stopped me before I could leave my chambers. Evidently the messenger was coming to me. Circling the room, I lit a few candles and had the room brightly illuminated by the time Mithrandir stepped through the archway.
"Lord Elrond," he greeted me soberly -- and formally, I noted. His hat still dripped rainwater down onto his beard while dirtied water collected around his boots.
"Mithrandir," I replied with equal gravity. "What news brings you to our door in such haste? Is the enemy abroad again this storm-tossed night?"
"No, Lord Elrond. This is a personal matter. I come to petition you for sanctuary."
His words set my heart pounding. If the Istari felt the need for protection, we were all of us in peril. "Sanctuary? What enemy flies at your heels that you feel the need for protection?"
"Not so fearsome an enemy for me, but it is not for myself that I ask. It is for this one." He wizard opened his soggy cloak to reveal a small, disheveled child curled tightly against his chest. An elven child. Children come but seldom to elves, and each is cherished by its family and by the entire community. But clearly this one was not.
"And who is this?"
"This is Legolas," he advised me, his tone light and gentle, obviously not for my benefit. "Could you greet Lord Elrond, little leaf?"
The child's shivering increased and he burrowed beneath the beard. No, he wasn't shivering, I realized. He was trembling, presumably out of fear.
"How did you come by this child?" It was not the question I had intended to ask, but it somehow inserted itself in front of the other questions I thought more pressing.
Sighing, Mithrandir unwrapped an arm from about the thin child and ran a comforting hand over his wet hair. "A gift from his father. I won him as a gambling debt."
Shock did not begin to cover what I felt at that reply. A startled gasp from the archway to the sleeping chamber echoed my own reaction. It was Arwen, who was never far from any activity in Rivendell. My dear daughter would not take this tale well, I knew.
"And who might is father be?"
Hesitation. Anxiety. This from a wizard who had enough courage to go calling, uninvited, Dol Goldur? What enemy did this child bring with him?
"Legolas is the youngest son of King Thranduil," Mithrandir finally, reluctantly answered.
Thunder rolled outside, no less than the thunder crashing in my brain at this news.
"Thranduil has not been on speaking terms with anyone since the battle on the slopes of Orodruin," I informed the wizard. "Not with Imadris or Lothlorien. Such communications as is demanded between our realms is conducted under cold formality. Harboring the abducted child of my rival is not going to foster peace between us, Mithrandir. The answer to your request is as obvious as it is tragic: Legolas cannot stay here."
I could feel Mithrandir's misery clearly as his eyes closed against my words. "I understand. May we at least stay the night? He is exhausted and cold."
"Of course you're staying."
My headstrong daughter swept into action, interrupting all diplomatic efforts on my part. What were the relations between realms and a potential war to a female bent on aiding a frightened child?
"The two of you can argue all you like," came the soft but firm rebuke as Arwen headed for the little elf in Mithrandir's arms, "but this little one needs to be dry and warm, and he could definitely use some food. Are you hungry, Legolas?"
He turned his face away, hiding in Mithrandir's hair. To my surprise, the wizard set the boy on the floor, one hand gently stroking the dark hair as he stooped down beside him.
"This is the Lady Arwen, Legolas. She is a lovely, gentle lady, and she likes little boys."
The child leaned back against him and regarded my daughter with careful scrutiny, as though judging a potential enemy.
[Gentle… likes little boys? A strange thing to emphasize,] I thought. [What is the story here that we not know?]
"Arwen?" I addressed my daughter. "Perhaps you could take our young friend into the next room to get him dried off a bit?"
"And we'll find him some dry clothes as well as something warm to eat." She smiled warmly and reached out to take his hand, but the lad only backed away.
"Just in the next room, little leaf," Mithrandir rumbled. "I'll be right here. You can hear me talking if you listen. Go get dried off. If there's extras, bring me a bit of cheese, hmmm?"
A gentle push got the child moving forward, though he carefully avoided getting close enough to Arwen for touch him and refused to meet her eyes. Mithrandir straightened, and we both watched them until they were clear of the room.
"Elrond, the child needs help," the wizard began again, low and urgent. "His father is an abusive sot."
"It matters not what he is. You do not have rights to hold that child, nor do I have rights to harbor him from his father. You know as soon as Thranduil has slept off the wine he will be asking for his son's return, and I cannot hold him here."
"Thranduil gave the child to me in front of witnesses," Mithrander hissed, his blue eyes gone dangerously dark. "He is my little elf now."
"A king cannot simply give away an heir that way, and you know it," I replied no less heatedly. "He is Thranduil's son, and Thranduil's son he will remain. I will not put our realms at conflict because you've decided the child isn't being cared for properly."
"It's more than neglect, and you could see that if you'd take half a moment to look at him before making your decision. I couldn't leave him there another night, not after what I'd seen."
"I wish I could help you, Mithrandir. It is not easy for my heart to turn away a child in need, but--"
A shriek ended our conversation -- the brief, high-pitched, panicked scream of a child, followed closely by cries of adult dismay. The subject of our debate pelted back into my chamber at full speed, dodging the grasp of one of Arwen's aides as he cleared the doorway. The wet tunic was gone as were the boots, and the skinny body was clad only in worn leggings now. But no matter his state of dress, Legolas was leaving with all possible speed. He was fast, he was agile, and he was bolting for the archway that led to the stairs and outside.
Mithrandir was too far away to reach him, but as the child tore past me it was easy enough for me to snatch him up as he pelted past. He was strong for one so small, and struggled violently against my hands closed round his upper arms, but there was no contest between his strength and my battle- trained muscles. It took only two lunges against my unyielding grip for him to recognize the futility of struggling. He ceased, standing frozen before me and seeming to shrink in on himself as he stood quietly awaiting my next move. His gaze lowered to the floor, and the head bowed, tangled hair falling forward to hide his expression from me. I could see his heart pounding as he panted, bruised skin rippling over all-too-obvious ribs.
This was not right. This attitude of defeat, of surrender, was not a normal reaction. I knelt before him so that we were closer to eye level, but Legolas refused to acknowledge me. I removed one hand from his arm and reached to push the hair away from his face, so that I might see his eyes and gain some small clue as to what was happening, but as my hand touched his hair he flinched violently and cringed away.
"Here now." I forced the words out past the lump in my throat in what I hoped were paternal tones. "That's not necessary. I'm not going to hurt you."
I reached again, but this time the lad merely turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of the blow he clearly expected, and whimpered in fear.
I released him instantly, horrified at what I'd just witnessed. The child spun into motion, but this bolt took him directly into Mithrandir's arms where the wizard knelt behind the child. That protective embrace was evidently an acceptible alternative to fleeing, and Legolas burrowed against the rough woven robe as though to hide within it. Mithrandir's gaze met mine, his eyes sad with the knowledge he knew that I now held as well.
"Your request for sanctuary is granted," I murmured. "Legolas is welcome here for as long as he wishes to stay, as a full citizen of Imladris."
Mithrandir tightened his hold on the child and stood, lifting him into his arms. Relief and gratitude in equal measure was reflected in his eyes as he met mine. "I don't know about you, little leaf, but since we're welcome to stay, I should like to be dry and warm. What about you? Does that sound good to you?"
There was a hesitant nod, but the small face remained buried in his beard.
"I thought a bath would be a good place to start, Father," a plaintive voice spoke. "He could warm up as he gets clean. He's filthy."
We all turned toward Arwen where she stood forgotten by the archway into the next room. She seemed both upset and embarrassed. "I didn't realize he'd panic."
"No, of course you didn't," Mithrandir said gently. "How could you know the quirks of such strange and weary travelers as we are?"
He turned to face my daughter, affording me a clear view of the bruised and – oh, Elbereth -- the scarred back. Rage such as I had not known for hundreds of years surged through me at the thought of such brutality on one so young.
"Thranduil?" I heard myself growl.
Mithrandir nodded, his attention still focused on Arwen and the child he held.
"How could he?" I demanded. "I know that he grieves, but this is beyond grieving. This is madness. This lad is little more than a baby."
"I agree. But the king gave his son to me, and I intend to hold him to it. Legolas is not the first heir, and his absence is no loss to the kingdom. I, however, think this young elf is someone very special, and I shall be delighted to serve as his guardian." He turned then, shifting the discussion as he addressed my daughter. "Lady, you suggested some dry clothes and perhaps something for the weary travelers to eat?"
She smiled, her confidence returning with the assigned role of hostess and caregiver. "I was leaving just now to organize that." With that she slipped out of the room, leaving us – lord, wizard and foundling - alone.
"Did she say bath, young one?" Mithrandir managed to unpeel the small elf enough so that we could see his face. Again there was a hesitant nod. "Oh, that sounds very welcome to me. What do you think? Should we try for warm and clean?"
The wizard began moving toward the bathing room. I followed, watching as Mithrandir deftly handled the needs of this fragile child.
"Ah, there's water already in the tub," he exclaimed in overdone enthusiasm as he leaned over the gently steaming water. "Is the water warm enough? Put your hand in there and test it for me." He bent low, angling the child toward the water so that one small hand might dip below the surface. "Warm?"
Legolas nodded and was carefully set down to stand on the floor. His gaze slid toward me, a wary sidewise glance clearly questioning the presence of the elf who had captured and frightened him so. I tried not to meet his eyes and settled into the chair in the corner of the bathing chamber.
"I hope Arwen brings enough for all of us," I remarked to no one in particular. "I think I should like an early breakfast myself."
Mithrandir nodded, though whether to the sound of breakfast or in approval of my joining his casual conversation I wasn't sure.
"I do hope there is some warm bread and honey," he said. "The bread baked here is the finest I've had in Middle-Earth. Come on, now, little leaf. We can't have a bath in dirty leggings. Off they come."
The tights were deftly slipped down off of legs that were just as skinny as the arms, and before the child had a chance to protest he was swung up and into the water. It was deep, reaching midway up the scrawny little chest. The child's eyes widened in shock, but he made no protest or effort to escape.
"It would have been a nice ride, but for the rain today," Mithrandir said casually. "And we had no problems in Mirkwood. Not even any spiders. Did you know of the spiders they have there? Quite large. And rather aggressive."
He cupped his hands, pouring water over the child's torso, then reaching for the soft soap in the pot by the tub. A dab was rubbed to lather between his palms, then gently spread across the small shoulders and down his arms.
"That is ill news," I remarked, keeping the conversation going. "Are they able to handle the menace?"
The wizard's attentions moved down to grubby fingers and darkened areas around his wrists. The fingers and fingernails improved with his ministrations, but the dirt encircling the small wrists remained. My stomach twisted as I understood. He paused in his washing to give the left elbow closer scrutiny, then released it to retreat beneath the water's surface once more.
"Well enough, I think," the wizard murmued. "I heard of many victorious battles, far more than would have interested anyone save the participants themselves."
His beard twitched, and he scowled. Evidently it had been a rather boring evening in Thranduil's hall. The soap on the hands was replenished, and Legolas's back was gently scrubbed, with great care taken over tender areas. I watched, amazed, as Mithrandir managed with paternal expertise what I would have considered to be far outside his range of experiences. Evidently there was a great deal for me to learn of this wizard.
"I didn't get many details, but it seems that Dol Goldur is still inhabited by some rather unsavory neighbors as well. The elves say that they will not go that way, so it may be there were no further details to give. Elrond, we are going to need fresh water here before much longer, I'm afraid."
"There is more in the boiler behind you. I believe we have enough at least to see to the comfort one small elf." I smiled at the elf in question, but doubted that it had any impact as his gaze carefully avoided my corner.
Coarse gray sleeves were rolled up and hands disappeared under the water for a cursory cleaning of what was out of sight. My cowardly heart was just as pleased to be spared any more heart-wrenching discoveries tonight.
"I do not know whether there will be any further investigations of that area on their part," Mithrandir continued. "I shall need to return to check into it myself. Mind your eyes, little leaf. Cover them tightly."
Water was cupped into large hands to be poured over the dark hair. Once wet, it smelled of earth and leaves and horse strongly enough to reach my corner. More soap was rubbed into the hair, mingling with but not eclipsing the scents of nature that suddenly filled the room.
"I'd say your bath came none to soon, little one. Another few days and we'd be sleeping in the stable."
One small hand snuck out from under the dripping tangles, and tugged impudently at the grey beard beside him.
"Are you implying that I might need a wash as well?" We both laughed at the emphatic nod.
"He has spent some time hiding in that wet bramble," I ventured. "Who better to judge?"
I offered a cup that I found on the window ledge, and Mithrandir scooped up water to pour through the soapy strands of hair. The water that ran from it was an appalling dirty shade, and the wizard's displeased frown echoed my own.
"I shall have my turn in the wash water soon enough, and then we shall all smell like flowers, won't we?"
More soap was applied, this time rubbed in more vigorously. More rinsing. More dirt. The child now sat in a most unappealing cloudy brownish-grey liquid. The water was released from the tub and allowed to run down the channels for disposal, while I filled two buckets from the boiler as the old water drained away. And two more. And two more, until the child had some warm liquid about him, though not as much. The seventh bucket I poured gently over the lathered hair, watching as still more grime ran away, though this time not so much. Another firm scrubbing and another bucket's-worth of rinsing had him relatively clean.
Both Mithrandir and I sat and stared at Legolas in shock. Where a dark- haired, smudged-faced elf had sat, we now had a fair-complected child with shining silver-blond hair. One with the high cheekbones and delicate features of his mother, as well as huge blue eyes. Huge and worried blue eyes. I was pleased that I was the first to break free from the spell of discovery and offer a sheet to wrap the little elf in as we waited for appropriate clothing.
"Quite the improvement, my lad. Now if we could only get Mithrandir as clean."
He looked up at me from the cocoon of fabric around him, startled, as though unsure whether I was teasing or insulting his friend. I smiled in hopes of appearing harmless, and was rewarded by the ghost of a smile in return. Actually, I think I saw one corner of his mouth twitch, but it was a start.
"I think I might put off my bath, if my companions would not be too offended. I think I hear the approach of someone who might be bringing us something to eat." Mithrandir gave the child a pat on the shoulder and rose somewhat stiffly from the floor. "Shall we go see?"
"Clothes first, then we eat -- oh, Elbereth, look at this child!" The lady of Rivendell stood frozen, transfixed by the transformation of our little guest. "He's beautiful! Father, is he not the image of his mother?"
"Is he?" Mithrandir asked softly. "It would explain much."
"He is," I confirmed. "I see much of his mother in him. Especially the eyes. And the hair. And yes, I think that it does explain much."
"I have clothes for wearing and for sleeping," Arwen advised, breaking the spell. "They were Ardelath's son's and outgrown, but they're still good. I'll see to some proper clothing of his own tomorrow. I gather he came with nothing else."
Her displeasure made it plain that this was not a question so much as a statement.
"Only a horse, dear lady. Only a horse. A fine one, I'm told, and one that is dear to him."
I nod at that information. Another piece of the riddle, which will no doubt find its rightful place in due time.
Clothing was handed to Mithrandir, who set it on one of the few dry spots on the floor that remained following our combined efforts to find the child under the dirt. Arwen was still staring with fascination at the lad, who anxiously shuffled closer to Mithrandir for all that he was immobilized by several windings of bath sheet.
"Why don't you dress, and join us when you're ready? I'm going to see to the food."
With that, Mithrandir turned and swept an arm toward the main chamber, clearly inviting Arwen to precede him. Startled, she complied and he paced after her. I followed after a moment of hesitation. With a moment's thought, I understood what Mithrandir was doing; he was giving the child some breathing space and wanted him to join us of his own choice. It was a carefully crafted moment, however, as we had possession of the only exits from the chambers and fresh-baked bread that I could smell even over the scent of floral-scented soap and the lingering smell of wet horse.
Arwen excused herself to see to sleeping accommodations for our guests, leaving the wizard and myself alone in the room. We sat quietly talking of what Mithrandir had learned in his travels through Lorien and Mirkwood. It was some minutes before I realized that Legolas had not yet joined us. Alarmed, I glanced toward the bath chamber, then at the clearly empty room. Mithrandir smiled, and pointed downward toward the center of the table.
Table. Down. I bent and peered into the shadows beneath the table to find our little elf fully clothed once more, sitting back against Mithrandir's shins and gnawing contentedly on an apple with his teeth to the left of center. He tilted his head for a better angle as I watched, and another awkward bite revealed the reason for this – he had no front teeth. Feeling my gaze upon him, Legolas froze. Startlingly blue eyes widened into mine with uncertainty and no little fear. I smiled, though I felt hurt beneath it and then straightened, leaving him to his shadows and his apple.
No, I couldn't leave it. My heart wouldn't have it. Snatching up another apple, I sliced it quickly into little-boy-sized wedges and piled it on a plate. Then as a second thought I added several slices of slices of cheese.
"He's too thin," I explained, trying to sound clinical. Setting the plate on the floor, I used the toe of my shoe to scoot it toward Legolas without looking.
We both waited for a tense moment, wondering what the reaction to my gift would be. The sounds of crisp apple cleanly bitten reached us, followed by a soft and contented humming sound. And then I felt a gentle pat on the toe of my shoe, much as one would pat a horse in appreciation.
A thank you from my newest son.
The sun was rising. The sky was a pearly rose grey, the thunderclouds having long since cleared away. The dawn would be a beautiful one today. And my heart felt very light with its commitment to this beautiful child. Mithrandir added more honey to a slice of bread and slipped it under the table as he smiled at me, his eyes filled with wisdom and understanding.