XV
Negotiations
The elves were not prepared. Not for this.
When they rode into the Shadow they expected any moment to meet orcs or wargs - or worse, whatever had awakened in the old fortress, whatever had wounded the Elvenking - but they met nothing but pain. The earth was still and cold. The trees stood bent and blackened under a layer of ashen snow. Only from deep within the soil where the Shadow had pressed their voices, the trees keened in their sorrow.
The elves wanted to mourn with them, but Merilin could not let them linger, and Radagast urged her on. She felt watched. Things moved in the branches and the undergrowth. They must keep moving, she thought, and so they did - deeper into the Shadow to where the tree-voices had died away and the earth barely breathed. They rode past sick marshes Merilin could not remember, over rotting bridges she had vague memories of, though in her mind they were fair and safe, not sighing sorrow and decay beneath every step.
They rode over a meadow that had once been a fair and open place, but even there the sunlight felt diminished, like it could not reach all the way to the ground. Three great stones stood leaning to each other in the middle of it. When they passed, something in the dark crevice between the stones hissed and flashed teeth.
The horses shied. The nearest elves raised their spears, but no one wanted to go close to the stones without knowing what was in there, or from which direction it might strike. They dared not move for a long while.
Merilin glanced at Brand, who rode to her right, and Duneirien to her left. She wished they would take command.
"Leave it", she said at last. "We must go on. Keep on eye on it, but leave it be."
They rode on. The silence was heavy on their shoulders, the air clung sickly to their skin. When they came to the Forest Road their going became easier, but they started to see webs - great gauzy things stretching from tree to tree, with owls and magpies and even foxes dangling stiffly from them, cocooned in white shrouds. None of the webs stretched over the Road, and Radagast took it for a good sign, but he was on edge as much as the elves were.
They were almost more relieved to find evidence that orcs had been there, because orcs they knew how to fight, and there was nothing strange about them. They had cut crude paths straight through the forest; chopped off branches and hacked at roots, left trees bleeding. But they, too, had kept away from the Forest Road, as if they still feared the power left around it. When evening fell the elves made their camp in the middle of the Road. They spread out their bedrolls on the cobbles, because they did not dare to go into the forest.
The next day they found out what made the webs - one of their scouts found it, or rather, he was found. There was a rustle in the branches above the road and a panicked scream, then a shrill hissing cry that was like nothing Merilin had ever heard. Other scouts rushed through the trees; on the ground, Duneirien drew her bow, and shot at something in the dark above her head. The creature fell with a hiss and a click of claws and landed on the road.
It lay wailing and writhing in the snow. Someone leaned to the side and went sick. Merilin felt like she might too.
It was a spider - but spiders cannot get that large. It had eight pale eyes that stared at them and eight legs kicking madly at the air. The blood that oozed from the arrow wound flowed black and thick over the snow.
Duneirien drew her hunting knife and hacked at the soft belly until the legs went still and the spider's eyes rolled back. The scout who had been assaulted came stumbling to the ground, aided by his companions; he was pale and wide-eyed and cradled his arm. Duneirien helped him off with his bracer and tore the sleeve open so she could see the gash.
"Careful", someone said from the shadows. "Most everything about those are poisonous."
They all jumped. Not even the keen-eyed hunters had noted the elf when she came; but now she stood there beside the Road, with her copper hair bound in a thick braid, and a white fur over her shoulders.
Merilin unconsciously laid a hand on the hilt of her sword. "Who are you, and where did you come from?"
"We've been watching you for a while", the elf said. Her eyes were as dark as the Shadow, and when she talked her mouth strained against an old burn scar. As if on cue, other elves became visible in the trees where a moment before there had been nothing.
"Greetings, Ninniach", Radagast said softly, and the copper-haired elf turned to him. "It is good to see you again."
"It is good to see you too, old friend, and so soon."
"Ninniach", Merilin mumbled, and then she finally recognised the elf. "Ninniach - I know you! You were my mother's maid..."
"I know you! Ninniach - Ninniach, my mother's maid..."
"So I was", said the elf with a hint of a smile. "And you are lady Merilin. You have grown since we last met."
And you have changed, Merilin thought. She remembered Ninniach in the old hall, how she sat before the fire and sung over her needlework, and she wondered if Ninniach wanted those days back as much as she did.
"I come on behalf of the Elvenqueen", she said. "I have dire news, and I need to speak to the elves of the shadow-wood. All of them - or as many as possible."
Ninniach nodded gravely. "You are always welcome here, my lady."
"Would the elves listen? Would they gather if I asked them to?"
"Whether they would listen or not is up to you", Ninniach said. "They are already gathering. We have not held council for many years, but now we must, for the Shadow is on the march. Come. They will gather in the old hall, and you may stay in our settlement until then."
Legolas stood in the entrance hall and watched a pile of fire-wood grow bigger and bigger in his arms. The foresters had brought in a storm-felled beech that morning, and over a dozen elves were engaged in cutting and hewing it, splintering smaller branches into kindling and turning bigger ones into neat pieces of fire-wood. Lindir helped too, but Legolas was considered too young for the axe, so he'd been given the honorary task of carrying the fire-wood downstairs to the store-rooms.
There was another one the elves thought too young to chop fire-wood, and that was Tilwine. He had already proved hopeless with a sword and no one trusted him to be any better with the axe. Expect, of course, Tilwine himself. Even though he was a guest and did not have to help at all, he had insisted on it, and the elves eyed him anxiously every time he raised the axe.
Tilwine laughed at them. "What do you expect? That I will cut my own hands off? I am one of the best swordsmen in Aldburg!"
"Then the swordsmen of Aldburg must be a sad lot", the elves replied. "Or perhaps there are only swordswomen."
"Ye gods, people! Scead, tell them I can actually chop wood without killing myself."
Scead, who sat beside Ninneth on a bench and held her distaff while she spun yarn, shook his head. "I would not bet as much as a boot strap on it. You are a fine warrior, Tilwine, but you haven't done much household duties in your life."
"Then perhaps you should make yourself useful and show us how it's supposed to be done."
"No, no, no!" the elves said. "Scead is not well yet, he must not strain himself."
Scead made a face and looked sadly at his distaff, as if he wished it would have been an axe instead. A couple days ago he had seemed to be recovering, but then he had fallen sick again, and while Tilwine had been sparring with the warriors and had snow-ball fights on the courtyard, Scead had only watched. Now he was better, but he had not been able to go to Netherford and get hired as a mercenary with Tilwine.
"At least let me carry this", he said, and relieved Legolas of half his armful of fire-wood. "I cannot stand to be still any more. Forgive me, Ninneth, but I must use my hands for something."
They took the fire-wood to the store-room outside the kitchen, and Legolas stood on a chair and piled the pieces that Scead handed him in neat rows. It was hot down there as usual and the smell of grilled fish and baked potatoes filled their noses.
"You are very quiet today, Legolas", Scead said as they worked. "Lost in thought, are you?"
"Mm."
"Something troubling you?"
Legolas shook his head, standing on the tip of his toes to reach. "I need... I want to get out of Rivendell. Not far, only to the river. But I'm not allowed to go there."
"No one is. Not with the goblins about."
"But no one's even seen the goblins!"
"Why is it so important?"
"Nothing", Legolas said, but it was not true. He should have met Quick-wing by the river Bruinen three days ago, but he had not been able to get out. By now the sparrow-hawk must be wondering if he was alright. Perhaps he would fly into Rivendell, and the black bird would get him.
"I wonder how long we'll have to stay inside."
"Not too long, surely", Scead said. "I'm starting to feel closed in too. As soon as the goblins are gone, maybe we can ride out - I am sure the elves will be glad to show us around the lands."
But 'soon' seemed to take an eternity to come. Glorfindel still kept twice as many guards around Rivendell as usual, and Legolas was not even allowed to go to the fourth stream without company.
He did try to sneak out once, but to no avail. He got as far as to where the southern path met the cliff-wall, all the way across the valley and on the other side as the forest, but once there he realised there was simply no getting out unnoticed, not while there was a guard there. The ground levelled just below the cliff, and the trees ended, and there was absolutely no place to hide. He thought he might persuade the guard to let him pass - but with so many elves headed south with the twins, there was not enough regular guards for the double watches, and it was Echail who stood there where the path began its zig-zag ascent out of the valley. Some of his friends had decided to keep him company too; Tilwine and a couple of elves were joking around with practise swords a little ways down the slope.
Legolas was about to back away, but then he stopped. If he didn't at least try he would have failed Tinuhen. So he asked Echail, as politely as he ever could, if the valley was still closed, or if he could pass.
"Of course it is still closed", Echail said and leaned sulkily on his spear. It seemed he would much rather be over by his friends. "As you very well know."
"I thought, since the goblins aren't here - "
"We do not know that yet."
"It's important - "
Echail sighed. "Of course it is. Everything you do is very important. Are you talking to birds again?"
"No", Legolas said and felt his face heating. He shouldn't feel ashamed, but he could not help it.
"Then go away. You are wasting my time."
Legolas scowled at him. He'd known it was no use, but Echail didn't have to be so mean about it. He raised his chin. "What time am I wasting anyway? All you do is stand here and admire Tilwine's golden hair."
"You little -!"
It was Echail's turn to blush. He gripped his spear so tightly Legolas thought it best to back away. That was that, then, he thought when he walked back down the path and in between the trees. Quick-wing would have to wait.
If only there was some other way he could help. If only he could have figured out who the traitor might be, or something else of importance; but though Legolas had been with the noldor for several weeks now, there was not a single one that felt like a traitor. Before he got to know them he had thought it could be anyone, but now he was not so sure.
But if no one could be the traitor, but someone had to be - then that meant again it could be anyone. And that meant that Legolas had either to trust everyone, or no one at all.
His best bet, Legolas thought, was to get to know as many elves as possible, and listen to their gossip and their stories, because maybe he could figure out that way who might have a reason to betray Greenwood - and lord Elrond. So he helped the stable-boys and the kitchen-maids, and he fletched arrows with the hunters and helped with the preparations for Midwinter and Yule, until he was almost as familiar around Rivendell as he was around the Mountain at home. The elves taught him the secrets of the House - hidden doors and short-cuts, built so laundry and chamber pots could be brought downstairs without being noticed by the highborn - and Legolas memorised everything they said, from the arts of cooking to politics and etiquette. The noldor, even the lowborn, talked much more about politics than the wood-elves did, but somehow it was not so hard to understand when it came from the mouth of a kitchen-maid.
One afternoon, ten days before Midwinter, Legolas followed Lindir and Ninneth to the Hall of Artefacts and they waited together outside the carved oaken doors until Erestor turned up with the key. Legolas doubted he'd find the traitor in the library, but if Erestor knew as much as everyone said he did, maybe something of it could be of importance. And Legolas had to admit, though he would never tell Tinuhen, that he was a bit curious about the library.
Erestor seemed glad to have him there. His eyes gleamed when he turned the silver key around in its lock.
"Behold", he said and pushed the doors open. "The magnificent library of Rivendell!"
It was a room... with books. Legolas had expected something more special, something splendid and magical that fit behind locked doors - but a room with books was all that it was. A fine room, of course, bright and airy with plenty of armchairs, and deep-set windows were one could sit in private under silver chandeliers. The rest were shelves. Shelves upon shelves upon shelves, all filled with books - green books and red books, black books and brown books, large and small, most old and some new. There was a book so big Legolas doubted he could lift it, and some that were locked behind thick glass.
Erestor smiled and breathed in the scent of leather and parchment. Then he clapped his hands together. "So - what do you think?"
"Uh", Legolas said. "There's... a lot of books."
"Oh, yes. There is a lot of books", Erestor said. He had stars in his eyes. "I have spent many years collecting them. No one writes as many books now as they used to, so most of these are old, and some are the last of their kind. They are from Gondolin, from Númenor, from Doriath and Rhûn. And two, only two, and they are locked away - I can show you, if you are interested. They were written in Valinor and brought to Middle Earth over Helcaraxë."
"What are they all about?"
Erestor laughed. "Everything from the Wars of the Silmarils to the art of paper folding. For several years now I have tried to convince lord Círdan to give up The Family Ties of Upper Tirion, an undamaged original - not that the book itself is important, but the subject - and the age - and the condition - which the sea winds of the Havens will completely ruin if..."
"Erestor", Lindir said in a tone that clearly said he'd heard about The Family Ties of Upper Tirion one too many times.
Erestor sighed. "Forgive me, young ones. One day lord Círdan may see reason, but until then, I shall not complain. We are not here, actually, to talk about books. Come!"
And Erestor led them to the back of the library, where there were two doors. Behind one of them (the other was locked, which Legolas found out when Erestor wasn't looking) was a smaller room stuffed with heaps and rolls and stacks of parchment and paper. Erestor asked Ninneth to light the fire and the others to get comfortable on the hearth rug while he searched through a barrel of rolled-up maps. The one he finally spread out over the floor, and secured with small brass weights at the corners, showed the Wild. There were the Misty Mountains to the far left, with a tiny red arrow pointing to the House of Elrond at the very edge of the map. Then came Anduin, all the way down to the northern eaves of Lórien, and Greenwood the Great, stretching proudly over a large portion of the map, and finally Dale and the Iron Hills, and another arrow pointing past the right edge of the map and marked Rhûn.
"You already know this map, of course", Erestor said, "but I thought you might be interested in seeing where Legolas' companions are, and where Elladan and Elrohir have camped. Ninneth, your father is with them, is he not?"
"Yes."
"Our elves are here", Erestor said and pointed to a mountain almost at the northern edge of Lothlorien. Caradhras it said in letters small enough to have been written by a mouse. "This is the way they have taken - here is where the pass over the Gladden River goes. If the Dimrill Stair is unbreachable they may take that way to reach the wood-elves."
"But that's closer to Rivendell", Legolas said. "Why don't Beren take that pass?"
"It is not well known", Erestor said, "and of all places in the mountains it will please wood-elves the least. The sons of Elrond know the way though, and it is a last resort. And this - " he moved his finger to the eastern side of the mountains, no further than a day's ride from the twins - "is where Beren ought to be. The Dimrill Stair starts about here, and leads up the side of Caradhras, through the pass we call the Redhorn Gate. Not a pleasant road that, either."
No, it did not look a pleasant road. Caradhras was an ominous name, and there was not an elf in the world that did not know about the balrog the dwarves woke in Moria. The Redhorn Gate was where Celebrían had been attacked. Legolas did not like the thought of his friends stuck up there, but it was close to Lórien, and although father said the tree-people rarely cared what happened outside their borders maybe they would help their own kin.
Erestor spread a new map, a freshly made one with startlingly black ink on almost white parchment, over the first. It showed the kingdom of Rohan. Erestor pointed out Aldburg where Tilwine had served King Eorl, and where Scead also had lived though not as a warrior, and then they talked about Eorl the Young and how he won Calenadhorn from the wildmen, and the move of the éoréd from their lands in the north. Erestor told it like a story, not an account. His hands moved like bird's wings when he spoke, and his eyes shone, and Legolas could almost see the fair-haired riders as they came over the green hills, their round shields held high, blood staining their swords. In his mind they were tall and proud like Tilwine, and he was there, riding at the side of Eorl the Young, like in the war-songs he liked to sing in the Hall of Fire.
It darkened while Erestor spoke, and when they left the library the chandeliers had been lit in the Hall of Artefacts, and the helmet of Legolas of Gondolin glinted. Legolas glanced out the windows. The twilight sky was a dark velvet blue, but still brighter to the west. The stars were coming out. Two elves stood guard by the southern bridge, armour glinting in the light of their own torches.
"What is that?" Ninneth asked suddenly. She was looking out too, and her sharp eyes had caught something moving at the edge of the forest. As the others strained to see it it came hastily closer, past the torches of the sentinels and into the light spilling through the windows of the house.
It was a horse. It halted in a flurry of snow before the front stair, stumbling under the weight of two riders - one held tightly in the other's arms, slumping against his chest. It was too dark to see their faces, but they wore elven armour. Higher up on the mountainside, where the southern path led down into the valley, a row of torches had appeared.
"Maybe it's Beren", Legolas said, but Erestor shook his head.
"It is too soon. I wonder if - by the Valar, is it the twins?"
When Legolas looked down again he realised it must be. At that distance there was no way he could tell them apart, but he saw the foremost of them being lifted off the horse by the bridge guards, though once on the ground he could stand with their arms under his. The other dismounted and moved to stand by himself with his arms around his lean frame. Lord Elrond came down the stair. When he led his stumbling son into the house, the other followed like a shadow.
Erestor left the window and Legolas, Lindir and Ninneth hurried after him to the entrance hall, where a crowd had already gathered and Glorfindel was barking our orders to prepare the stables and the healing ward. Legolas had never seen him so upset. When Erestor asked what was happening, Glorfindel's voice broke in withheld anger.
"We were wrong about the goblins."
"Yes?"
"They left these parts of the mountains long ago." Glorfindel paced by the open doors and it seemed to take all his willpower not to punch something very hard. Erestor was the only one who dared to stand in the line of fire. "They went south."
"South", Erestor repeated - then he paled. "Valar have mercy - they attacked..."
"Elladan is injured. Others, too, but none too seriously - or so Elrohir said. We lost a few horses."
"And Elrohir?"
"He would not say much. His eyes said enough. To be honest I do not know how he led the elves home on his own - not without Elladan, not from that place. I did not think he had it in him."
Legolas was almost afraid to ask with the elf-lord in this mood, but he had to. "What about the wood-elves?"
Glorfindel's face softened, and he stopped pacing. "Elrohir though it safe enough to leave them. They killed nearly all the goblins and found no signs of others in the area."
"But you don't know."
"No", Glorfindel said gravely. "We do not know."
They waited. The stars came out and still the torches wandered slowly down the cliffside, the foremost ones glinting now and then among the trees. Glorfindel sent elves out to meet them, and soon the first riders came over the southern bridge, and some were laid on stretchers and carried off to the healing ward. Most elves were not so badly wounded, and could walk on their own.
They did not see lord Elrond again, but Echail was there helping elves off their horses. His eyes were downcast and he limped worse than ever, as if some memory made the old injury pain him like when it was new. Ninneth ran off to search for her father. Arwen talked soothingly to a young warrior who could not stop shaking. Legolas and Lindir helped to take care of the horses; they were stumbling with weariness, wide-eyed with fear and shying at the smell of blood and steel. Legolas' own heart was pounding. If something did happen to Beren, they would have nowhere to go.
Eventually things calmed down. The horses were calmed, rubbed down and watered, the wounded elves taken care of, and the rest had their scratches and bruises cleaned and were sent to the Hall of Fire where the others had gathered. Glorfindel passed a bottle of míruvor around, and when everyone had had a sip they felt well enough to tell more about the goblin-raid.
"We'd been there a couple of days when it happened", one of them began. "It took us some three days to reach the pass and since then all we did was hauling stones. I've never seen so many stones. It's like someone's deliberately tried to block the Stair."
Legolas pulled his legs up under him. Maybe, he thought, it was.
"The day before it happened, we could hear the wood-elves on the other side, and they heard us. We knew there was still several day's of work before us, and it was too far to shout, but that day we worked harder than ever, and when evening came we were exhausted."
Glorfindel's eyes were like flint. "So you let your guard down."
The elves shifted uncomfortably and mumbled that maybe, possibly, they had let their guard down a little.
"All of us were at the smaller camp", one of them said. "It wasn't the most sheltered of places. The goblins came from above, and scaled the cliffs not far from us. There was a heavy snow-fall. We couldn't see anything."
"How many might they have been?" another asked aloud. "Twenty, thirty? With such small numbers I'd say they didn't know we were elves."
"Perhaps they thought you were companions of Scead and I", Tilwine suggested. "If these are the same goblins we met, maybe they thought others must be nearby and that they might have gold."
Glorfindel nodded his agreement. "That would explain why we have seen their tracks so close to our borders. They were looking for kin to you, and when they heard of our elves moving south, they thought it must be it. So how many did you kill, and how many escaped?"
The elves looked at each other.
"I daresay only two or three escaped", one said.
"No, no", said another. "There were more. And there was the big one that went for Elladan - he had some sort of cloak on. Elrohir set after him but I don't think he ever got him."
"He didn't", said Ninneth's father. He was short and lean like his daughter, but had cunning eyes. "The one in the cloak got away. He had a body-guard. Even Elrohir realised it was too dangerous to pursue."
"A big goblin in a cloak", Erestor said. "Did you see any such goblin, Tilwine?"
"Uh", Tilwine said.
"I did", said Scead. "I saw him. A velvet cloak - purple I think, though it was hard to tell under all that dirt. Obviously stolen. Their leader, no doubt."
"Some kind of lowly war-lord", Glorfindel mused. "Might have thought you were merchants heading for Netherford, with gold and wares. Hopefully it is nothing more than that, and all we hear of goblins this winter."
Legolas wrapped his arms around him and hoped that Glorfindel was right, but deep inside he knew it wasn't so. The Stair being blocked, the goblins attacking just as the elves were getting closer to each other, the traitor and that secret meeting - somehow those were pieces of the same puzzle, and Legolas was perhaps the only one who had them all. If only he had known what to do with them. If only he had been braver and more clever. If only Tinuhen had been in Rivendell, and Legolas in the mountains, where he did not have to do everything on his own.
"Here", Scead said and squeezed his shoulder. "Are you worried for your father? Beren, was that his name?"
Legolas buried his face in his arms and didn't answer. What he wanted to say was, no, Beren's not my father, because my father is the Elvenking and he is in danger too and no one tells me about it, because they don't think it matters, and they don't know anything anyway; but I'm worried for my brother Tinuhen, and I'm tired, so tired of lying.
But he didn't say it. It was too dangerous.
The twins did not turn up for dinner, nor did they turn up for breakfast the next day. Legolas learned from Lindir that Elladan was still in the healing ward and that Elrohir refused to leave his side. Maybe he could not stand to be out among people without his brother at his side.
But most other elves had left the healing ward come morning, and breakfast was noisy and cheerful. The warriors bragged about kills they'd made and back-stabs they'd avoided, the others teased them for being taken by surprise, and only Echail was unusually quiet. Legolas did not want to listen to them. He did not want to think about goblins.
He spent the morning in the old oak in the garden, hiding like when he had just arrived in Rivendell. When he grew tired of watching people walk past, he fetched Tales from Doriath from his room and thought to sit in the Hall of Artefacts and read; but the library doors were open and lady Arwen sat outside them. She had two piles of books beside her, and seemed to have been in the middle of sorting them when she lost herself in one. Legolas didn't want to bother her. He went to the only other part of the house where it was always quiet - the healing ward.
It was a long corridor, with doors on both sides and a great window at the far end that let in the sunlight. Two elves in pale blue robes stood talking under the window, one with an armful of neatly folded linens and the other with a basket of dried herbs. As so often in Rivendell most doors stood open, but one of them was almost closed and lord Elrond stood outside it, with a foot in the opening to keep it from shutting completely.
"Elrohir, dear, I beg you..."
"I said no", came Elrohir's voice from the other side.
"Your brother can be without you for ten minutes. Please, Elrohir, for his sake - you must..."
Legolas backed away. He was desperately curious, but he had no right to listen. He thought lord Elrond would give up, but after a long while there was the sound of a door closing, and when lord Elrond turned the corner Elrohir walked behind him. The younger elf looked like he had not slept since he returned last night, nor had he changed clothes, and he could hardly have washed. Lord Elrond tried to put a hand around his son's shoulders, but Elrohir shrugged it off.
Legolas waited until they were out of sight, then slipped into the healing ward. The door was closed again, and when he knocked, only silence answered him.
"It's me", he said. "Are you awake?"
There was a deep sigh. "Go away."
Legolas hesitated. He had not planned this at all. He was not even sure what he was doing.
"But..."
"I'm tired."
Nervously he pressed Tales from Doraith to his chest. It gave him an idea.
"I, uh... I thought you wanted something to read", he said to the closed door. "I have a book."
Elladan was quiet again. Then: "Thank you, Legolas, but Elrohir will be back soon."
"Yes, but..."
"Besides, Arwen already promised me to fetch me a book." A moment later he confessed: "That was a while ago."
"Maybe she forgot."
Elladan sighed, as if he had no strength to argue. "Very well then. Come on in."
Legolas pushed the door open and looked inside with the book clutched to his chest. It was a small room, and very sparse, but the window was large and let in the afternoon light. Elladan half-sat against a pile of pillows. He was pale and hollow-eyed, and bandages were visible through the un-tied neck-slit of his linen shirt. An embroidered blanket was thrown over his legs.
"Do not stand there in the doorway", he said, nodding at the empty chair beside the bed. Legolas sat down on the edge of the chair and noted with fascination the various scars in different stages of healing and fading that covered Elladan's arms and shoulders. There were many scarred warriors in Greenwood, but few as badly as Elladan.
"Is Elrohir coming back?"
"Sooner or later. Once he has washed and changed. Maybe eaten, if father can make him." At first it seemed that was all Elladan was going to say, but then he must have decided that since Legolas was there, they could as well talk. "Let me see that book, then, will you? I have never seen this one. Where did you get it?"
"Hawn gave it to me. The ranger, you know."
"I know him. Huh. Tales from Doriath... have you read all of them?"
"Almost."
"Which ones haven't you read?"
Legolas took the book back and flipped through it. "This one... The Thief in the Wine-Cellar. And the last one."
Elladan shifted slightly so he could peer over Legolas shoulder, but it seemed to hurt him, and he lay back against the pillows with a grimace. "If ever you have to battle goblins, Legolas, watch for the little sneaky ones. They are fond of poisoned daggers."
"You've been poisoned?"
"It hurts more than it kills", Elladan assured him. He gestured for Tales from Doriath, and Legolas gave it to him. They sat in silence for a while, Elladan looking through the book and Legolas watching the floral pattern on the wall and thinking about nothing in particular. Elrohir did not return.
"Have you read this one?" Elladan asked. "Amdir the Archer. There's a dragon on the picture."
"Yeah. It's one of the best."
"I am not really in the mood to read", Elladan said. "Too tired, and my head hurts. But since you offered to keep me company, little one, I have a suggestion."
"I'm not little!"
"Yes you are", Elladan said and smiled briefly. "You are shorter than Lindir. Do you want to hear the suggestion or not?"
"I do."
"If you read to me", he held the book up, "then I'll do something for you, something you want - I don't know what it should be, but - "
"Archery!" Legolas burst out. "You can teach me some archery, right? I already practise at home but mother says it's good to learn from different people, and you're an archer!"
"Well, so I am", Elladan said and blinked. "I... uh, I suppose I could teach you some."
"Though... I don't read very fast."
"Doesn't matter. I can listen slowly."
"That doesn't make any sense."
Elladan smiled again. For a moment - a very brief moment - Legolas thought he could imagine how the elf had been once, before his mother was captured by the orcs. Then he remembered something.
"If I do something else for you", he said, "would you do something else for me?"
"Like what?"
"I want to see what it looks like outside Rivendell", Legolas said. "I want to go to the river, at least. But I can't go there now, with the goblins and all - but you're a warrior. If you followed maybe Erestor would take me there, with Lindir and Ninneth, because he said he wanted to. If you protected us..."
"Oh", Elladan said. "I am... not very fond of leisure rides with lots of people. I would rather not go."
Legolas' heart sank. "I see."
Elladan was quite a while. Then he tilted his head to the side. "There is one thing that might make this whole being poisoned business feel a bit better. If - if - you could bring me that I would definitely owe you a ride. Elrohir and I know some of the merchants at Netherford's Midwinter market, and our father has asked us to go this year. Some herbs and medicines you can only find if you know who to ask. That would be something to see, I believe."
"I'd love to see market!"
"Yes, I think you would. It would be a rather long ride, too. But... it won't be easy for you to get hold of what I want."
"I can try."
"It might be dangerous."
"I'm not scared."
"You are a brave young elf", Elladan said gravely. "Do you know where lord Elrond has his chambers? In the first room, in the rose-wood sideboard under the tapestry with Ëarendil - you'll see it - there's a small collection of Dorwinion wine. Small bottles, a dark red wine. There's a star on the label. Maybe you know it."
"I know it. Father drinks it a lot."
"I cannot blame him", Elladan said. "It's become very hard to come by now, what with all the political troubles in Dorwinion. My father is very sparse with them."
"So..." Legolas narrowed his eyes. "You want me to steal one, then?"
"I am his son, so it is not stealing", Elladan said. "More like borrowing. And if you do get caught - not that I think you will, wood-elf as you are - I will make sure you do not get into trouble. All the blame will be on me."
Legolas did not even hesitate. He needed to get out of Rivendell and if that meant he had to steal invaluable wine from an elf-lord, so be it. He could be brave for his friends. And he was, like Elladan said, a wood-elf.
"All right", he said. "I'll get you a bottle. Then you take me to the Midwinter market. Deal?"
"Deal", Elladan said. "And you read me a story now and I show you some archery later." He gave the book to Legolas, open on the page where Amdir the Archer began. "If you say this one is the best, I want to hear it."
The story was a long one, and since Legolas did not read very fast, he had not come halfway when Elrohir returned. But Elrohir did not say anything.
He only sat down on the foot of the bed and listened until the story was finished, and by then Elladan was sleeping.
I made a slight change that none of you will notice, but Tilwine and Scead aren't from Edoras as I wrote in the last chapter, since Edoras isn't built yet. Aldburg was the capital of Rohan while Eorl the Young ruled it and that's where they come from. I'll change it in the previous chapter one day when I don't feel lazy. Which is never..
I hope you still like the story, the chapters keep getting slowly but steadily longer and I just hope the pacing doesn't get too slow. Thank you for reading, please review! :)