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Two weeks later Gandalf and Erestor were on their way
to Greenwood, nearing
the point where the path from Lorien to Imladris would split off from the one
that lead to Thranduil’s realm..
“I still don’t see why I cannot return to Imladris
from here!” Erestor would not give up.
“Because you are Lord Elrond’s best counselor. He
would never forgive me if anything happened to you. Besides I am not willing to
cross these mountains thrice when once would be enough.” Gandalf explained for
the umpteenth time. He could see how the fierce balrog-slayer lost his temper:
Erestor could be utterly stubborn, insistent to a nearly childish degree. Any
person less patient had to grow angry sooner or later.
“I even have a sword to defend myself!” Erestor held
up the weapon that had been forced upon him at Lothlorien when the elves there had learned Glorfindel
would ride ahead.
“A sword you declined to know the proper use of.”
Gandalf snorted.
“I know well how to wield it. All I said was that It
had been yeni since I last did so.” Came the indignant reply.
“I know. Why else would you wear the braids of a
warrior, hmmm?”
“Oh!” Erestor cried out in the realization he had been
tricked. Gandalf laughed good-naturedly.
For the sake of endless hours of lore to listen to
Erestor gave in eventually. Every night Gandalf had told him the most forgotten
tales with such accuracy and a richness of atmosphere that Erestor had almost
seen the scenery described.
Four days later they arrived at the borders of old Greenwood forest.
They made camp and next morning Gandalf rose very early “I want you to stay
here. Better if Thranduil does not see you. I shall be back before sundown and
we will ride then.”
~~~
Erestor sighed. At least he would be alone and could
take a bath in the creek close-by. He watched Gandalf as the wizard galloped
into the deep dark woods but felt no relief. Suddenly Erestor felt the need to
have that sword close-by. After all they were rather close to Dol Guldur and
who could tell what evil sneaked around? So he dragged the long sword along
with him as he headed to the cold clear rivulet.
The feel of the weapon in his hand sparked old memories.
Until the end of the Last Alliance he had been a fierce warrior. He had
slaughtered so many orcs and wargs and other nameless dark creatures that it
sufficed for eternity and a day. Then, after he had been caught by the enemy
Erestor had never again felt the need to wield a sword. Erestor had been happy
with his uneventful life at Imladris, at the side of Elrond whom he had pledged
allegiance when the Peredhel had still been a youth.
Erestor dried his alabaster-white skin, marred with
the vicious scars of his imprisonment. How long it had really been he could not
tell. His memory was mercifully blurred and he never understood how he had
managed to survive at all. He should have died...
Because he was loath to expose his ugly body to
others, Erestor usually stayed inside, at least as long as it was too warm to
be in the open in his concealing robes. The sun that saw him was usually the
pale, cool light of winter. So his body was eerily pale, very different from
that of most elves who usually enjoyed being in the open.
The dark-haired counselor sighed: the heavy boots
Elrond had given him in combination with the uneven grounds of nature had
aggravated his feet and he had several sore spots. Luckily he had some healing
salve with him to apply. Over the yeni he had grown accustomed to the gnarled,
crippled form of his feet. In the beginning it had been hard to look at or
touch himself. He cold clearly understand why nobody wanted to bed him.
Still: Glorfindel’s shocked stare had hurt!
Once finished with his personal hygiene Erestor packed
his small bundle and readied
his horse. All he could do now was waiting.
~~~
“So Lady Galadriel has found an adequate
foster-family. I am glad, my youngest son is almost too old to be given into
the care of a foster-family.” Thranduil had just finished reading Galadriel’s
letter in which she had told King Thranduil – rather vaguely – that she had
finally managed to find a foster-family with the appropriate means to raise the
King’s youngest son. “I have only returned a few days ago. This must have come
very suddenly.”
“I suppose the Lady Galadriel had been busy with
matters of greater concern and since I had business around the area, she came
up with the request of me escorting the young one to his designated
foster-home.” Gandalf sat in a comfortable chair in a smaller hall,
puffing his pipe and sipping from a goblet of dark red wine.
“Then come, let us catch the little whirlwind!” Elf
and wizard walked into the gardens, discussing the situation of Greenwood and the
growing shadow in the south of the wood-realm when an arrow struck Gandalf’s
back. Luckily it was only a harmless child’s arrow. A fair-haired elfling came
descending from a tree nearby.
“Ada! >Ada, did you
see that?”
“Aye. You shot our guest of honor, ion-nin!” Thranduil
said with mock seriousness.
Bright azure eyes looked up at Gandalf “You are
Mithrandir.” He said matter-of-factly.
“Aye, pen-neth. And you must be Legolas. You are the
reason for my visit.” Gandalf smiled warmly. The elfling was indeed a quicksilver-like
sweet creature. But upon mentioning this, the elfling’s face darkened.
“Mithrandir has come to bring you to your
foster-family, ion.” Thranduil said solemnly.
“But, Ada...”
“We discussed this more than once. It is our way,
Legolas. You need to learn duty and obligation prior to ruling and that you
will learn not within the borders of our realm.”
“Aye.”
“Now, go and have your nanny help you pack. We await
you ready in one hour.” Thranduil sent his son off and sighed. “It is never
easy to send your children away, Mithrandir. And this one is very dear to me.”
“He seems to be a very bright childe indeed. He will
be loved and cherished, my Lord King.”
“Do you have children, Mithrandir?”
“Errmm….nay…..I…..I never had the opportunity.” Gandalf
was strangely flustered. The concept of parenthood had been another alien idea
but whenever he visited the peoples of Middle-Earth and he saw how they
cherished their offspring the wizard wondered what it would be like, to create
a new life, to raise it, to love it. Were those people then not like Iluvatar
in their creation of new life? Yet to procreate was not only forbidden for
them, Manwe had made sure that the wizards’ bodies were sterile. He himself
would never know what parenthood would be like. He had no time for that anyway.
“Maybe some late luck will come to you one day?”
Thranduil mused.
Gandalf laughed warmly. “Nay, my Lord King, that I
seriously doubt. My schedule is too tightly packed to find the time to raise a
child. Yet I do enjoy their presence from time to time.”
“That is good to know. I would have worried if my son
had to travel with some grumpy old man who felt pestered by him.” Thranduil
stated dryly.
“Oh, don’t you worry! I am known to be very patient.”
Gandalf lit a pipe as they walked about.
“I was told so before...”
“I got word that you have met with the Lord of
Imladris to negotiate the joining of your forces?” Gandalf said slowly.
“Elrond!” Thranduil snorted. “I’d rather swallow my
tongue and scratch out my own eyes ere I would meet with him!”
Gandalf was taken aback at the sudden outburst. How
could such old hate still feel so fresh?
“The Peredhel had been wise enough to send a
negotiator instead. I do see the need to join our forces, yet I am more than
loathe to meet this elf eye to eye.” Gandalf watched Thranduil’s hands close to
fists again and again. If elves among themselves could not overcome their old
grudges, how should one expect them to work together with men and dwarves?
“You need to overcome this old discord, my Lord. I can
see that only if ALL free people of Middle-Earth unite their forces we will
finally succeed. There will not be room for old personal problems.” Gandalf
ventured.
“I think I am more than cooperative accepting anybody
from Imladris.” Thranduil muttered.
“That one lives there does not laden him or her with a
flaw. Even Glorfindel of Gondolin found refuge there after the war and I would
say that he is beyond doubt of flawless conduct.”
“Aye, he is. Mithrandir, this is a fruitless
conversation and I remember we’ve had it quite a few times before. Let us not
dwell on it until my mood is spoiled.” Thranduil firmly stopped the discussion.
“You must admit that I still have to try – I am such a
stubborn old man, you know.” Gandalf emptied his pipe and stuffed it back into
the small space in his staff
that usually carried the pipe.
“Indeed, that is well-known of you!” Thranduil
chuckled.
~~~
The lanky elfling named Legolas proudly rode his own
pony to the camp the three travelers made by nightfall. While Erestor kindled a
fire the young one walked with Gandalf to gather more wood for the fire.
“I wonder, now that you are to live in a new family,
are you scared, little one?”
“Nay.” Legolas said proudly, picking up another dead
branch.
“Oh, then you are a brave little elfling!”
“I am a prince of Mirkwood, I am not supposed to be a
coward.” The young elf said with incredible dignity. In fact it was so intense
that Gandalf bit his cheeks to keep from laughing.
“Well, when I was to be alone for the first time I was
scared to death. And although I denied that, everybody knew - because everybody older than me had already
made that experience.” Gandalf said casually, eying the lithe creature sharply.
Legolas had gotten the hint, it seemed, he was silent
and chewed on his lower lip until they returned to the camp. Erestor had
already set up a kettle to boil water for some tea. Gandalf handed out cold
roast from the Mirkwood-supplies and they soon felt comfortable and pleasantly
tired. Erestor offered to take the first watch and Gandalf agreed, making
himself comfortable near the campfire.
A slight tug woke him. To his surprise it was not
Erestor who would wake him at the end of the watch but young Legolas. “What is
it, pen-neth?”
“Can I sleep here?”
“Oh, of course! Come, little-one.” Gandalf lifted his
blanket and the sweet little elfling snuggled up against the old wizard who placed
a small kiss onto the
sweet smelling hair of the small
elven-childe. Gandalf had always been especially enamored with the Firstborn
and to hold the small frame close to him
was something that warmed his heart in a way only few things managed. Wrapping
and arm around the lean form they both fell asleep and were not disturbed until
sunrise.
TBC...
