Thanks to the following reviewers: Opalkitty, Lilandriel, Apsenniel, Avion Jade, Krissy Wonder, Keji, and CAH. I am delighted to receive any and all responses, whether reviewers are logged in or not. If you do happen to be logged in, I will use the reply feature to get back to you.

Beta Reader: Dragonfly, who caught Elrond masquerading as Erestor.

Chapter 8: Sensible

Glorfindel was mightily relieved that evening when at last given an opportunity to escape to his room. As Erestor had not been available to supervise the elflings' lessons that morning, the balrog-slayer had been responsible for their conduct all the livelong day. 'I know I am immortal', he grumbled to himself as he removed his cloak and flung it carelessly over the back of a chair, 'but even so, I can only lead one life at a time. I cannot be simultaneously tutor and weapons master'. Sighing in relief at his escape from the demands of duty, he sat down upon the edge of his bed and yanked off first one and then the other boot, flinging each into a separate corner of the room. Next he removed his tunic, which he tossed onto the table. As for his leggings, he dropped them carelessly upon the floor. It was no wonder that Erestor avoided Glorfindel's room as if it were a dragon's lair. Indeed, Elrond sometimes suspected that this was why Glorfindel was so slovenly: to discourage Erestor from popping in. Glorfindel had little patience for Erestor's lengthy expositions upon matters historical.

Exhaling gratefully, Glorfindel slipped underneath the smooth, cool duvet and stretched his limbs contentedly. Not one to mull over a day's events, he was soon asleep. Yet under the surface of his calm exterior, he was perhaps more agitated than he knew. For it was not long before his dreams took an unpleasant turn.

"What do you mean, 'we cannot prevent him'?" dream-Glorfindel was fuming. He paced furiously back and forth before Elrond, who was trying without success to calm the angry balrog-slayer. "Elrond, I know Legolas must in the end return to Greenwood, and I told the lad so, but cannot we delay his departure even a little while?"

"I do not see how, Glorfindel. Thranduil has a right to his son."

"But Legolas ran away. Surely that speaks poorly of Thranduil."

"Sometimes children run away not because they have been mistreated but because they are willful."

"You know that Legolas did not run away out of willfulness."

"True, but how is that to be proven? No, Glorfindel, when Legolas has recovered from his fall, he must accompany his father to Greenwood."

Stomping out of Elrond's study with all the grace of a Troll, Glorfindel barreled down the corridor, scattering appalled servants in his wake. He tempered his rage, however, as he neared the chambers Legolas shared with his father. Thus far Thranduil had tolerated the balrog-slayer's visits, but only just, and Glorfindel did not wish to give the King an excuse to bar him from the elfling's presence. By the time Glorfindel had reached his goal, then, he was quite composed, and he knocked upon the door with the gentleness of an elf-maiden.

Once inside the chamber, Glorfindel waited politely for Thranduil to invite him to take a seat. Thranduil did so only grudgingly. He knew that Legolas worshipped the balrog-slayer, and he was jealous on that account. On the other hand, given that the elfling adored Glorfindel, Thranduil did not dare turn him away, for if he did so he risked alienating his son. It was necessary, then, to be civil to the Rivendell Elf.

So the two Elves engaged in a carefully choreographed dance of politeness. "Please take a seat, Lord Glorfindel," said Thranduil, after waiting long enough to make the atmosphere in the room awkward but not long enough to have absolutely exceeded the bounds of courtesy. As for Glorfindel, he bowed just enough for the demands of politeness—a slight inclination of the head—before he took a seat beside the elfling's bed.

"How are you today, Legolas?" asked the balrog-slayer. The elfling made a piteous face. "I do not think I will ever get better," he moaned. "My leg hurts excruciatingly."

Glorfindel frowned. Excruciatingly? It had been several days since Legolas had plunged to the ground, and his leg had been well tended and carefully splinted. That, combined with the fact that the patient was of elven-kind and therefore a fast healer, meant that Legolas ought not to be suffering much in the way of pain. Yet he claimed to be not only in pain but excruciatingly so. The balrog-slayer gave a sideways glance at Thranduil. Could it be that Legolas found it so stressful to be in Thranduil's presence that his healing was being impeded?

Thranduil sensed Glorfindel's eye upon him and struggled to keep his countenance. He knew what Glorfindel was thinking, and he rejected the notion. He had done everything he could to reassure Legolas: speaking softly, moving slowly, making certain that the lad had whatever he desired. If Legolas healed at a snail's pace, it must be because the injury was worse than Elrond had thought—either that or Elrond and Mithrandir were not the great healers they were reputed to be. Angrily, Thranduil struck back at Glorfindel using his most powerful weapon: the control he wielded over Legolas's person.

"Since Legolas is feeling poorly," he said, "it would no doubt be best if he did not expend his energy unnecessarily. Lord Glorfindel, perhaps tomorrow, when he feels better, you might return."

"Oh, no, no," protested Legolas. "I do not feel that badly. Do not send Glorfindel away."

Thranduil let his edge show. "Only a moment ago," he said sharply, "you said that you were in excruciating pain."

Legolas subsided, and Glorfindel reluctantly arose.

"I'll be back," he said grimly. It was both a promise to Legolas and a warning to Thranduil.

The next day when Glorfindel knocked upon the door there was no answer. Glorfindel knocked again. Still no answer. Suddenly a great fear entered the balrog-slayer's mind. 'He has absconded with the lad' he said to himself. 'During the night he and his retinue have slipped away!' He flung open the door. As he feared, no one was in the room. But as he stood at a loss, Legolas limped in from the outer chamber. Balrog-slayer and elfling both startled.

"How is it that you are walking about?" exclaimed Glorfindel. "Yesterday you were in such pain that it did not seem as if you were anywhere near recovering. Yet today you are on your feet, albeit with a limp."

Legolas blushed and looked down at his feet.

"Oh ho," said Glorfindel. "I see what you are about. You are malingering, aren't you? You were only pretending to be in pain—excruciating pain."

Legolas looked up and spoke earnestly. "I wasn't exactly lying, Lord Glorfindel. As soon as my leg is better, Thranduil will take me away to Greenwood, and that makes my heart ache. An aching heart pains even more excruciatingly than a broken limb."

Glorfindel knelt down and put his arms around the elfling. "You are quite right, Legolas. I know from my own experience that, had I to choose between a broken heart and a broken limb, I would go with the limb every time. But how is it that you are not in bed keeping up the charade?"

"Whilst I was in bed pretending to sleep, one of the Greenwood warriors came in and told Thranduil that his horse had gone lame as it was exercised. He went out to check upon the steed, and I thought that I would take the chance to stretch my own limbs."

Just then voices were heard in the hallway outside, and Legolas leapt clear of Glorfindel and dove back into bed. He had just pulled the covers up to his chin when Thranduil, followed by one of his Elves, entered the room. The King was in very poor humor.

"First my son, now my horse. Lord Glorfindel, is there something in the water hereabouts that weakens the limbs of Elf and steed?"

"If there is, it has left me unaffected," replied Glorfindel gravely. Legolas, however, was not able to affect a similar gravity. He giggled, and for a moment Glorfindel feared that Thranduil would be angry at being laughed at. But the King was pleased rather than offended. He dropped his cross manner at once and quickly knelt beside Legolas's bed, pushing back the quilt so that he could better see his son's face.

"My dear lad, you laughed. 'Tis the first joyful sound you have made since the fall. You must be getting better!"

"My leg still hurts," Legolas said quickly.

"Of course it does, my son. The important thing, though, is that it hurts a little less than it did formerly. You are mending, and as soon as both you and my steed are sound of limb, off to Greenwood we will go."

Cheerfully, Thranduil stood up. He was so happy that he spoke to Glorfindel in a pleasant tone that was entirely free of enmity or suspicion.

"Glorfindel, I am sure your visits have helped cheer Legolas, and for that I thank you. You are noble in birth and noble in deed. When we have returned to Greenwood, I pray you that you visit us upon occasion."

The offer was sincerely made, and Glorfindel could not but be gracious in the face of such a peace offering. He smiled and clasped Thranduil upon the shoulder in token of friendship, and it was not a feigned gesture. But inside, his heart—ached.

Glorfindel tossed and turned in his bed. The room was too close; he could not breathe. His chest ached from the lack of oxygen. He sat up, his head and his heart pounding in unison. "I need air," he mumbled. He flung aside the duvet and staggered onto his balcony. Gradually, his body cooled in the night air, and his breathing returned to normal.

"What a distressing dream," he murmured. "I wish I could drive from my mind these thoughts that I have suffered ever since Penidhren's visit."

In a room nearby, Erestor was having much the same thought. He had been drifting in and out of sleep for the past several hours, each time awaking in alarm at the thought that he had lost track of something important. Now he once again felt himself slipping into sleep, and he hoped that this time he would slumber undisturbed. In this case, however, the wish was not father to the deed. Almost as soon as he was asleep, he found himself resuming his former dream. He was busying himself in his library when in strode Thranduil. Erestor was surprised to see him, for the Greenwood Elf had been spending every waking moment (so to speak) at his son's side. Erestor had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that Thranduil's faithful presence at the bedside of his son bespoke affection for the lad. The request that the King was about to make also could be taken as proof of his fatherly concern.

"My Lord Erestor," began the King, "you are well acquainted with my son, are you not?"

"I believe that I am," replied Erestor proudly. "As his tutor, I have had his education in my keeping for several years."

"Aye, that you have," said Thranduil dryly, and Erestor suddenly wished that he had worded his answer differently, without any reference to length of time.

"As you know my son so well," continued Thranduil, his manner still somewhat ironical, "perhaps you can advise me on how best to entertain him. He said he would like a book to read, but when I asked him if he had a particular one in mind, he said any book would do. I think, though, as I look around this immense collection, that that could hardly be true. With so many books to choose from, I am sure that he could not like all equally. There must be some that he prefers over others."

Whether Thranduil intended it or no, his allusion to the size of the collection recommended him to the tutor. The library holdings were not only large but well chosen, and that was mainly thanks to Erestor, who had spent centuries commissioning copies of rare manuscripts. Indeed, he himself was responsible for the copying of some of the finest volumes. (A number of lesser volumes had of course been copied by elflings who had been foolish enough to be caught at mischief-making. This fact explained why, in later years, the Prince of Mirkwood proved to be as well acquainted with the history of Gondor as King Elessar: it was simply that Legolas, in the course of copying a lengthy historical tome, had learned its contents by heart.)

"Well," said Erestor, beaming, "I must say that I agree with you, my Lord. The collection is large, and, yes, Legolas does have his favorites. Now, this one, for example," he continued, picking up a substantial tome, "is a volume that he has lately been reading. It is not the sort of book that I favor, for it treats of the fairy tales of Men, but Legolas has always had a soft spot in his heart for that sort of thing. You will find seven tales in this volume, each set in a peculiar land that one reaches by entering into a wardrobe. Silly, I know, but I suppose it may be just the thing for an injured elfling who wishes to while away the hours. Or he might like to read these," the tutor went on, laying his hand on a stack of six books, each heftier than the last. "These books recount the deeds of a boy wizard. The first begins the tale when he is eleven, and each one begins anew with the following year. I haven't succeeded in collecting the entire set, for I understand that there is a seventh and final volume, but so far the narrative has been an interesting one. The boy is up against a sort of Dark Lord, and if he doesn't defeat him, well, I suppose it will go as badly for his universe as it would for ours if Sauron ever gained mastery over Middle-earth."

As Erestor spoke, he suddenly desired that Legolas should read the latter volumes. 'After all', he said to himself, 'Legolas may beg leave of his father to remain until I have found a copy of the seventh volume. That may take awhile. Indeed, some say that the seventh volume has not been completed. Perchance it will be many months before Legolas will be able to finish reading the narrative'.

Perhaps something of the sort had occurred to Thranduil. "I think this volume will do," he said, laying his hand on the shorter, wardrobe tales. And I thank you for your help, Lord Erestor. I suspect that my son will be very pleased to peruse this volume. By the by," he added, as he flipped through the book's pages, "I must say that these illustrations are delightful."

"I drew and colored them myself," said Erestor proudly, his disappointment at Thranduil's choice of book assuaged somewhat by the compliment.

"Indeed, I should have suspected as much," said Thranduil, bowing a little, "for it is plain that you are a great lover of books."

Now Erestor had almost completely recovered from his disappointment, and his politeness as he accompanied Thranduil to the door was not feigned. 'Not such a bad fellow after all', he said to himself after the King had departed.

Unfortunately, Erestor's complacency on the subject of Thranduil did not last for long. Legolas was unable to disguise the fact that he was mending, and Thranduil at length decreed that the Greenwood Elves would be departing in a fortnight. This pronouncement threw everyone in Rivendell into consternation, and the tutor was no exception. The day after Thranduil's announcement, Erestor sat in the library fuming as he tried to mop up the ink he had just spilled. He had already blotted three manuscripts and broken as many pens. He was utterly unable to concentrate, and even though he was in the habit of denying his feelings, he could not do so now.

"Confounded fool," he spluttered, raging at Thranduil. "Can't he see that it would be best to leave Legolas be. He has so many friends here. Oh, it is true that he shall make friends in Greenwood. He couldn't fail to, I suppose, for he is a loving child and folk can't help but love him in return. But it shall be such a shock, such a shock."
By that, he of course meant a shock to everyone involved, including himself.

As he fumed, the door creaked open, and Erestor looked up in surprise. Someone had entered the room without knocking. There stood Legolas. His little body was trembling. Erestor leaped to his feet. In the process, he knocked over the ink pot yet again, but he didn't care. He crossed over to Legolas and folded him into his arms.

"What is the matter, lad?" he said gently.

"Thranduil has told the servants to begin packing my clothes. I don't want to go with him, Erestor! I want to stay here."

Just then Elrond's voice could be heard approaching. The elf-lord was asking all the servants that he encountered whether they had seen Legolas.

In his heart, Erestor knew that the elfling's departure could not be stayed, but in the face of Legolas's distress, the tutor's pity outweighed his common sense.

"Quick!" whispered Erestor. "Get behind that bookcase."

Anomen slipped into one of the small spaces left behind each bookcase to permit the easy removal of dust. Flattened against the wall, he held his breath. A few minutes after he had hidden himself, Elrond entered the room.

"Erestor," said Elrond, "have you seen Legolas?"

"I don't see him," Erestor replied curtly.

Elrond noticed straightaway that Erestor had answered in the present tense even though the question had been posed in the past tense. Knowing how exacting Erestor was when it came to grammar, Elrond found this fact to be—interesting. "Erestor, I didn't ask whether you see Legolas at the moment; after all, if he were within your sight he should be within mine as well. I asked whether you had seen him, as in the recent past. In other words, has he been in this chamber recently?"

"It would not be accurate to say that he has been in this chamber recently," Erestor replied cautiously.

Elrond looked at him steadily. "I see," he said. "The present perfect would not be the proper tense. Would the simple present be the appropriate one, then?"

Erestor colored, thus giving Elrond his answer. The master of Rivendell proceeded to look behind the door. No Legolas. Then he looked underneath the table, which was partially barricaded, as it were, by the stacks of books that sat on the floor all about. As Erestor stood stubbornly silent, Elrond next looked behind each and every arras. He opened the chest in which Erestor stored some particularly valuable tomes. He peered into an enormous decorative vase that stood in an alcove. Still no Legolas. Elrond then began to look behind each and every bookcase. He drew closer and closer to the one that sheltered the lad. Suddenly the elfling, knowing that discovery was inevitable, shot out from his sanctuary and raced for the door. Even with a stiff leg, he was fast, but Elrond, suspecting that something of the sort would happen, was prepared. With two great steps, he caught up with the fleeing lad and seized him by the shoulders.

"Legolas," he said gently, "you cannot be always running away."

The elfling twisted about in his arms to look up at him.

"What does it matter," he said bitterly, "if I run away? You are going to send me away anyway."

"It matters that you are safe, in Greenwood, rather than roaming the wild and falling prey to beast or foe."

"Safe! How shall I be safe in Greenwood?"

"You will be with your father."

Legolas ducked his head to hide his tears but Elrond could hear the grief in his muffled voice. "You said I should call you 'Ada', but now you don't want me here."

Elrond knelt down so that he could draw the lad bodily into his arms. "Anomen, I want you here. I desperately want you here. But for me to harbor you would be against both law and custom."

"What if I said that the King of Greenwood beat me?" Legolas asked desperately.

"But he did not, did he?" Elrond said gently. It did not escape his notice that Legolas still referred to Thranduil as the 'King of Greenwood' rather than as his father, and he wished to duck his own head to hide his own tears. Instead, he forced the tears back and looked steadily at the little elfling.

"Legolas," he said, keeping his voice steady, "I have noticed how anxiously your father has cared for you these past several weeks. He has carefully inquired of all to find out your likes and dislikes and has tried his best to supply you with those foods and pastimes that are pleasing to you. Whatever his faults may have been, he loves you and wishes to make amends for any past neglect."

Nothing that Elrond said made any difference. Legolas burst into tears and no one—not Elrond, not Erestor, not Glorfindel when he was summoned—could comfort him. At last Elrond scooped up the sobbing elfling and, reluctantly, carried him back to the rooms he shared with Thranduil. He placed him in his bed as Thranduil awkwardly looked on. When he tried to bid the lad goodnight, the little one pulled his duvet over his head and refused to look at him or speak to him.

Elrond returned sadly to his own chamber. He felt unbearably dirty, as if fouled by the blood and muck of a battlefield. He crossed to the washstand in the corner of his room and splashed water upon his face, but his heart still burned with the shame of what he had done. It was true that by his actions the alliance between Greenwood and Rivendell would be maintained, but he had treated Legolas as if for all these years he had been no more than a marker, a hostage to be delivered up when it became expedient to do so. He leaned over the basin and splashed more water upon his face.

In his own room, Erestor felt the sensation of wetness upon his face. He sat up and found that his pillow was soaked. More than that: his breath came in shuddering gasps. 'I can't have been crying', the tutor argued to himself. 'Something must have aggravated my eyes. I know! Mithrandir must be in the garden smoking his wretched pipe. No doubt the fumes have drifted in at the window. Yes, that's it!"

Trying to persuade himself that this was the explanation for his condition, Erestor lay back down and tried to will himself back to sleep. It was a long time, however, before the tutor's breathing became regular and even, and he told himself that the wizard's pipe weed must have irritated his windpipe as well as his eyes. Indeed, that would have been the sensible explanation for the Elf's condition. And as all know, Erestor is always—sensible.