CHAPTER EIGHT - GLORFINDEL

I couldn't say what had disturbed me, but something had, making me feel that I needed to check the stable. I had these feelings from time to time, and rarely was a trip unwarranted, but all I knew now was a general sense of agitation. That was enough to prompt me to walk the short distance from my cottage to the stable and reassure myself that all was well. A quick look about, a pat to Naur's neck, and a peek at the hugely pregnant Annun would be enough.

Stepping inside the stable, I anticipated peace and instead felt my heart all but stop in my chest, for disaster was playing out before me, and I was too far away to do anything about it.

Young Legolas was in the process of swinging one leg over the top of Naur's stall door, and Naur's hard and glittering eyes caught the light as he turned toward the elfling. I felt myself moving, and my feet carried me down the aisle at top speed, but it wasn't enough, I wasn't nearly fast enough. The white head swung over the stall door, and Naur's ears were pinned flat to his neck, his teeth bared. The Elfling atop the door would be seized, shaken, trampled--

I moved even faster as the wickedly narrow muzzle lunged for the little elf. Legolas saw it coming too and flung himself backward off of the tall stall door, but he wasn't fast enough either. There was a muddle of sound -- the resounding bang as Naur's chest struck the door hard, the sharp cold sound of his teeth closing, the gasp of an Elfling, the tearing of cloth, and a heartbeat later came the thud of Legolas's small body landing on the aisle floor. Reach as I might, I wasn't fast enough to break his fall, no more than I was swift enough to warn the stallion off of the fragile little one.

Legolas hit the ground hard and stayed there. I knew those teeth had closed on him, but the question was where, and how deeply? At least Naur hadn't gotten a solid grip and pulled him into the stall. If that had happened, Legolas would have been dead, trampled beneath the hooves of my stallion before I could have leaped over the door. Clever child, dear child, he'd seen and reacted in that tiny fragment of time, and that move had clearly saved his life. The question now was what was left after the attack?

I dropped to my knees behind Legolas, who was fighting hard to draw air into his lungs. He flinched as I touched him, apparently startled to find me there. I nearly collapsed in relief to see that he still had of all his limbs and seemed relatively whole. I snatched him up from the ground, rough in my fear, and turned him to face me.

"Legolas, are you hurt? How badly did he bite you. Let me see--"

His face was white with shock, but he was still intact with arms and legs where they belonged. I didn't see any blood, and my hands swept down each limb in turn to assure myself of their soundness. Partially reassured, my hands returned to his shoulders as he tried to squirm away from me.

"...Aw-wight," came the faint squeak from my Elfling as air began struggling back into emptied lungs. "Didn't hurt me."

"Your shirt is torn, he did bite you. Let me see."

He tried to reach and close the torn cloth over his shoulder, but was unable to do so due to the tight grip I had around his upper arms. Twisting in my grasp, Legolas struggled against me.

"Didn't hurt me," he protested again, renewing his efforts to win free.

I loosened my grip slightly, nearly limp with relief that he was unharmed. It was then that my fear turned to anger, as it often does after little ones have endangered themselves.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. "And what were you doing with that horse? You promised me this day that you wouldn't go near him, and I find you atop his door? He could have killed you, Legolas. He *tried* to kill you, and it is only the protection of Elbereth herself that kept him from biting you in two. What were you thinking?"

"I--I--s-s-oorry," came the disjointed apology.

To my horror, I realized that my hands had tightened on his arms once more, and I was actually shaking the poor child in my panicked anger. Legolas wasn't fighting me, but his eyes were huge and fearful in the dim moonlight spilling through the stall windows. I released him instantly, guiltily.

"I'm sorry, Legolas," I whispered, horrified at what I'd done. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. But I thought Naur was going to kill you, and I was frightened. I couldn't bear to lose you, little one. We've only just found you."

His blue eyes were still huge, but not frightened so much as sad.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again in turn, and reached out to pat my arm as he would a distressed horse's neck. "Really sorry. I just wanted to give him some oats." His eyes slowly filled with tears, misery reflected in the shine of unshed tears.

I opened my arms slowly, and then just as carefully pulled the slight body against my chest to hold him close and savor the reassurance of his heart beating, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, the very aliveness of him. Legolas rested against me and stood quietly in my embrace, his cheek against my shoulder, his breath warm in my ear. I don't think I had ever experienced a sweeter moment than that one.

I moved one hand to stroke down the tangled gold of his hair and rested my cheek against his head, inadvertently tightening the hug with my other arm. The spell was broken as Legolas stiffened in my arms, and a small squeak of pain escaped him.

Naur had bitten him after all.

I actually had calmed enough to think this time, and rather than snatching Legolas away from me and ripping his tunic open to explore the damage to his small body, I managed to simply unfold my arms and push him gently upright.

"Where does it hurt, Legolas? Is it under here?" I moved my fingers toward the torn cloth, but both his hands flew up to block me, and his fingers clenched in the fabric.

"No. Doesn't hurt. Really."

I didn't believe him. It was a lie, and we both knew it. "Please, let me see. I'll just slide this off ever so carefully and we'll have a look. I won't hurt you."

"NO." The protest was more strident, and the knuckles turned white with the force of his grip.

"Very well. Perhaps you could show me? Just a little bit, where he bit you? Would you just hold the cloth away so I could see under it? I promise I won't touch."

There was a long moment of silent debate, with both arguments clearly reflected in his eyes.

"Please, Legolas? I'm worried he's really hurt you. Please let me see that you're not bleeding horribly, or your arm dangling loose?"

The eyes narrowed, then finally he bobbed his head in a short nod of assent. Very slowly, the small hands held the torn jerkin away from the small shoulder, revealing a crescent of deep blue-grey indentations that trailed off to scrapes up toward Legolas's neck. It was a glancing blow, more of a rake than a clean bite, but still painful. This child was fortunate, unbelievably so. Had Legolas not reacted when he did, Naur would have crushed the narrow shoulder. As it stood, the stallion hadn't even truly broken the skin.

"Naur did bite you. It must hurt. Will you let me put something on it to make it feel better?"

"The burning stuff? NO!" My view of the injury was suddenly blocked by the cloth and both small hands barricading the area.

"Burning stuff?" I echoed, baffled.

"Yes, they put it on and it burns and burns. That's not better."

Clearly this was not going to be successful. I abandoned the debate.

"No, that doesn't sound better at all," I agreed. "No burning stuff. But Legolas, what were you doing out here? You should be tucked safe and warm in your bed."

He looked away, and his breath caught in something that sounded close to tears. "Can't."

"Whyever not? You and Mith have a great warm chamber with a big soft bed and a lovely fireplace in it."

He sighed, then scrubbed at his eyes with the back of one hand -- the one attached to the uninjured shoulder I noted.

"I can't," he repeated. "The big elves came and they closed the bed. It's Mith's room, and I can't stay in there when Mith is gone."

"Closed the bed?" I repeated. "Come here and tell me about this. This doesn't sound right at all."

He didn't move toward me, but he didn't shy away when I reached for him, either. The tears were close to spilling over. Wrapping my arm around the narrow shoulders, I tucked him against my chest.

"Tell me what happened?" I coaxed.

Legolas shrugged, then winced as the shoulder moved. Then with a tremulous breath, he nodded. "The Big Elves came in the room. I didn't know they were coming, they just came right in and started taking things. They put out the fire, and they took all my clothes and the book that Mith let me keep and...and my special things I was keeping. And then they closed up the bed. Mith was all gone, and I can't stay there without him."

It was difficult for me not to laugh as I recognized the evils of housekeeping. The poor little lad had clearly been quite traumatized by their invasion, benign though it was meant to be. "Your clothes were taken? Where were they?"

"Onna floor in the corner. In *my* corner. They took all of them, too. But they didn't get my boots," he added defiantly.

"Were you in the room when they came?"

Legolas nodded.

"Did you hide?"

He nodded again. I tried to shift my arm around him so that I could peek inside the neck of his tunic again as he spoke.

"What special things did they take?"

"The things for later."

"Later?"

"Later," he repeated, sounding more aggravated than frightened now. "Some bread and apples. I was keeping them for later."

"Where were they?"

"I hid 'em under the bed."

Under the bed. The child was hoarding food against future hunger. Sometime in his past, he had learned that it was necessary. I felt ill. "So why would they take your apples? Were they rotten? Was the bread going green?"

"No. It was hard, but that's alright. The apples were still mostly good, too."

"Mostly good? Did you eat part of them already?"

"Yes, but the other side was still good."

I managed to suppress the dismay I felt, which was trying to creep out. "Little one, we don't need to hide food here. We can have as much as we want to eat, any time we want it."

He blinked at me as though this made no sense to him at all.

"There is more than enough food in Imladris for everyone to eat as much as they want every single day," I explained. "Twice as much as they could want. You need only tell someone you want something. Or go to the kitchens."

Those blue eyes instantly narrowed at that suggestion. Very well, no kitchens.

"You could to me," I added quickly. "There are always fresh apples and cheese at my cottage."

He looked surprised. "Don't you live inside with the Big Elves?"

"No, I have my own little place, just behind the stable. I'm still not used to all of the comings and goings in the hall, and the constant gossi-- the discussions that go on night and day," I amended diplomatically. "So Lord Elrond gave me my own home. It's close to the horses and much more private. Would you like to see it? Perhaps you would like to stay with me tonight, since your bed was closed."

"No."

"Where do you plan to sleep, then?"

His gaze flicked upward for just a second before he focused steadily on his boot tips.

"The loft?" I sounded as incredulous as I felt. "You're planning to sleep in the loft until Mithrandir returns?"

"Not in the loft-- inna RAFTERS. Is good, like a tree," he replied defensively, still staring at his boots. "Nobody would know."

"Is *not* good, and *I* would know," I replied sternly. "Little boys do not sleep in the loft here, and they most certainly do not sleep on high, narrow rafters. They stay in nice warm beds. Please, Legolas, won't you come to my cottage? I, Glorfindel, Defender of the House of the Golden Flower, promise that you will be safe there." Such a declaration had worked before; it might work again? "No Big Elves will come and take your things," I added for good measure.

His gaze slowly lifted from the tips of his boots. I dared not breathe or press my argument further while he considered.

"Aw-right," came the wary reply. "But just for tonight."

"For tonight," I agreed, hoping he would be reassured once he'd actually spent a night with me.

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I resisted the impulse to look back and make sure Legolas was following me. He had agreed to sleep in my chambers for what remained of the night, but the possibility of his changing his mind still remained. Given the least doubt or provocation, he could slip off of the path between the stable and my quarters, melt into the shadows and be lost to me... until daylight at least.

I could track him if he slipped away, but to what end? To shatter the fragile trust we had seemed to build this night? To win one particular battle of knowing where he was, but lose the war by having Legolas fear that he could never evade me, no matter the need?

No. Far better for me to amble nonchalantly down the path toward home-- slowing my stride so that little elves would have no difficulty keeping up-- and not look back.

Unlike the private chambers in Thranduil's underground keep and my own home in long-destroyed Gondolin, by tradition Imladris's rooms had no doors. Everyone in the main house seemed to know what everyone else was doing--and with whom. The flow of visitors was constant--Elves on their way to take ship at the Grey Havens, mortals come from Gondor or Rohan to trade with the master of the House of Elrond and the fair inhabitants of Imladris.

Upon my arrival in Imladris, I'd soon grown comfortable with the flow of conversation, music and drink in Elrond's fire hall, but I'd also found myself less than comfortable with the constant lack of privacy. When I hadn't been fighting Sauron's minions in my past life, I'd craved solitude and privacy. Their lure was as strong in my new life as they had been in the old one, and so I had sought permission from Lord Elrond to build my own private sanctuary behind the stables.

A high stone wall encircled my small garden and two-room cottage. The wall made way for the trees that had been in residence far longer than had I this second time around. A narrow path flowed past a small fountain that was very much like a larger one I remembered in Gondolin. Replicas of the shield of the House of the Golden Flower graced its sides, reminding me that another elf and balrog had met their ends in the original fountain within the city of my birth. The fountain's center contained a rock cairn where--at my request and once more with Elrond's blessing--water from a nearby stream had been diverted to flow up and over the somewhat morbid recreation of the rock cairn entombing my first body. The sight and the sound of the entire arrangement served to remind me constantly of how fragile life was, and how short our time in Middle-Earth could be. And how quickly it could end.

The cottage beyond the fountain held two small rooms only; a common room wherein I received the occasional visitor--mostly Elrond, and that only rarely--and a bedchamber with a solid oak door that was as private as I could make it. This was my refuge and my sanctuary, as all of Imladris was Lord Elrond's. I needed only this small space in which to retreat, and it was my hope that Legolas might feel safe enough to sleep within its walls.

Pushing back the front door, I entered the common room and turned to await Legolas's arrival. Moonlight spilled across the threshold, but no elf-child appeared. Had I lost him after all? Cautiously, I moved so that I could see out the open door.

He was there, I noted with some relief, but had stopped to make friends with an old ash tree that bordered the path. Even now, he was patting its broad, gnarly trunk and smiling up into its boughs.

The fountain drew him next. Climbing up onto its wall, Legolas knelt and peered down into the water. Making a small sound of dissatisfaction, he then bent so far over to touch the water that his butt was up and his balance was nearly lost. Scrambling back on the wall, he tumbled off only to land on his back for the second time this night.

Grimacing at the startled cry of pain Legolas gave as his already injured shoulder was forced to absorb some of the impact, my first impulse was to rush out and try to rescue him from the pain. A hopeless wish, but powerful enough so that I had to force myself not to do so. Rolling onto his good shoulder, Legolas sat up on his knees and panted briefly. Glancing toward the door of the cottage, he seemed to be trying to discern whether I was watching or not. I thought that the shadows hid me enough from his view. In any case, Legolas eventually got to his feet and rubbed briefly at the shoulder before wincing and continuing at a more sedate pace down the path to my front door.

Pausing on the threshold, he caught sight of me hovering in the middle of the room. Not wishing to distress him further, I backed away and leaned up against the door guarding my sleepchamber, was contented to wait for the child's next move. He weaved slightly on his feet, so that I knew fatigue and pain had to be pulling at him. Still, Legolas wasn't ready to succumb to the lure of the sanctuary I offered. Poised there on the threshold, he first searched the room with his gaze.

His expressions were easy to read as he worked out where the best hiding places, bolt holes, and escapes were. [That trunk, there in the corner,] I could almost hear him thinking. [There isn't a fire, so the chimney would do, too... and there's a back door. That's good. There's a window, too.]

My windows were higher than those in the main house, for they were meant to keep out prying eyes, but... [If I moved the chair and reached high, I could probably reach it.] The rest of the furniture, he dismissed. But then, this was the child who used Mithrandir as furniture; Legolas probably didn't need anything else.

Clearly, the boy had been taught basic survival skills or had managed to learn them of a necessity on his own. Neither Elrond nor Mithrandir had furnished me with the specifics of the abuse that had driven the wizard to remove Legolas from Mirkwood, but I knew enough of Thranduil and his drunken fits--not to mention the heavy-handedness of some of his servants-- to imagine well what might have actually taken place.

My heart shuddered to realize how often the child must have needed such skills in the past, for him to have perfected them at such an early age. His visual inspection of the room had been as thorough as that of any seasoned warrior moving into an enemy's camp.

He startled me by speaking. "No one comes here?"

"Lord Elrond visits occasionally, and the servants come to clean up as they did in yours and Mithrandir's chamber. But they come only into this room, and they always knock before entering. If I do not answer, they go away."

He considered this information for a long moment before asking, "Where do you sleep?"

"Here." Pushing open the door to the sleepchamber, I moved beyond the bed, to the far wall to give Legolas plenty of room.

He crossed this second threshold more readily, but still paused to survey the room. I knew what he saw: a high, open window set into one wall, flanked on one side by bookcases and on the other side by storage shelves. A small elf could climb the shelving and be gone in seconds--never mind the drop outside was probably eight feet.

[Such visual skills will serve him well all of his days,] I thought. [There's additional potential here, he might make a fine warrior. And if he does not go safely Oversea, Elbereth knows we will need more accomplished warriors before our time here is over.]

The only other things to see in my room were a bed and a somewhat large pile of dirty stable clothes I'd not yet put out for the servants to launder. Giving a decisive nod, Legolas took two steps forward, reached the foot of the bed, and looked up at me.

"It's good."

"Then shall we sleep?" I urged, gesturing to the bed. It looked inviting to me, I hoped it did as well to the little elf.

Scowling, he backed away. "Not there."

Clearly, the bed was out of bounds. I wondered why, knowing that Legolas had no qualms about sleeping with Mithrandir in the same bed. Or in Elrond's library, curled up beneath Mith's beard. So good was Legolas's ability to sneak, most of the time neither Elrond nor I were aware that the little elf had climbed up onto his wizard during the course of our conversation. The first we knew of it was when Mithrandir rose to take his leave and moved away from the table. Small legs were wrapped around the wizard's waist, skinny little arms were wound tightly around his neck. Once, Elrond had moved the long gray hair aside to reveal Legolas fast asleep, his nose buried against Mithrandir's chest. Legolas never stirred at those times, so secure was he in the wizard's embrace.

"Why will you not share a bed with me?" I asked in genuine bewilderment. A scowl was his reply.

"You're a Big Elf."

Big Elves, I knew from our conversation earlier in the stable, were not to be trusted. Even if they did not beat you, they still stole your clothes, your books, and your half-eaten apples. They might even close up the bed with you still in it, and then where would a small elf be?

Looking at things from Legolas's point of view, I had to agree with him: the big elves in his life were not to be trusted. Being within reach in the past had always meant being vulnerable; if one wasn't within reach, one couldn't be hurt. To expect Legolas to sleep close to me was unrealistic in the extreme. I wondered what, exactly, Mithrandir had done in Mirkwood to be set apart from the Big Elves.

"Well, then," I said, "if you will not have my bed, we must make another for you."

Gathering a blanket, I tossed it atop the pile of dirty clothes in the corner nearest the door. Adding one of my smaller pillows to it, I glanced at Legolas who had moved to the side of the bed nearest the window to watch me.

"What do you think?" I asked.

The nest I'd made for him fetched up against the shelving. If Legolas slept there, his back would be against the wall. He'd be able to survey the entire chamber and no one could sneak up on him. He'd be the length of the room away from me, with my feet nearest him as I lay on the bed. Door and window were both easily accessible to him--the first through bolting and the second through climbing.

"Is good," he announced.

Marching over to the nest, he climbed atop it and settled in before removing his boots. This seemed his only concession to preparing for bed. I offered another blanket--folding it in half so that it would not bury my guest--and he took it, spreading it over himself and snuggling down. Whatever silver-blond hair did not spread haphazardly over the pillow was in his face.

"I sleep now." Peering out at me with one blue eye from between the hair, Legolas regarded me with lingering suspicion. "You sleep too."

"I sleep too," I agreed.

Pulling off my own boots, I blew out the candle in its wall sconce, then settled on the bed. Lying still in the darkness, I hoped to be less of a perceived threat by setting my back to Legolas. Listening to his shallow breathing for the next few minutes, I knew that he was far from sleep. Deliberately, I lengthened and deepened my own breathing and was careful not to move.

In time, fatigue conquered Legolas's caution. His breathing grew louder and deeper, a steady, reassuring rhythm to my ears. Secure in the knowledge that Imladris's newest and smallest citizen was safe within my care, I too slept.