That night the guards positioned outside of the gates of Edoras were luckier than they usually were. That particular duty too often entailed many long and lonely hours in almost no light at all, but now as the hours passed the two guards enjoyed different sources of illumination. Several fair-sized torches, well placed and evenly spaced, stood along the walls of the city while the moon was full and seemed to be shining out as if it were the sun. No one became a guard of Rohan if they feared the dark but even the hardiest warrior preferred to go about in the light and the guards Cynwulf and Wifrun were no exception to that.

Not that they had any practical use for the extra light. They'd been on duty for many hours and had not seen anything even threatening to stir all night. That was perfectly all right with Cynwulf, the older of the two. In his long years he'd witnessed the deaths of kings and heirs, the near-destruction of the Rohirric way of life, the realm under attack from forces both without and within the lands, and more trouble and heartache for any one lifetime. As far as he was concerned, after having to bury more than his fair share of friends and family – especially in the recent past – the sometimes dull peace and quiet was just fine compared to what could happen.

Unfortunately his comrade-in-arms was not of like mind. Glancing discreetly over to watch the young Man twitch for the countless time that night, Cynwulf was torn between annoyance at Wifrun's impatience, nostalgic understanding as he remembered his own days as a young soldier, and a sarcastic smugness that all members of the older generation had when they encountered the annoyed eagerness of the young. The boy – he could call him that since Wifrun was the same age as his son – was anxious to prove himself and bored out of his skull as he waited for an opportunity to do so to present itself. It was that kind of attitude that turned brave young Men into brave dead Men and Cynwulf didn't like the idea of getting caught up in the impulsive mistakes of his enthusiastic partner.

Watching the young Man's hand dance around the hilt of the sword strapped at his side, Cynwulf repressed a sigh that could only come from an experienced person when faced with as much utter naïve bravado that the younger generation could give. "There's nothing out there," he offered in way of advice. "Don't waste your time and energy being so on edge. You're more liable to overreact when the time comes if you spend all your time just itching for it."

"But it never comes," complained Wifrun petulantly. The older Man fought the urge to see if a well-placed smack upside the head would knock some sense into him. "I need to see some action soon! By the Valar, if all I do is stand all night I'm going to forget every skill that made me a soldier in the first place."

"That's why we're all encouraged to practice," Cynwulf reminded him with wry sageness. "That allows us to keep our skills fresh; and making the mistakes that everyone makes in that setting allows you to learn from them. If you only fight in battle you're going to end up getting yourself killed."

"You know what I mean," groused Wifrun. "Please don't lecture me tonight. Even you must admit that no one has ever been renowned for their splendid, noble practicing! And practicing is all I've ever done, too; oh, curse the illness that kept me cowering the caves at the Battle of Helm's Deep!"

"You didn't miss anything there," said Cynwulf in a hard voice, remembering the bitter pain of that terrible battle. While he could see why Wifrun felt slighted – almost all of the other guards his age had the bond of fighting there – he couldn't stand the idea that anyone might look back upon that night and childishly complain that they weren't allowed to 'play' soldier.

"I missed my chance to prove my worth," returned Wifrun, punctuating his sentence by actually stamping his foot. He was too caught up in his sense of injustice to notice the older guard's grunt of disbelief. "But that can change tonight. Maybe there are some orcs out right now; what do you think the chances are that they will attack the gate?"

If even one orc came that night Cynwulf had no doubt in his mind that the first thing that Wifrun would do was wet his breeches. "Slim to none," he replied, coughing a little in an attempt to hide the fact that he was choking on laughter at the thought of the look on the young Man's face if what he predicted came true. "There are few left. King Eomer and King Elessar have done much to drive that foul species out of existence since the end of the War. Whatever ones are left wouldn't dare attack a well-defended city."

"But orcs aren't exactly known for their rationality and good judgment," said Wifrun.

Was that hopefulness in the young Man's voice? Valar, he really did need some sense smacked into him. "Is that how you plan to gain some renown?" Cynwulf asked sharply. "Killing a foolish and disoriented orc?"

Wifrun had the good grace to look ashamed. "No sir," he mumbled. "I just want my chance to prove my worth to the king."

"And it will come soon," Cynwulf told him firmly. "It's been very quiet since the end of the War and I have a feeling that we're due for some action soon. Trouble that comes on its own is enough to deal with as it is; don't start inviting –"

Whatever scolding disguised as advice that was coming next died on the older guard's lips. The change that came over his body was truly remarkable for Wifrun to behold: every muscle in his body seemed to tense as if he was about to spring into battle, his ears visibly perked up, and his eyes became hard and searching. One hand crept to the scabbard of his sword to steady the blade while his other one moved to the hilt in one smooth motion. "Be silent," Cynwulf ordered even though he was technically the one who was last talking.

"What is it?" asked Wifrun with gleeful excitement, for it seemed to him as if the chance to prove himself was upon him at last. "Is it orcs? Raiders? Wild Men? Are we –"

"Shhhhh!" Cynwulf practically spat. His eyes were almost spinning in his head as he scoured the landscape. "There's – there is something coming, and I don't know what it is. There's a strange light bearing down toward us from the north. Look!"

Wifrun obeyed and indeed he saw the light. "It looks like it's got two sources," he noted in a hissing whisper. "One appears to be smaller and less brilliant than the other, but there's definitely two. They just came over the horizon, right?"

"Indeed," said Cynwulf distractedly, straining his eyes so much that they physically hurt from the effort. "But I don't see what could be making it. There are no torches or anything else with flames, nor does it appear to be weapons reflecting in the light of the moon."

"If such a thing would ever shine so brightly," observed Wifrun. "Though it does remind me of the moonlight. I've never seen anything like it before. What should we do?"

"Blow your horn," replied Cynwulf, not taking his eyes off of the mysterious sight. "Send out the signal to the king and everyone else that something that might be trouble is happening. Then we stand our ground: whatever it is, there appears to be only two of them and they're heading straight for us. We are guards of Rohan, Wifrun; and we have a duty to attend to."

Starting to really regret his eagerness to see some action, Wifrun brought his guard horn to his lips and blew; first a high note, then a low one, and ending by going into a high register again. 'That is sure to get the attention of any Rohirrim within listening distance,' he thought resolutely. Indeed even the oncoming horses seemed to hesitate a little as the sound broke through the night air.

With nothing left to do was wait, and young Man drew his sword and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Cynwulf. As he felt the childish eagerness seep out of his body he steeled himself to prove his worth to his comrades and king no matter what.

OOOOOOOOOOOO

A distinct horn cry in the not-so-far-off distance brought chills to the spines of the three of the four weary travelers who were in any condition to hear it. It made little Caladel jump and gape in wonder – it sounded a bit like an Ent's call. But it was not comforting, for it sounded like something less; like it was used to communicate something without being sophisticated enough to actually mean words. He remembered the time that Treebeard once told him a horrible, frightening story about a terrible Enemy who mocked the Ents and elves by creating twisted images of them in living things.

'Maybe I shouldn't have trusted these Men,' the boy fretted, getting more and more scared as they got closer to where the sound was coming from. 'No matter what Quickbeam said, he couldn't have known all that much about them.'

Meanwhile Alfmund, who was bearing the elfling in front of him, let out a put-upon groan. "Wonderful," he called sarcastically to Elfhelm. "Do you know how long I've wanted to hear the sound of a Rohirric horn in the wind? Why did it have to be that one? After a full day's run with one the briefest of stops for our horses to refresh themselves we're going to be greeted at the gate by a host of soldiers."

"Not a host," argued Elfhelm with a little bit too much hopefulness in his voice to be reassuring. "That wasn't the call that danger was at hand; it just means that it would be advisable for the king and guards to be ready for anything."

"That's not much different from danger," groused Alfmund. "Oh Valar; I was looking forward to indulging in some food, drink, and rest and now we may have to do battle with our own people."

"Battle!" exclaimed Caladel in alarm. He looked helplessly over at his ada, whose eyes were closed. It had been like that all day, and he had spoken no words except for the occasional painful groan about loss. Legolas would be in terrible trouble if he was forced to defend himself that night – Elbereth, it was only because of Elfhelm's hold that the elf was able to stay on the racing horse as it was. Now there was going to be fighting?

"This was a bad, bad mistake!" the boy lamented. "How can the outside world be any safer than home? I don't want to go to Edoras anymore; take me and Ada back to Fangorn now!"

"There's nothing to be concerned about, Caladel," said Elfhelm reassuringly as he sent Alfmund a withering look over the young one's head. "We aren't going to have to fight anyone."

Caladel wasn't placated at all; why should he trust these Men to tell him the truth? "Then why did Alfmund say that we would?" he demanded obstinately.

"Because he's overreacting," the commander explained in the gentlest tone possible. "You heard the horn just now, right?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's one way that we Rohirrim signal over distances that something – ah – unfamiliar is amiss. It's just a way for us not to be caught off-guard; that doesn't mean that we're about to be attacked in any way."

Caladel watched in horror as more fires started going up on the great wall before them. This apparently hostile reaction to their arrival combined with his first intimidating sight of people-made houses and buildings wasn't helping to comfort him. "I don't like this," he cried nervously. "Where – where are the trees? Why are there so many buildings?"

"It's going to be all right, Caladel," murmured Alfmund soothingly.

"No, it's not!" replied the boy in fright. "They're getting ready to hurt us right now! Why else would they use that stupid horn call?"

"Because no one is supposed to be returning until late tomorrow afternoon at the earliest," answered Elfhelm, mindful to slow the speed of his horse as the gates loomed closer ahead. He caught Alfmund's eye, who immediately followed suit. "And anyway, it is not our custom to journey so late at night unless great need spurs us on. Therefore, the guards outside the gate can't be sure about who's approaching and it's better to give a warning under those circumstances than not and curse that choice later."

"Will we really be all right?" asked Caladel in a small voice.

"No one is going to harm you or your father unless they step over my dead body to do so," swore Elfhelm. He managed to give the boy a little smile as the two figures of the gate guards came into focus. "You see, Caladel," he added, "there's no host out here to fight us; just two valiant and understanding guards."

Cynwulf and Wifrun had not been idle during the last leg of the riders' journey. They stood now squarely in front of the entrance to the city with their weapons drawn and their faces grim. "In the name of King Eomer of Rohan," shouted Cynwulf, squinting at the people on the horses that were coming toward them at a reduced by still quick rate, "I command you to halt, identify yourself, and tell us your business!"

"Three of our names are already known to you," Elfhelm said, moving his steed forward enough so that his face was in as much light as it could be. By then he was almost standing beside the guards. "And I will swear on my honor that the fourth is no threat to you or Rohan."

"My lord Elfhelm? Alfmund?" asked a perplexed Wifrun. "What are you two doing here? No one from your company was supposed to return from Helm's Deep until tomorrow!"

"And where is the rest of your company anyway?" added Cynwulf.

"They're at Helm's Deep," replied Alfmund almost flippantly.

In Elfhelm's saddle Legolas stirred, though only in response to his own dark dreams rather than what was going on around him. "Le abdollen," he moaned softly, lost in a memory. Only the commander heard him.

"But why –" Wifrun's question trailed off when his brain finally registered the strange creature that sat in front of Alfmund. "Bless us!" he exclaimed in excitement and wonder. So that was the source of one of the lights. "That's an elf child, unless my eyes are playing tricks on me! Cynwulf, come take a look at this!"

Caladel bristled and glared at the rude Man. "This has a name," he snapped, more sure than ever that he wasn't going to enjoy his stay in Edoras at all. "You'd better be nice to us or else I'll set the trees of Fangorn on you! Don't think that I can't – they taught me and Ada their language and they like us more than they will ever like you."

"What's an ada?" asked Wifrun suspiciously as images of the blonde, pointy-eared child leading a horrible army of killer trees came unbidden into his mind.

While his counterpart was being intimidated by a four-year-old, Cynwulf was too wrapped up in staring in disbelief at the other horse's elvish rider to pay attention to Caladel and Wifrun's exchange. "Dear Valar," he breathed at last. "Is that – is that Prince Legolas?"

The Prince Legolas; one of the Nine Walkers, hero of the War, and so on? "Amazing!" cried Wifrun, studying the elf's face carefully. "This night keeps getting stranger and stranger. What's he doing here? Why is he sleeping now?"

"We found the prince and his son, Caladel here," said Elfhelm, nodding to the elfling, "in Fangorn Forest early this morning after Caladel approached us on the River Isen with a tale about his ill father."

"You rode all that way in one day?" Cynwulf marveled. "It's a wonder your horses haven't collapsed!"

"We wouldn't have pushed them so much but the need was dire," spoke up Alfmund. "We could do nothing to help the prince. He's been talking a little, mostly nonsense, but has yet to regain consciousness. We must get him to a healer at once!"

"Oh no," breathed Wifrun.

"I don't know if any healer in Edoras will have the skill to help him," said Cynwulf doubtfully. "It might be best if we contact one of the elven settlements, like Rivendell, to see if they have a healer that they can spare. Maybe we could even contact Minas Tirith to see if King Elessar can recommend anyone from there – the healers of Gondor must know more about elven bodies and illnesses by now."

Alfmund nodded distractedly. "I'm sure that, if we had the time, that would be the right course of action," he agreed. "But Prince Legolas cannot wait for anyone else to come, nor can he endure any more riding right now. Our healers here are far from ignorant and they will have to do."

"And besides, Edoras' healers are probably already up and close at hand," concurred Cynwulf. "That horn blast will have roused the entire city. You may go ahead with all haste; and we wish you all the best of luck at Meduseld." Sucking in a deep breath, he let out the loudest bellow possible: "Open the gates and make way!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

Eomer paced all over the stairs that led up to Meduseld as he waited for…something. The warning signal had woken him up long before one of his guards burst into his bedchamber (apparently wanting to see if his king was deaf; how could anyone miss something so loud?). He'd thrown on the most convenient set of garments within reach and rushed outside to assess the situation while most of the Men who were supposed to be protecting him were even figuring out what was going on.

Not that he could claim to know much more than they did. No more horn blows had come after the first one, although many curious and anxious people had emerged from their homes and were now lining the streets. Their murmurs grew louder when the order came for the gates to open a few seconds before the large doors swung inwards and two horses came trotting in. Usually this would be a good sign – the gate guards obviously found nothing wrong with the unexpected newcomers; Eomer just wished that he knew how to interpret the buzzing of voices that was coming from the people as the horsemen passed them by.

He figured out the reason for them as soon as the four newcomers came into his sight. "My king," greeted Elfhelm solemnly. "We apologize for the disruption that our arrival has caused, but –"

"Legolas," breathed Eomer, not hearing a word that his trusted commander was saying. Indeed he simply forgot that there was anyone else around once he'd set eyes on the fair face of the long-missing prince.

Eomer practically stumbled down the steps and surprised everyone by carefully pulling the elf down into his arms. "Gimli was right - I had not looked my last upon you," he whispered softly as he took in Legolas' appearance. Closed eyes – wasn't it supposed to be bad if an elf closed his eyes? – and beautiful features that were etched with a deep pain. A fierce protectiveness seized him and he glared accusingly at Elfhelm. "He's hurt. How did it happen and who did it to him?"

"We're not sure, sire," answered Elfhelm, a bit taken aback by his king's reaction to Legolas' condition. He knew that they were on friendly terms before the elf vanished but he never guessed that they'd been that close. "This is how we found him; or rather, how he was when Caladel led us to him."

"Caladel?" asked Eomer distractedly.

"Me." Eomer looked up to where that young, wary, protective voice was coming from and almost reeled at the sight of a copy of Legolas in the form of a child – or elfling. "I'm Caladel and that's my father that you just grabbed so rudely. Either you get him some help right now or else let him go so that I can take care of him myself."

There was a gasp of 'disrespectful boy!' in the crowd but Eomer didn't pay attention to it. He was too busy wrapping his mind around what the boy's announcement meant: first of all, the shocking revelation that Legolas had a child; and that, with a child, Legolas must have a wife or lover. Eomer's heart twisted a little at thinking about the elf with someone else but he shook it off; there was no time for him to regret what had never been and would never be. "I promise that he will have the best care that I can provide for him," he vowed in a slightly shaking voice. "Gamling!"

The king's right-hand Man quickly stepped forward. "Yes, your highness?" he asked properly.

"Send for the healers at once," ordered Eomer. "Explain the situation to them as best you can and direct them to – um –"

Where exactly were Legolas and his son supposed to stay? "We have quite a few nice quarters for honored guests," Gamling reminded the king.

"None that are readily prepared," fretted Eomer.

"Well, only the royal quarters are cleaned to be used at a moment's notice," pointed out Gamling. "Don't worry about it, King Eomer; I'm sure that Prince Legolas will be fine in whichever –"

"Good idea," Eomer cut him off. "We should settle them into one of the royal quarters. Send the healers there."

Gamling looked positively scandalized. "But –"

"Yes, very good idea indeed," declared Eomer as he turned to trudge up the staircase. "None of the guest quarters have more than one bedchamber but all of the royal suites do. Under the circumstances I believe that Legolas will need an extra bedchamber. It's about time that those rooms had some life in them again anyway."

With a curt nod, Eomer started to charge upwards. "This is highly irregular!" blurted out Gamling after him.

"Wait!" cried Caladel at the same time. The idea of being left among strangers, separated from his father, scared him badly. Besides, he wasn't sure if he was ready to trust any of these Men yet, especially the one who was handling Legolas in such a familiar way. What if this king was only pretending to like his father and really wanted to hurt him when there was no one else around? "Don't you take my Ada away from me! It's me and him, always – us against the world, like he says! You can't change that now!"

"Of course," said Eomer, halting and turning his head back to look at the boy sympathetically. "I apologize, Caladel; this must have been a traumatic enough day already without being parted from your father now. Follow me and I'll make sure that you both get settled in. Elfhelm and Alfmund, see to your horses and refresh yourselves. Gamling, you have your orders. Everyone else, the excitement is now over – go back to your homes!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

As Legolas and Caladel made their entrance in Edoras, the company that had split up after the two elves had been discovered finally arrived at the rendezvous spot. Admittedly, they should have arrived much earlier but it had been jarring to be separated from their appointed leader and, quite frankly, the second-in-command Léod hadn't been in that much of a hurry to deal with a settlement full of dwarves.

He was regretting his slow pace now, though. Léod cringed internally at the sight that greeted him when they got there: three rather annoyed and agitated dwarves were busy interrogating an almost crazed looking Rohirric captain. "Where have you been?" demanded the captain Forwin, forgoing the usual greeting and pleasantries. Léod couldn't blame him; he probably would have reacted the same way if he'd been left alone with three dwarves – even if one was familiar to them – for so long.

"This lateness is an insult!" boomed one dwarf.

"I'm sorry," Léod apologized profusely. "We were delayed at the River Isen outside of Fangorn Forest, at which point our commander and another of our company had to break from us and depart for Edoras at once."

"We've not heard of any ill news coming from Edoras," noted the second dwarf suspiciously. He turned to the third dwarf. "It sounds as if these Men couldn't be bothered to keep their word to our people, my lord."

Léod looked imploringly at the third dwarf, Lord Gimli of the Glittering Caves. "I beg for your permission to explain the situation fully, master dwarf," the Man said with a bow. "I believe that you'll excuse the impropriety of our late coming after you hear the whole story."

"Let's hear it, then," said Gimli.

"You see," said Léod, "the reason for our late arrival and our commander's absence is of great interest to you personally…"

To be continued…