Review Responses for last week are slightly delayed, but will be up tomorrow night (up to the last review I received before posting this chapter).
Chapter Thirteen: A Momentous Meeting
The morning sun cast odd shadows on the beams of the ceiling. Legolas studied them with interest—since the palace had been built into the mountain he hadn't seen many wooden beams in his life, and certainly none like these.
He sighed, looking down atthe splint that still encased his left arm. He had hated wearing it in Mirkwood because it seemed some sort of oddity to the elves there. Legolas might have been sick at that time, but he could still hear the healers whispering about how strange it was that his arm wasn't healing as quickly as it should be. But the elves here in Rivendell seemed different—at least the ones he'd met last night. Lord Elrond, the elf Ada had talked about, had taken one look at his arm and simply wrapped it up again, saying they would take care of it later.
Legolas wiggled further down in the bed, inching his way until his face was directly in the sunbeam coming from the window. He sighed again, this time more in contentment. The sun seemed brighter here...even warmer.
He could just see the branches of the trees outside, and as he studied them he wondered where Gilfaroth had gone. The older elf had stayed with him all night, but had left in the morning while Legolas was still asleep. Legolas hoped he had gone to find Luni and the others. He was worried about his sisters and all the other elves who had come with them.
The elfling pushed himself up, glancing toward the doorway with a cautious expression. The healers had all told him to rest, but none of them were in the room now. He carefully stood up, holding onto the bed to steady himself, and with shaky steps made it over to the window to look out.
The view nearly took his breath away. The healing room looked out over one of the gardens, and even in late summer it was still in bloom. Above all it was so bright. He could see elves going about between the house and the outbuildings, but none of them were rushed or worried like the elves in Mirkwood.
It was even better than Meluial had said it would be.
Legolas turned around, hearing voices coming up the hall. His eyes widened, an inexplicable fear of being discovered by some strange elf seizing his heart. He didn't have the strength to go anywhere, so he shuffled back over to the bed and ducked down beside it, hoping whoever came into the room wouldn't notice him.
Four or five elves came in, helping a dark-haired one limp over to the other bed.
"I really hope you're pleased with yourself," the injured elf groused.
"Me?" one of the other elves, who looked a lot like the injured elf, laughed. "Whyever would I be? It's not as though I made you step in that rabbit hole."
The injured elf groaned theatrically, throwing an arm over his eyes as the healers bustled about to remove one of his boots and slit his leggings up to his knee.
"I suppose you're right," the injured elf finally said with a sigh. "But please don't tell Ada."
"Oh, I think he'd be interested in this," the other elf replied. "He'd want to know that his beloved son...Elladan the Graceful...broke his ankle by tripping in a rabbit hole."
The injured elf—Elladan—groaned again, lobbing a pillow at the other elf. "Don't you dare tell him!"
"Or you'll do what? Hobble after me?" the other elf laughed gaily, easily ducking the other pillow Elladan launched toward him.
"That's enough," one of the healers snapped. "I'll not have you disturbing the entire wing with your antics."
The two elves meekly complied, the uninjured one picking up the pillows and gently placing them behind Elladan.
Legolas, from his hiding place beside the bed, watched the scene in fascination. The two elves were obviously brothers, but he'd never seen his brothers act that way toward each other. Ceretín and Relfían were similar, but they were cousins. And anyway, these were grown up elves. Why were they acting like elflings?
"Right," the healer sighed, standing up. "I assume you know the directions by now?"
Elladan sighed loudly. "Rest, stay off it, don't exert myself, and whatever I do, don't stand on it just because it's feeling better. Wait until my healer tells me I can." He paused, staring at the healer for a moment. "You know, Elrohir and I are trained as healers, too."
"But that still doesn't give you a bit of common sense," the healer retorted, shaking his head. "Can I trust you to obey me this time?"
The injured elf looked at the healer, and Legolas thought he could see a mischievous grin on his face. "Of course," Elladan said smoothly. Legolas didn't believe his tone a bit—and he knew the healer didn't either.
"At least I tried," the healer muttered, leaving the room.
"I give you three hours," the uninjured elf said merrily.
"I'll be out of here in two," Elladan retorted.
"And Ada will have your hide," the other replied, laughing. "Too bad they put you in this bed...you can't even see out the window."
Legolas stiffened, drawing even further back against the bed as the elf came over to the window. He curled up as tightly as he could, hoping he wouldn't be seen.
It seemed he wouldn't. The elf just looked out window, standing before it for a moment to enjoy the fresh air. "Going rabbit hunting again soon, Elladan?" he asked teasingly.
Elladan growled something, shaking his head.
The other elf laughed, turning to survey the room. His eyes caught Legolas, and the prince froze.
"Hello," the elf said quietly, almost to himself. "Who are you?"
"What?" Elladan called from across the room.
"There's an elfling in here," the other elf said in surprise, kneeling in front of Legolas. "My name is Elrohir. What's yours?"
Legolas bit his lip, quavering for a moment in indecision. He didn't know these elves...but something inside him seemed to say that they were good. They reminded him of Lord Elrond, with the same dark hair and gray eyes, though they were a good bit less intimidating.
"Are you all right?" Elrohir asked, concern coloring his features.
"Legolas," he finally blurted out.
Elrohir's brow wrinkled in confusion, then a broad smile spread across his face. "Your name is Legolas," he said with a kind-sounding laugh. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Legolas."
Legolas managed a timid grin before dropping his eyes to study the floor.
"Are you here from Mirkwood?" Elrohir asked, ducking down to try to meet Legolas' eyes.
The prince nodded. "Ada sent me here," he said softly, sniffing back a tear.
Elrohir gently put a hand on Legolas' good arm. "Who is your father?"
"The king," Legolas replied.
Had he been looking up, he would have seen Elrohir's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "King Thranduil?"
Legolas nodded.
Elrohir chuckled again. "I thought you looked familiar," he said, the smile in his voice making Legolas look up. The older elf's eyes were so bright and merry he couldn't help but smile just a little, and this time his smile stayed on.
"Would you like to meet my brother?" Elrohir asked, indicating the bed where the injured elf lay. "He broke his ankle trying to race me through the garden today, but he'd be very happy to meet you, too."
Legolas couldn't think of anything to say, so he simply nodded and let Elrohir take his hand to lead him over to Elladan.
"I have to warn you," Elrohir said in a loud whisper. "We're twins, so everyone says we're identical. But they all know that I'm the handsome one."
"Don't listen to him," Elladan protested, studying Legolas as the elfling walked over. "I'm the handsome one."
"Very well," Elrohir sighed, helping Legolas up into a chair and sitting down on the edge of his brother's bed. "I would rather be the smart one, anyway."
Legolas couldn't hold in a small giggle as Elladan's mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of some comeback to his twin's insult.
"Legolas," Elrohir said grandly, "this is my brother Elladan. Elladan, this is Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Mirkwood."
Elladan speared his brother with a sharp glare before turning to Legolas. "It is nice to meet you, Legolas," he said.
"Thank you," Legolas said quietly. Watching the twins as they lightheartedly bickered, Legolas couldn't quite keep a real smile from finally spreading across his face.
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The study had fallen uncomfortably silent as Lord Elrond studied the letter Thranduil had sent along with Gilfaroth. The captain's training barely kept him from fidgeting nervously as the elf-lord finally set the letter down and looked up, a thoughtful expression on his face.
"Can you help him?" Gilfaroth finally asked quietly.
"Yes."
The blunt reply wasn't quite what Gilfaroth had expected, and he blinked a few times, unsure of what he'd heard. "You can?" he asked.
The Lord of Imladris looked faintly amused at the captain's flummoxed response. "It is largely up to Prince Legolas and whether he wants to heal, but for my part I can help him."
Gilfaroth nearly collapsed in relief. "Then we're not too late."
Elrond smiled, looking back down at the letter. "I have been expecting something like this for some time," he admitted. He glanced back up, taking in the younger elf's bewildered expression. "The queen sent me a similar letter not long after Legolas was born," he explained.
The Mirkwood captain had begun to ask the elf-lord about Legolas' condition when another elf suddenly burst through the door. "Pardon me, Lord Elrond," the elf apologized, "but there is a large company of elves riding up, and some of them are injured."
Elrond glanced over at Gilfaroth, a concerned expression on his face. "Large company?" he asked, following the other elf out. "How many did you travel with?"
"There were eleven of us, including Legolas," Gilfaroth replied, wondering how nine elves could be considered a large company.
Gilfaroth stopped suddenly as he exited the house, his eyes widening at the chaotic scene in the yard. He could spot some of the green-and-brown-clad elves who had come with him from Mirkwood, and others that were certainly members of the patrol he'd encountered on his way in, but there were also a number of fair-haired, gray-cloaked elves he didn't recognize.
Shaking his head, he slowly approached the crowd, watching as some of the more seriously injured elves were carried into the house on litters. His heart skipped a painful beat when he saw a familiar face among the wounded, but was soon distracted when he heard his name called.
He spun around just in time to catch the she-elf who had flung herself at him, burying her face in his neck and trembling like a leaf.
"Luni?" he asked in concern, pushing his wife back enough to get a good look at her. "Are you all right?"
The princess nodded, brushing at a tear that was escaping her eye. Gilfaroth caught her hand, examining the faded bloodstains on it with a mixture of concern and horror.
"It's not mine," she said quietly. "I was helping Tirá with some of the more severely wounded."
Gilfaroth started at his sister-in-law's name. "Tirá? I thought she was in Lothlorien visiting Tinlith."
"She was," Luinlothiel nodded, gesturing toward a blonde elf-maid who was currently helping one of Elrond's healers look after an injured warrior. "She said she was on her way home when the storms hit, they and turned aside to come to Rivendell rather than risk travelling until the ground has a chance to dry. I guess we were lucky they were there...they saved all of our lives."
The captain sighed, thinking that it was more than luck that brought the Lothlorien company to the pass that night, and gently kissed his wife on the forehead. "Where is Meluial?"
Luinlothiel's smile faded a bit. "I think she already went inside. Brithdil..."
"I saw him," Gilfaroth nodded, wincing at the memory of the younger captain being carried into the house. "He'll be all right," he assured her softly.
"I know," Luni struggled for a moment to regain her composure. "The wound was not serious, but the arrow was poisoned. He's been feverish and...to tell the truth, I think Meluial was afraid he would die."
Gilfaroth sighed, wrapping his arms around his wife and holding her close. "He'll be all right," he said again, confidently. He could feel her shaking as she finally released the tension of the last day, and knew it was only a matter of time before exhaustion caught up with her.
"Excuse me?"
The dark-haired elf looked up, noticing one of Lord Elrond's sons standing just inside the doorway. "Yes?" he asked, wondering which twin this was.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I'm looking for," the elf hesitated, a slightly embarrassed expression on his face. "I'm looking for someone named Luni?"
Luinlothiel pulled away from Gilfaroth, straightening her skirt a bit. "I am she...but my name is Luinlothiel. Who sent you?"
The elf smiled a bit. "Legolas...we heard the company come in and he is a little frantic to see you."
"Oh!" Luinlothiel gasped. "Legolas...I'd better go."
"Luni," Gilfaroth grabbed her arm, glancing down at her mud-spattered clothes and the blood and grime that still clung to her. "You might want to consider cleaning up first."
Luinlothiel looked down, blushing faintly. "Ah, of course."
The elf stepped forward, the hesitant expression still on his face. "Is there any way I can help?"
"I think we can manage," Gilfaroth said, gently steering his wife toward the guestroom he'd been given the night before—which had gone unused as he had spent the night in the healing room with Legolas. "Thank you," he said gratefully, glancing curiously at the elf as he realized he'd never given a name.
"Elrohir," the elf supplied.
"Thank you, Lord Elrohir," Gilfaroth replied. He steadied Luinlothiel as the she-elf suddenly swayed, her exhaustion finally taking hold, and carefully led her into the house.
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The rest of the explanation of Haldir & Company's rather timely appearance in the High Pass is in the next chapter (a certain Lady had something to do with it).
Note:Tirá and Tinlith were both mentioned in Beginnings, and Tinlith was mentioned earlier in this story as having been sent to Lothlorien when she was an elfling. I had already planned this story with Tirá visiting her sister in Lothlorien, though I hadn't been able to work any mention of it in until now. Tirá will not get more than a brief mention in this story, though, since my other OC's have more than enough of the spotlight.