Post by Admin on Jan 6, 2021 19:00:31 GMT
Author: Karri Neves
Summary: The quest for an apple leads elfling Legolas on an unlooked for adventure.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: The characters and places of the Lord of the Rings are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien, and currently licensed to New Line Cinema. All original characters and situations belong to the author. No slash expressed or implied at any time in any of my stories.
It is unbetad, so I apologize in advance for the inevitable errors.
Rating: G
“Baranwen, please, may I have an apple?” Legolas tugged on the sleeve of a maiden shelling hazelnuts just inside the kitchen doorway.
Finishing the last of them, she tousled the elfling’s hair in acknowledgement, and then gathered her baskets and rose from her stool. As she drifted away, Baranwen murmured distractedly, “Not right now, little one. I need to mince these for the next batch of sweetmeats.”
Legolas frowned as she disappeared into the kitchen’s bustling throng and then scanned other nearby faces, searching for one that would not shoo him away. Everyone was busy preparing for that evening’s winter feast, but he finally spotted a potential collaborator rolling out pastry shells at the far end of a nearby table.
Carefully weaving his way to the elf maiden’s side, he tugged quite politely on her sleeve and whispered, “Miriel?”
The elf maiden glanced up and smiled, but then said, “The kitchen’s no place for you today, young one.”
“Please, may have an apple?” his small voice and large eyes beseeched in reply.
“Nay, child,” she answered, her expression dropping into an apologetic frown. “I am sorry, but all the apples have been put into the pastries already.”
Hunching his shoulder, Legolas sighed woefully.
Miriel’s lips twitched with something between sympathy and amusement. “There may be a few left in the barrel; why do you not go and see.”
“Oh, yes!” Legolas agreed eagerly. “I did not think to go the cellar.”
He smiled brightly and waved a merry farewell. Returning the wave, the maiden grinned in amusement as the little prince ducked and swerved his way out of the kitchen.
oOoOoOoOoOo
“Galion!”
At the bellowing of his name, King Thranduil’s butler glanced up and replied, rather peevishly, “What is it this time, Aeglos?”
The elf in question opened his mouth to answer, thought for moment, and closed his mouth again. As Galion glared expectantly, the elf made another attempt, but no words came. Finally, after a helpless shrug of his shoulders and incredulous shake his head, he sighed and gestured pleadingly for the butler to come.
Echoing the sigh, Galion followed, but he paused long enough to bbglance sternly over his shoulder and growl, “Get on with the work.”
“Get on with the work,” a voice mocked, once the butler was safely out of hearing. “Well is not he is in a right fine mood today!”
“Indeed, Doron, he is at that,” laughed one of his compatriots.
“Ai, but would not you be so in his place, Heledir?” admonished another, as he helped Doron roll the last of the empty barrels through the trap door. “Has it not been one catastrophe after another today and everyone bellowing for him to set it all right again? Come and give me a hand in pulling up the portcullis.”
“Mmm,” Heledir murmured in reply. Reaching deeply into a remaining barrel, he pulled out an apple and took a bite before adding, “You are right, of course, Gildin. The king expects too much of him.”
“Nay!” chimed in Doron, moving to assist Gildin in hauling on the ropes. “You know as well as I that the king asks no more of any one than they are freely willing to give.”
“Then Galion should leave it all for the king to sort out, instead of growling at us because he has been harried into a headache,” Heledir grumbled, sitting petulantly upon the edge of the apple barrel. “What about this barrel? It is nearly empty.”
“And the king would no doubt say as much himself, but you know Galion… He would no more trouble the king with what he thought to be a trivial housekeeping business than he would kiss an orc,” opined Gildin, with an ironic chuckle. “Leave that barrel for now. We will send it off with the next batch.”
“I know Galion’s pride, you mean,” Heledir corrected. “Better to say he would no more allow the king to think him not up to the task…”
“Tsk!” scolded a soft, melodious voice wafting in from the passageway. “What is this I hear…a lazy fellow grumbling about others’ tasks instead of doing his own?”
‘Merilin!’ Jumping off the barrel, Heledir scampered around the barrel and began studiously scooting it toward the river-door. He pretended a scowl as the pretty elf maiden came into view shaking her disapprovingly.
“You cannot fool me, Heledir. I know perfectly well that you are naught but an idle toss-pot,” she admonished, but then broke into a grin that softened the bite of her harsh words. “Come, my merry lad, cease your pretense and make yourself useful by filling my basket, instead of the river, with those fine apples.”
“She means stop,” Gildin whispered laughingly, halting his distracted cohort with a firm hand just as front-edge of the apple barrel reached the open trap door.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Heledir murmured and ducked his head inside the barrel to hide the self-conscious blush creeping onto his face. Gathering as many apples as his arms could hold, he straightened up again once his cheeks had cooled. Merilin smiled sweetly as he dumped the fruit unceremoniously into her basket, and his cheeks reddened anew.
“It is a heavy load, may I?” the lad offered bashfully. Nodding coyly, Merilin nodded and passed the basket to him.
Gildin and Doron grinned and rolled their eyes at each other, but a discreet glance from Merilin stilled their teasing tongues. All the same, it was all either elf could manage not to burst out in laughter as Heledir meekly accompanied the elf maiden into the passage.
Their amusement dissolved quickly as Merilin’s dulcet tones proposed, “The kitchen is far out of your way… Perhaps you would care to sample tonight’s sweetmeats and a bit of the new wine to make it worth your effort? I believe a batch was just coming out of the oven.”
Sweetmeats straight from the oven and new wine! Mouths watering, Doron and Gildin scrambled for an arm-full of apples each. The former raced out the door without a second thought, but the later paused a moment beside the barrel, which now stood empty except for the three apples that he had dropped in this haste.
‘I should fit its lid on and send it into the river and shut the trap-door and…a!’ Images of steaming sweetmeats floated before his eyes. ‘I will be but a few minutes. No one is about, what could happen?’ And he dashed out the door after his friends.
oOoOoOoOoOo
“Oooof!”
Legolas cringed and peered sheepishly up at the elf with whom he had collided. “Oh! Your pardon, Gildin.”
The fellow merely grunted a quick acknowledgement, before scooting around the elfling and scuttling off to the kitchen. Legolas stared questioningly after him. ‘Were those apples in his arms?’
Fleetingly, he considered following after to inquire. Then deciding another foray into the kitchen would be futile, he hurried toward the bottommost cellar. Legolas’s pace slowed to a crawl as he entered the lower tunnels, and the space between torch brackets lengthened. The deepening shadows dancing in the flickering firelight seemed to creep eerily along behind him.
So it was with a great sigh of relief that Legolas reached the cellar door at last. Yet still he hesitated upon the threshold. He had expected to ask a grown-up to fetch his apple for him, but there were none in sight – not up the hallway, nor down it, nor within the cellar itself. The elfling pondered the problem briefly and then decided that it did not matter. He was not a baby anymore and did not need grown-ups to do everything for him. The barrels were deep, that was true, but he was clever and would think of something.
Of course, he had first to find the right barrel. This, however, proved easier than expected. There were only a handful standing bunched together in a particularly shadowy corner, and one standing alone beside the open trap door. As that part of the cellar was much better lit, Legolas decided to start with the solitary barrel. Squaring his shoulders, he marched forward with all the pretended nonchalance that he could muster, but all the while, his eyes flitted from one shadowy corner to another (for one never knew when a monster might be lurking about ready to jump out and eat an unmindful elfling.)
Reaching the barrel, Legolas stood on his toes and pulled himself up as far as he could to peer inside the barrel, which was far enough to see that there was not much left in the barrel, if there were aught at all. He’d come too far to leave without being certain however, so he lowered himself back down and turned to find something to stand on for a better look. Legolas quickly spotted a stack of firkins and dashed over to retrieve one.
The small barrel, though empty, was heavier than Legolas expected, so he simple rolled it up alongside the larger barrel, then upended it and climbed atop. Spotting three plump, round apples at the bottom, he let out a whoop of delight, which was soon followed by a grumble of discontent that would have earned him a scolding had a grown-up been near enough to hear. Legolas wished for a grown-up, all the same, as he quickly comprehended that though he could now see the apples, he could not reach them.
“I will fall in if I try, and then however shall I get back out again?”he lamented, jumping down from the firskin. Legolas paced a few steps each direction, mulling over the situation (hoping all the while that a grown-up would appear.) “I can use the firskin to climb in,” he acknowledged, “but I will never be able to lift one into the barrel to aid my climb out…”
Continuing to muse, Legolas scanned the cellar for some sort of inspiration. “Ah!” he exclaimed as he finally found it in the form of several tall pitchers resting not far from the stack of firskins. “Surely, I’ll able to lift one of those!”
Dashing over, he found to his great relief that, though it was heavier than he’d hoped, he could, with effort, lift a pitcher and carry it back to the barrel. Soon, with a huff and a puff and a few grunts, he’d managed to heave the pitcher into the barrel. Legolas bit his lip as it thudded down nearly on top of his precious apple. He smiled a moment later as it came to a rest with his apples unharmed.
“My turn,” he announced and began to pull himself up onto the lip of the barrel. Legolas eased himself off again, though, as he vaguely recalled that the large barrel rested very near the edge of the open trap door. “What if it teeters off with me inside,” he suddenly thought. “That would not do at all!”
Reconsidering his plan, Legolas pressed a shoulder against the large barrel and shoved with all his might. Much to his surprise, it moved! Though the movement had been slight, he grinned, impressed with himself all the same…that is, until he realized he’d only moved the barrel an inch or two sideways along the edge of the trap door.
“Ai! And do my eyes deceive me or is it actually further off the floor than before?” Legolas sighed deeply and groaned, “I cannot push it the right direction from this angle.”
However, unwilling to admit defeat and depart without his apple, Legolas set his shoulders and decided he’d simple have to try to tip the thing over and roll it away from the trap door. Shifting the smaller barrel out of the way, Legolas reached up to grab hold of the lip and pull. “Ai! You shall be crushed!” he cried aloud, letting go as he calculated that he could not pull the barrel down without it coming down on top of him.
Growling in frustration, Legolas decided there was not else to do but give up or return to his original plan. He was NOT going to give up, and thus, he scooted his small barrel alongside the larger one once more, climbed up and grabbed hold of the apple barrel. Sucking in a steadying breath, he pulled himself up until he sat straddled across the barrel’s rim. Upon reaching that point, he felt the large barrel tilt slight and, with a gasp, quickly slid down inside the barrel as far as possible from the open edge of the trap door. Once huddled at the bottom, the apple barrel seemed so large and immovable, he wondered if he’d only imagine the wobble. None the less, he gathered his apples gingerly, taking care to shift his weight forward as little as possible.
Securing his cargo inside his belted tunic, Legolas upended his pitcher and stepped up, balancing on one foot as he carefully pulled the other up toward the rim of the barrel. He’s just gotten his foot over the edge when the pitcher wobbled, throwing the foot balanced upon it one way, as the rest of the elfing the other. The back of his head smack into the rim as his shoulders slammed against the far side of the barrel, and then he knew with certainly that he had not imagined the wobble of the apple barrel as he’d climbed into it. For before he’d shaken off the stars bursting before his eyes, the barrel had tottered through the trap door and down into the river below.
‘Nana! Ada! Help me!’ he thought as a splash of icy cold water cleared his battered head enough to realize he was in serious trouble.
oOoOoOoOoOo
In the great hall above, fear that was not his own fluttered into Thranduil’s stomach. Stopping mid-sentence, he turned away from Galion and sought his wife. From across the room, her gaze met his, and he knew at once that she’d felt it, also. As her eyes turned to scan the room for their son, Thranduil strode quickly toward her.
Legolas has been flitting in and out of the great hall all morning. Several times, he’d found an opportune moment to pop up at Thranduil’s side for a pat on the head, or to his mother’s side to ask for some small chore or another to help, but mostly Legolas has hovered around the edges, watching the bustle, but staying out of the way of it. At this moment, however, the elfing was nowhere to be seen.
“He cannot be far away,” his wife murmured as Thranduil reached her side. “I saw last saw him not long ago, I’m certain of it.”
Thranduil nodded and squeezed her hand, knowing that in truth, with all the hustle and bustle of the feast preparations, she was no more certain than he of exactly when she had last laid eyes on her son.
“He cannot be far, as you say,” he reassured, sounding more confident than he felt. “He cannot have left the palace, in any case. The gates are closed.”
His wife nodded absently, her feet already moving toward the hallway.
“We will find him and see that there is no reason for worry,” Thranduil murmured, finding almost to his surprise that his feet, too, were in motion with hers. “Surely, there cannot be reason for worry!”
He had said it with certainty that logic insisted he should have. Children were an increasing rare and precious gift amongst the elves. None among his people would harm Legolas, nor let harm come upon the child were they able to prevent it. Of this, Thranduil was certain, and yet... Fear was there, fluttering through his being, real and undeniable.
“Galion!” he bellowed without turning as his feet crossed of the threshold of the great hall.
“My lord?” the butler answered immediately. Alarmed by his king’s sudden distraction, he had trailed along behind Thranduil unnoticed as the king joined his queen.
“Find Legolas!” came the command. Galion uttered no reply, but simply turned back into the Great Hall to begin spreading the word.
Soon, every elf in the palace would be on the hunt for his child; the knowledge should have brought him comfort. Yet, he found none. Nor did his queen, he saw, as their eyes met once more.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Legolas fought his tears as he was thrown to and fro around the bottom of the bobbing barrel. Worse, yet, enough water had splashed into the barrel through the lidless top that it now splashed around his belly.
“I shall be drowned soon,” he lamented. “Perhaps, I should try to get out and take my chances in the river,” he considered, but cast the thought aside with a woeful shiver. “Nay, the water is too cold and too fast. I’d be sooner drowned there than here.”
Slumping down resignedly, Legolas let his head fall back to rest against the barrel and watched the overhanging branches from either bank rush past. Every now and again snowflakes would flutter down past the tree limbs to land his nose or cheeks.
“It snow must be coming down quite fiercely to be forging a path through that,” he thought, peering as consideringly as possible at the dense tree cover above. “Ah well, I suppose I should be grateful at least that I am not stuck out in the storm.”
It was then, of course, that Legolas realized with despair that he would, indeed, be out in that very storm soon enough, for it did not take long for the palace waterway to join the Forest River. There, the trees were thinner and the river was wider. The thought of it had him fighting back tears once more. But then, a happy memory came to the fore. “The raft-elves!” A flutter of hope lit Legolas’s expression. “If the barrel does not sink beforehand, and I do not drown, the river will deliver me to village!” He considered for a moment that the elves there might have already taken to their shelters or, worse yet, have traveled to the palace for the feast. “No matter,” he soon decided. “The barrel shall come ashore there, regardless, and there will be shelter and food to be found, whether or not there are grown-ups to be found with it.”
Somewhat comforted, Legolas stiffened his upper lip, determined to ride out his predicament as bravely as possible.
oOoOoOoOoOo
“He is not in his chamber,” Thranduil’s daughter announced, meeting her parents near the kitchens.
“Or ours,” his grandson, Belegorn, chimed in as he came up beside his mother.
“Or yours,” stated her husband, Baelorn, stepping up to her other side, his head bobbing respectfully to his king and queen.
Thranduil nodded grimly. Pleased though he was at the speed with which the news was spreading, he had hoped for better results.
“He was here, my lord,” Baranwen offered, stepping forward out of the bustling kitchen. Word of the missing elfling had not yet spread throughout the kitchens, but it had reached her. Brow furrowed, she struggled to determine just how long ago elfling had tugged on her sleeve. She’d been too harried to recall, though, and couldn’t quite meet the king’s gaze as she continued, “I do not recall how long ago, but it does not seem that it was very long ago.” Her fists nervously fidgeting with her apron as she added in a soft voice. “I am sorry to say that I shooed him away, my lord.”
Thranduil’s lips pursed momentarily, but then released. “Be at ease,” he sighed, “there is no blame upon you. The kitchen is a busy place today, and you could not have expected ill to come of attending to your duties.”
Baranwen bowed graciously, her eyes tearing as the queen squeezed her hand reassuringly. Noticing her friend’s distress, as well as the grim expressions the king and his family, Miriel strode to her Barawen side and wrapped a comforting arm around her. “What has happened, mellon-nin?” she softly inquired, fearing some ill had befallen Baranwen’s household.
“Legolas has vanished,” her friend replied brokenly. “He was here, but I shooed him away and now he is lost!”
Miriel paled at the words, and she found herself seeking support from the friend she’d intended to comfort. “I spoke with him, as well, my lord,” she acknowledged, shakily. “He wanted an apple, but I had none left. They had all gone into the pastries already,” she continued, somewhat apologetically, before finally hesitantly adding, “I suggested he check in the cellar…”
“Ai, Valar!” an alarmed voice exclaimed from behind her, and she turned enough to glimpse to see the color drain from Gildin’s face, before he dropped the sweetmeat he’d been eating and dashed past the king’s family and toward the cellar.
Alarmed by his panic, Thranduil and his queen had already turned to follow when they heard him shout, “The trap door is open!”
With that, Thranduil, his family, and several other elves were soon dashing toward the cellar after him.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Legolas had only just finally decided to try to enjoy his adventure, when snagged upon something unseen and dumped him quite abruptly into the chill water of the racing river. Gasping from the shock of the cold, which seemed to him a good deal icier than the water in the barrel, Legolas flailed blindly from some hold that would keep him from following his now sinking barrel back out into the deeper water farther from the riverbank.
To his relief his hand caught upon a tree root, but even as he found a secure grip (or it found a secure grip upon him, Legolas was not sure in the moment), the eddying current caught him and tried with all its might to yank him loose. The fierce pull twisted his arm, and he cried out as muscles and joints protested, but the root won the battle in the end. Soon, Legolas found himself pulled up upon the shore.
He told himself he should move. More and more snow was weaving its way through the dense tree limbs to settle on the ground around him, and the temperature of the air seemed to drop each second that he lay there. But his arm throbbed, and he now noticed that his knee ached as well, as did his head and his back and, well, it seemed increasingly more and more of him. And added to all of that, he was exhausted. The battle with the river had drained away all that he had left. He simply could not move, whether he should or no.
Giving in to the lethargy quickly washing over him, Legolas closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Gildin froze so abruptly upon entering the cellar that the resulting collision behind him would have been amusing, had the situation been less dire. Rounding him and stepping nearer the open trap-door, Thranduil needed only a glimpse of Gildin’s expression to know that the fear that had fluttered through him had not, as he’d hoped, been unwarranted.
“The apple barrel…” Gildin stammered. Pointing a shaking finger, he stared in wide-eyed despair at the spot the barrel had been. “It was there, upon the very edge of the trap-door.”
Deafening was the silence that fell as the implications of the missing barrel sank into to all present. Baelorn was the first to shake it off. “I will ready a raft,” he stated, swiftly signaling several nearby elves.
Thranduil nodded his approval, but added, “We should send some by raft, and some by horse so that no trace may be missed.” Meeting his son-in-law eyes, he steeled himself, the authority returning to his voice as he continued, “We will rendezvous at the river village. For if we do not find him in between, we will find him there.”
Baelorn nodded and strode quickly away.
“You…” Thranduil began, turning to his wife. He intended to say that she would wait at the palace, for he could not banish from his mind an image of his drowned child washed up on the shallow shore beside the village, or worse yet, battered against the stony pier. Were that the doom that awaited, Thranduil would rather the queen not witness it. Yet he would see in her eyes that should not be left behind, no matter his word on the subject, so he finished, “will ride with me.”
oOoOoOoOoOo
Consciousness returned slowly and with great reluctance. Legolas first awareness was that he was warm…and dry. This puzzled him, for he was certain he last remembered being quite the opposite. Briefly he considered that it had all been a dream, and he was tucked, safe and cozy, in his own bed at home. But then, he shifted. It was a small thing, hardly visible, and yet it seemed to awaken all the throbbing, burning ache his small body could muster. Crying out, Legolas opened his eyes.
He could see little in the dim light filtering in from outside…from outside? “But where is inside?” Legolas wondered aloud, shifting, quite gingerly, for a better look around. His head spun a little as he scanned the small enclosure, forcing Legolas to close his eyes again before long. He’d seen enough, though to ascertain that he now rested with a deep, mossy tree hollow. He could here a blanket of old leaves crunch beneath him as he settle back against the velvety moss.
“Sleep, sapling, and heal,” he thought he heard, but Legolas did not ponder it long. The tree surrounding him hummed with soft, warm energy that soothed his aches and lulled him back into a deep, peaceful sleep.
oOoOoOoOoOo
The winter storm grew fiercer by the minute. The cold was not so much for Thranduil and his party to bear, but a sharp wind whipped the icy snow around the horses, stinging the faces of the elves (and any other exposed flesh is could find.) Thranduil’s only thought, though, was that the swirling mist of snow impeded his view of the riverbank. “We will ride right past him and never know it,” he murmured under his breath.
The wind and snow did little to slow the strong elven horses; Baelorn and the others on the raft would reach the river village long before Thranduil’s search party, all the same. The king found some comfort in that; for if a drowned and battered shell were all that awaited them there, he preferred still that it be not the queen who discovered it.
Frustrated at his helplessness, Thranduil growled into the wind as the party struggled downstream against the wind.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Swimming back to wakefulness, this time Legolas noticed first that his head did no spin so much when he opened his eyes. That gave him the sufficient confidence to, very gingerly, stretch his cramped limps. He found then, to his great relief, that his shoulder, though still sore, throbbed less, as did his knee and his head. Better still, the lesser aches and pains that previously assaulted him had dull down to an ignorable level, he decided, as he realized the wan light filtering into his little shelter had shifted. “I hope I have not slept away too many hours,” he worried aloud. “Adar and Naneth will be too upset to feast…”
Warm and dry, rested and somewhat healed, his earlier fear now gave way to fear that he would miss the feast. It had forebode to be a very grand one, with much food and dancing, music and, best of all, tales. Legolas LOVED tales. Hearing some tonight might even be enough to make him forget entirely his throbbing shoulder and aching knee. If he missed it all… Well, that would just be too much to bear!
“I had better be off,” he decided. Peeking out of his hole cautiously, Legolas found that the storm had increased in fury. Ducking make inside to reconsider, he settled back against the moss and folded his arms across his chest. One arm bumped against something hard inside his tunic, and Legolas abruptly recalled the apples that had begun his adventure.
“Ah! Just what I need,” he declared with a grin. Pulling out the apples, he studied them long enough to determine that, though battered, they were not too bruised to eat and quickly tucked in.
Stripping all three apples down to their barest core, Legolas smiled contentedly as licked juice from his fingers. “There!” he declared. “Now I am ready travel.”
Peeking out his hole once more, Legolas set his jaw and climbed out up onto thick branch within reach above his head. “It will not do to wander off willy-nilly into a storm,” he told himself. “I will get the lay of the land, first.”
Glancing around, he realized he was on the riverbank, up in the tree whose roots had saved him from icy water. “That’s good,” he decided. “I need merely follow the river either upstream to the palace, or downstream to the village.”
Legolas tapped his chin with his finger as he considered the options. “Downstream, that is the way to go,” he determined. “It will take me further from home, but as there is no good way into the palace from the river, it is the safer path, I think.
“I will stick to the trees, though,” he also decided. The snow covering the bank was not deep. He could tramp through it easily enough, whether or not it were dense enough to walk, but it was obscuring. It would not do to step too near the edge of the bank and end up back in the river. “For as long as possible, in any case…”
The dense cover of the palace waterway had already begun to thinning, so he knew he must be very near to where it joined Forest River. That was good, as it meant he would not have too far to travel to reach the village, but bad, as it meant it might soon find the tree to far apart to leap between. “A bridge to cross when I reach it,” he declared, determined not to lose courage now.
Turning back toward the trunk of the tree he was in, Legolas rested his palm against the rough bark and whispered, “Thank you for your care, mellon.” He was not certain had not imagined the tree speaking to him when he first awoke, but his naneth had taught him to be polite, and he knew full well he would likely have succumbed to the cold were it not for the tree’s aid.
The tree shivered in response, and Legolas chuckled delightedly, before turning to dash along the thick branch. As the branch thinned, he noticed the next tree shift a branch upward to ease his path and smiled. “Perhaps I shall make it farther along in the trees than I feared!”
oOoOoOoOoOo
The journey to the village seemed simultaneously too long and all to brief as Thranduil rode beside his wife at the head of the searching party. Baelorn met his as he pulled his horse to a halt. The expression on his son-in-law’s told him all he needed to know, well before Baelorn spoke the words, but he listened attentively all the same.
“He is not here,” Baelorn sighed. “We have checked every barrel, as well as scouring the water, banks and pier for….” He left the sentence unfinished, unwilling to speak the possilbity aloud.
“For his body,” the queen finished for him. She knew Thranduil has wished her to stay behind to spare her the sight of it were that what had awaited them here, but she had experienced too much in her long life to not have prepared herself for the possibility.
Baelorn nodded grimly, as Thranduil gripped her hand tightly, more for his own benefit than hers.
“Send the raft to Laketown,” the king commanded. “He is unlikely to have traveled so far, but it is better to be certain.” Baelorn turned to a warrior hovering at his shoulder. The elf nodded to acknowledge the order and quickly turned back toward the river. “The rest of us will return to the palace on foot, scouring the bank as we go.”
Baelorn nodded and turned to inform the warriors of the plan. Thranduil’s stoicism cracked once the attention had turned from him.
“Despair not, my love,” the queen consoled, resting her head upon his shoulder. “There is ever hope, until there is not. That point, we have not yet reached.”
Resting his head upon her, Thranduil nodded.
Baelorn allowed them the moment, before approaching once more. “All are ready.”
With a sigh, Thranduil and his queen separated and moved to join the searchers. Focused on steeling himself for whatever came next, the kind nearly missed it when his wife abruptly halted and spun on her heals. Turning to face her, he saw her hands had flown up to cover her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. He was still deciding whether to finish the turn and follow her watery gaze, when the small voice reached his ears.
“Nana! Ada! Nana! Ada!” It shouted. He’d barely managed to finish turning toward it, when the elfling attached to the voice threw itself against him. “Ada!”
A small hand reached for the queen. “Nana!” She took it eagerly, and soon Legolas had one arms wrapped round each parent.
Baelorn, hovering a step away, was soon pulled into the circle, as previously restrained tears began to stream down all four sets of cheeks.
“Ada! Nana! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean! Truly, I didn’t!” The words flew a fast flurry that rivaled the wind in speed.
“Hush, ion-non, it well now,” Thranduil crooned. “You are well.”
But the mad flurry could not be stopped. “I only wanted an apple,” Legolas insisted. “I did not mean to knock the barrel into the water! Truly, Ada! I tried very hard to be careful! I just wanted an apple.”
“Shhhh, now,” both parents now soothed. “It is well, Legolas.”
The elfling finally quieted, a constant stream of petting and hugs finally conquering his nervous energy. “I didn’t mean to ruin the feast, Ada,” he added after several silent minutes, peering up at the king with woeful eyes. “I am sorry.”
“Worry not, Lassen,” Thranduil comforted. “Night has not yet fallen. Our feast, though disrupted, is not ruined.”
Smiling through his tears, Legolas buried his head back between his mother’s and father’s legs, where he stayed until he felt himself being lifted. Looking up, he found himself being placed upon his father’s horse.
Soon mounted behind him, Thranduil exclaimed loudly, “My thanks to you all for your service! Now let us return at once. A feast awaits! And there is much to be celebrated this night!
Pausing long enough to acknowledge the cheer that followed the announcement, Thranduil reached for his queen’s hand, and together, they turned their horses toward home.
The end.
A/N: I have read (and greatly enjoyed) many a tale in which little elfling Legolas is rescued by others. I thought it might be fun if he got to rescue himself in this one.
Summary: The quest for an apple leads elfling Legolas on an unlooked for adventure.
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: The characters and places of the Lord of the Rings are the creation of J.R.R. Tolkien, and currently licensed to New Line Cinema. All original characters and situations belong to the author. No slash expressed or implied at any time in any of my stories.
It is unbetad, so I apologize in advance for the inevitable errors.
Rating: G
“Baranwen, please, may I have an apple?” Legolas tugged on the sleeve of a maiden shelling hazelnuts just inside the kitchen doorway.
Finishing the last of them, she tousled the elfling’s hair in acknowledgement, and then gathered her baskets and rose from her stool. As she drifted away, Baranwen murmured distractedly, “Not right now, little one. I need to mince these for the next batch of sweetmeats.”
Legolas frowned as she disappeared into the kitchen’s bustling throng and then scanned other nearby faces, searching for one that would not shoo him away. Everyone was busy preparing for that evening’s winter feast, but he finally spotted a potential collaborator rolling out pastry shells at the far end of a nearby table.
Carefully weaving his way to the elf maiden’s side, he tugged quite politely on her sleeve and whispered, “Miriel?”
The elf maiden glanced up and smiled, but then said, “The kitchen’s no place for you today, young one.”
“Please, may have an apple?” his small voice and large eyes beseeched in reply.
“Nay, child,” she answered, her expression dropping into an apologetic frown. “I am sorry, but all the apples have been put into the pastries already.”
Hunching his shoulder, Legolas sighed woefully.
Miriel’s lips twitched with something between sympathy and amusement. “There may be a few left in the barrel; why do you not go and see.”
“Oh, yes!” Legolas agreed eagerly. “I did not think to go the cellar.”
He smiled brightly and waved a merry farewell. Returning the wave, the maiden grinned in amusement as the little prince ducked and swerved his way out of the kitchen.
oOoOoOoOoOo
“Galion!”
At the bellowing of his name, King Thranduil’s butler glanced up and replied, rather peevishly, “What is it this time, Aeglos?”
The elf in question opened his mouth to answer, thought for moment, and closed his mouth again. As Galion glared expectantly, the elf made another attempt, but no words came. Finally, after a helpless shrug of his shoulders and incredulous shake his head, he sighed and gestured pleadingly for the butler to come.
Echoing the sigh, Galion followed, but he paused long enough to bbglance sternly over his shoulder and growl, “Get on with the work.”
“Get on with the work,” a voice mocked, once the butler was safely out of hearing. “Well is not he is in a right fine mood today!”
“Indeed, Doron, he is at that,” laughed one of his compatriots.
“Ai, but would not you be so in his place, Heledir?” admonished another, as he helped Doron roll the last of the empty barrels through the trap door. “Has it not been one catastrophe after another today and everyone bellowing for him to set it all right again? Come and give me a hand in pulling up the portcullis.”
“Mmm,” Heledir murmured in reply. Reaching deeply into a remaining barrel, he pulled out an apple and took a bite before adding, “You are right, of course, Gildin. The king expects too much of him.”
“Nay!” chimed in Doron, moving to assist Gildin in hauling on the ropes. “You know as well as I that the king asks no more of any one than they are freely willing to give.”
“Then Galion should leave it all for the king to sort out, instead of growling at us because he has been harried into a headache,” Heledir grumbled, sitting petulantly upon the edge of the apple barrel. “What about this barrel? It is nearly empty.”
“And the king would no doubt say as much himself, but you know Galion… He would no more trouble the king with what he thought to be a trivial housekeeping business than he would kiss an orc,” opined Gildin, with an ironic chuckle. “Leave that barrel for now. We will send it off with the next batch.”
“I know Galion’s pride, you mean,” Heledir corrected. “Better to say he would no more allow the king to think him not up to the task…”
“Tsk!” scolded a soft, melodious voice wafting in from the passageway. “What is this I hear…a lazy fellow grumbling about others’ tasks instead of doing his own?”
‘Merilin!’ Jumping off the barrel, Heledir scampered around the barrel and began studiously scooting it toward the river-door. He pretended a scowl as the pretty elf maiden came into view shaking her disapprovingly.
“You cannot fool me, Heledir. I know perfectly well that you are naught but an idle toss-pot,” she admonished, but then broke into a grin that softened the bite of her harsh words. “Come, my merry lad, cease your pretense and make yourself useful by filling my basket, instead of the river, with those fine apples.”
“She means stop,” Gildin whispered laughingly, halting his distracted cohort with a firm hand just as front-edge of the apple barrel reached the open trap door.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Heledir murmured and ducked his head inside the barrel to hide the self-conscious blush creeping onto his face. Gathering as many apples as his arms could hold, he straightened up again once his cheeks had cooled. Merilin smiled sweetly as he dumped the fruit unceremoniously into her basket, and his cheeks reddened anew.
“It is a heavy load, may I?” the lad offered bashfully. Nodding coyly, Merilin nodded and passed the basket to him.
Gildin and Doron grinned and rolled their eyes at each other, but a discreet glance from Merilin stilled their teasing tongues. All the same, it was all either elf could manage not to burst out in laughter as Heledir meekly accompanied the elf maiden into the passage.
Their amusement dissolved quickly as Merilin’s dulcet tones proposed, “The kitchen is far out of your way… Perhaps you would care to sample tonight’s sweetmeats and a bit of the new wine to make it worth your effort? I believe a batch was just coming out of the oven.”
Sweetmeats straight from the oven and new wine! Mouths watering, Doron and Gildin scrambled for an arm-full of apples each. The former raced out the door without a second thought, but the later paused a moment beside the barrel, which now stood empty except for the three apples that he had dropped in this haste.
‘I should fit its lid on and send it into the river and shut the trap-door and…a!’ Images of steaming sweetmeats floated before his eyes. ‘I will be but a few minutes. No one is about, what could happen?’ And he dashed out the door after his friends.
oOoOoOoOoOo
“Oooof!”
Legolas cringed and peered sheepishly up at the elf with whom he had collided. “Oh! Your pardon, Gildin.”
The fellow merely grunted a quick acknowledgement, before scooting around the elfling and scuttling off to the kitchen. Legolas stared questioningly after him. ‘Were those apples in his arms?’
Fleetingly, he considered following after to inquire. Then deciding another foray into the kitchen would be futile, he hurried toward the bottommost cellar. Legolas’s pace slowed to a crawl as he entered the lower tunnels, and the space between torch brackets lengthened. The deepening shadows dancing in the flickering firelight seemed to creep eerily along behind him.
So it was with a great sigh of relief that Legolas reached the cellar door at last. Yet still he hesitated upon the threshold. He had expected to ask a grown-up to fetch his apple for him, but there were none in sight – not up the hallway, nor down it, nor within the cellar itself. The elfling pondered the problem briefly and then decided that it did not matter. He was not a baby anymore and did not need grown-ups to do everything for him. The barrels were deep, that was true, but he was clever and would think of something.
Of course, he had first to find the right barrel. This, however, proved easier than expected. There were only a handful standing bunched together in a particularly shadowy corner, and one standing alone beside the open trap door. As that part of the cellar was much better lit, Legolas decided to start with the solitary barrel. Squaring his shoulders, he marched forward with all the pretended nonchalance that he could muster, but all the while, his eyes flitted from one shadowy corner to another (for one never knew when a monster might be lurking about ready to jump out and eat an unmindful elfling.)
Reaching the barrel, Legolas stood on his toes and pulled himself up as far as he could to peer inside the barrel, which was far enough to see that there was not much left in the barrel, if there were aught at all. He’d come too far to leave without being certain however, so he lowered himself back down and turned to find something to stand on for a better look. Legolas quickly spotted a stack of firkins and dashed over to retrieve one.
The small barrel, though empty, was heavier than Legolas expected, so he simple rolled it up alongside the larger barrel, then upended it and climbed atop. Spotting three plump, round apples at the bottom, he let out a whoop of delight, which was soon followed by a grumble of discontent that would have earned him a scolding had a grown-up been near enough to hear. Legolas wished for a grown-up, all the same, as he quickly comprehended that though he could now see the apples, he could not reach them.
“I will fall in if I try, and then however shall I get back out again?”he lamented, jumping down from the firskin. Legolas paced a few steps each direction, mulling over the situation (hoping all the while that a grown-up would appear.) “I can use the firskin to climb in,” he acknowledged, “but I will never be able to lift one into the barrel to aid my climb out…”
Continuing to muse, Legolas scanned the cellar for some sort of inspiration. “Ah!” he exclaimed as he finally found it in the form of several tall pitchers resting not far from the stack of firskins. “Surely, I’ll able to lift one of those!”
Dashing over, he found to his great relief that, though it was heavier than he’d hoped, he could, with effort, lift a pitcher and carry it back to the barrel. Soon, with a huff and a puff and a few grunts, he’d managed to heave the pitcher into the barrel. Legolas bit his lip as it thudded down nearly on top of his precious apple. He smiled a moment later as it came to a rest with his apples unharmed.
“My turn,” he announced and began to pull himself up onto the lip of the barrel. Legolas eased himself off again, though, as he vaguely recalled that the large barrel rested very near the edge of the open trap door. “What if it teeters off with me inside,” he suddenly thought. “That would not do at all!”
Reconsidering his plan, Legolas pressed a shoulder against the large barrel and shoved with all his might. Much to his surprise, it moved! Though the movement had been slight, he grinned, impressed with himself all the same…that is, until he realized he’d only moved the barrel an inch or two sideways along the edge of the trap door.
“Ai! And do my eyes deceive me or is it actually further off the floor than before?” Legolas sighed deeply and groaned, “I cannot push it the right direction from this angle.”
However, unwilling to admit defeat and depart without his apple, Legolas set his shoulders and decided he’d simple have to try to tip the thing over and roll it away from the trap door. Shifting the smaller barrel out of the way, Legolas reached up to grab hold of the lip and pull. “Ai! You shall be crushed!” he cried aloud, letting go as he calculated that he could not pull the barrel down without it coming down on top of him.
Growling in frustration, Legolas decided there was not else to do but give up or return to his original plan. He was NOT going to give up, and thus, he scooted his small barrel alongside the larger one once more, climbed up and grabbed hold of the apple barrel. Sucking in a steadying breath, he pulled himself up until he sat straddled across the barrel’s rim. Upon reaching that point, he felt the large barrel tilt slight and, with a gasp, quickly slid down inside the barrel as far as possible from the open edge of the trap door. Once huddled at the bottom, the apple barrel seemed so large and immovable, he wondered if he’d only imagine the wobble. None the less, he gathered his apples gingerly, taking care to shift his weight forward as little as possible.
Securing his cargo inside his belted tunic, Legolas upended his pitcher and stepped up, balancing on one foot as he carefully pulled the other up toward the rim of the barrel. He’s just gotten his foot over the edge when the pitcher wobbled, throwing the foot balanced upon it one way, as the rest of the elfing the other. The back of his head smack into the rim as his shoulders slammed against the far side of the barrel, and then he knew with certainly that he had not imagined the wobble of the apple barrel as he’d climbed into it. For before he’d shaken off the stars bursting before his eyes, the barrel had tottered through the trap door and down into the river below.
‘Nana! Ada! Help me!’ he thought as a splash of icy cold water cleared his battered head enough to realize he was in serious trouble.
oOoOoOoOoOo
In the great hall above, fear that was not his own fluttered into Thranduil’s stomach. Stopping mid-sentence, he turned away from Galion and sought his wife. From across the room, her gaze met his, and he knew at once that she’d felt it, also. As her eyes turned to scan the room for their son, Thranduil strode quickly toward her.
Legolas has been flitting in and out of the great hall all morning. Several times, he’d found an opportune moment to pop up at Thranduil’s side for a pat on the head, or to his mother’s side to ask for some small chore or another to help, but mostly Legolas has hovered around the edges, watching the bustle, but staying out of the way of it. At this moment, however, the elfing was nowhere to be seen.
“He cannot be far away,” his wife murmured as Thranduil reached her side. “I saw last saw him not long ago, I’m certain of it.”
Thranduil nodded and squeezed her hand, knowing that in truth, with all the hustle and bustle of the feast preparations, she was no more certain than he of exactly when she had last laid eyes on her son.
“He cannot be far, as you say,” he reassured, sounding more confident than he felt. “He cannot have left the palace, in any case. The gates are closed.”
His wife nodded absently, her feet already moving toward the hallway.
“We will find him and see that there is no reason for worry,” Thranduil murmured, finding almost to his surprise that his feet, too, were in motion with hers. “Surely, there cannot be reason for worry!”
He had said it with certainty that logic insisted he should have. Children were an increasing rare and precious gift amongst the elves. None among his people would harm Legolas, nor let harm come upon the child were they able to prevent it. Of this, Thranduil was certain, and yet... Fear was there, fluttering through his being, real and undeniable.
“Galion!” he bellowed without turning as his feet crossed of the threshold of the great hall.
“My lord?” the butler answered immediately. Alarmed by his king’s sudden distraction, he had trailed along behind Thranduil unnoticed as the king joined his queen.
“Find Legolas!” came the command. Galion uttered no reply, but simply turned back into the Great Hall to begin spreading the word.
Soon, every elf in the palace would be on the hunt for his child; the knowledge should have brought him comfort. Yet, he found none. Nor did his queen, he saw, as their eyes met once more.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Legolas fought his tears as he was thrown to and fro around the bottom of the bobbing barrel. Worse, yet, enough water had splashed into the barrel through the lidless top that it now splashed around his belly.
“I shall be drowned soon,” he lamented. “Perhaps, I should try to get out and take my chances in the river,” he considered, but cast the thought aside with a woeful shiver. “Nay, the water is too cold and too fast. I’d be sooner drowned there than here.”
Slumping down resignedly, Legolas let his head fall back to rest against the barrel and watched the overhanging branches from either bank rush past. Every now and again snowflakes would flutter down past the tree limbs to land his nose or cheeks.
“It snow must be coming down quite fiercely to be forging a path through that,” he thought, peering as consideringly as possible at the dense tree cover above. “Ah well, I suppose I should be grateful at least that I am not stuck out in the storm.”
It was then, of course, that Legolas realized with despair that he would, indeed, be out in that very storm soon enough, for it did not take long for the palace waterway to join the Forest River. There, the trees were thinner and the river was wider. The thought of it had him fighting back tears once more. But then, a happy memory came to the fore. “The raft-elves!” A flutter of hope lit Legolas’s expression. “If the barrel does not sink beforehand, and I do not drown, the river will deliver me to village!” He considered for a moment that the elves there might have already taken to their shelters or, worse yet, have traveled to the palace for the feast. “No matter,” he soon decided. “The barrel shall come ashore there, regardless, and there will be shelter and food to be found, whether or not there are grown-ups to be found with it.”
Somewhat comforted, Legolas stiffened his upper lip, determined to ride out his predicament as bravely as possible.
oOoOoOoOoOo
“He is not in his chamber,” Thranduil’s daughter announced, meeting her parents near the kitchens.
“Or ours,” his grandson, Belegorn, chimed in as he came up beside his mother.
“Or yours,” stated her husband, Baelorn, stepping up to her other side, his head bobbing respectfully to his king and queen.
Thranduil nodded grimly. Pleased though he was at the speed with which the news was spreading, he had hoped for better results.
“He was here, my lord,” Baranwen offered, stepping forward out of the bustling kitchen. Word of the missing elfling had not yet spread throughout the kitchens, but it had reached her. Brow furrowed, she struggled to determine just how long ago elfling had tugged on her sleeve. She’d been too harried to recall, though, and couldn’t quite meet the king’s gaze as she continued, “I do not recall how long ago, but it does not seem that it was very long ago.” Her fists nervously fidgeting with her apron as she added in a soft voice. “I am sorry to say that I shooed him away, my lord.”
Thranduil’s lips pursed momentarily, but then released. “Be at ease,” he sighed, “there is no blame upon you. The kitchen is a busy place today, and you could not have expected ill to come of attending to your duties.”
Baranwen bowed graciously, her eyes tearing as the queen squeezed her hand reassuringly. Noticing her friend’s distress, as well as the grim expressions the king and his family, Miriel strode to her Barawen side and wrapped a comforting arm around her. “What has happened, mellon-nin?” she softly inquired, fearing some ill had befallen Baranwen’s household.
“Legolas has vanished,” her friend replied brokenly. “He was here, but I shooed him away and now he is lost!”
Miriel paled at the words, and she found herself seeking support from the friend she’d intended to comfort. “I spoke with him, as well, my lord,” she acknowledged, shakily. “He wanted an apple, but I had none left. They had all gone into the pastries already,” she continued, somewhat apologetically, before finally hesitantly adding, “I suggested he check in the cellar…”
“Ai, Valar!” an alarmed voice exclaimed from behind her, and she turned enough to glimpse to see the color drain from Gildin’s face, before he dropped the sweetmeat he’d been eating and dashed past the king’s family and toward the cellar.
Alarmed by his panic, Thranduil and his queen had already turned to follow when they heard him shout, “The trap door is open!”
With that, Thranduil, his family, and several other elves were soon dashing toward the cellar after him.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Legolas had only just finally decided to try to enjoy his adventure, when snagged upon something unseen and dumped him quite abruptly into the chill water of the racing river. Gasping from the shock of the cold, which seemed to him a good deal icier than the water in the barrel, Legolas flailed blindly from some hold that would keep him from following his now sinking barrel back out into the deeper water farther from the riverbank.
To his relief his hand caught upon a tree root, but even as he found a secure grip (or it found a secure grip upon him, Legolas was not sure in the moment), the eddying current caught him and tried with all its might to yank him loose. The fierce pull twisted his arm, and he cried out as muscles and joints protested, but the root won the battle in the end. Soon, Legolas found himself pulled up upon the shore.
He told himself he should move. More and more snow was weaving its way through the dense tree limbs to settle on the ground around him, and the temperature of the air seemed to drop each second that he lay there. But his arm throbbed, and he now noticed that his knee ached as well, as did his head and his back and, well, it seemed increasingly more and more of him. And added to all of that, he was exhausted. The battle with the river had drained away all that he had left. He simply could not move, whether he should or no.
Giving in to the lethargy quickly washing over him, Legolas closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Gildin froze so abruptly upon entering the cellar that the resulting collision behind him would have been amusing, had the situation been less dire. Rounding him and stepping nearer the open trap-door, Thranduil needed only a glimpse of Gildin’s expression to know that the fear that had fluttered through him had not, as he’d hoped, been unwarranted.
“The apple barrel…” Gildin stammered. Pointing a shaking finger, he stared in wide-eyed despair at the spot the barrel had been. “It was there, upon the very edge of the trap-door.”
Deafening was the silence that fell as the implications of the missing barrel sank into to all present. Baelorn was the first to shake it off. “I will ready a raft,” he stated, swiftly signaling several nearby elves.
Thranduil nodded his approval, but added, “We should send some by raft, and some by horse so that no trace may be missed.” Meeting his son-in-law eyes, he steeled himself, the authority returning to his voice as he continued, “We will rendezvous at the river village. For if we do not find him in between, we will find him there.”
Baelorn nodded and strode quickly away.
“You…” Thranduil began, turning to his wife. He intended to say that she would wait at the palace, for he could not banish from his mind an image of his drowned child washed up on the shallow shore beside the village, or worse yet, battered against the stony pier. Were that the doom that awaited, Thranduil would rather the queen not witness it. Yet he would see in her eyes that should not be left behind, no matter his word on the subject, so he finished, “will ride with me.”
oOoOoOoOoOo
Consciousness returned slowly and with great reluctance. Legolas first awareness was that he was warm…and dry. This puzzled him, for he was certain he last remembered being quite the opposite. Briefly he considered that it had all been a dream, and he was tucked, safe and cozy, in his own bed at home. But then, he shifted. It was a small thing, hardly visible, and yet it seemed to awaken all the throbbing, burning ache his small body could muster. Crying out, Legolas opened his eyes.
He could see little in the dim light filtering in from outside…from outside? “But where is inside?” Legolas wondered aloud, shifting, quite gingerly, for a better look around. His head spun a little as he scanned the small enclosure, forcing Legolas to close his eyes again before long. He’d seen enough, though to ascertain that he now rested with a deep, mossy tree hollow. He could here a blanket of old leaves crunch beneath him as he settle back against the velvety moss.
“Sleep, sapling, and heal,” he thought he heard, but Legolas did not ponder it long. The tree surrounding him hummed with soft, warm energy that soothed his aches and lulled him back into a deep, peaceful sleep.
oOoOoOoOoOo
The winter storm grew fiercer by the minute. The cold was not so much for Thranduil and his party to bear, but a sharp wind whipped the icy snow around the horses, stinging the faces of the elves (and any other exposed flesh is could find.) Thranduil’s only thought, though, was that the swirling mist of snow impeded his view of the riverbank. “We will ride right past him and never know it,” he murmured under his breath.
The wind and snow did little to slow the strong elven horses; Baelorn and the others on the raft would reach the river village long before Thranduil’s search party, all the same. The king found some comfort in that; for if a drowned and battered shell were all that awaited them there, he preferred still that it be not the queen who discovered it.
Frustrated at his helplessness, Thranduil growled into the wind as the party struggled downstream against the wind.
oOoOoOoOoOo
Swimming back to wakefulness, this time Legolas noticed first that his head did no spin so much when he opened his eyes. That gave him the sufficient confidence to, very gingerly, stretch his cramped limps. He found then, to his great relief, that his shoulder, though still sore, throbbed less, as did his knee and his head. Better still, the lesser aches and pains that previously assaulted him had dull down to an ignorable level, he decided, as he realized the wan light filtering into his little shelter had shifted. “I hope I have not slept away too many hours,” he worried aloud. “Adar and Naneth will be too upset to feast…”
Warm and dry, rested and somewhat healed, his earlier fear now gave way to fear that he would miss the feast. It had forebode to be a very grand one, with much food and dancing, music and, best of all, tales. Legolas LOVED tales. Hearing some tonight might even be enough to make him forget entirely his throbbing shoulder and aching knee. If he missed it all… Well, that would just be too much to bear!
“I had better be off,” he decided. Peeking out of his hole cautiously, Legolas found that the storm had increased in fury. Ducking make inside to reconsider, he settled back against the moss and folded his arms across his chest. One arm bumped against something hard inside his tunic, and Legolas abruptly recalled the apples that had begun his adventure.
“Ah! Just what I need,” he declared with a grin. Pulling out the apples, he studied them long enough to determine that, though battered, they were not too bruised to eat and quickly tucked in.
Stripping all three apples down to their barest core, Legolas smiled contentedly as licked juice from his fingers. “There!” he declared. “Now I am ready travel.”
Peeking out his hole once more, Legolas set his jaw and climbed out up onto thick branch within reach above his head. “It will not do to wander off willy-nilly into a storm,” he told himself. “I will get the lay of the land, first.”
Glancing around, he realized he was on the riverbank, up in the tree whose roots had saved him from icy water. “That’s good,” he decided. “I need merely follow the river either upstream to the palace, or downstream to the village.”
Legolas tapped his chin with his finger as he considered the options. “Downstream, that is the way to go,” he determined. “It will take me further from home, but as there is no good way into the palace from the river, it is the safer path, I think.
“I will stick to the trees, though,” he also decided. The snow covering the bank was not deep. He could tramp through it easily enough, whether or not it were dense enough to walk, but it was obscuring. It would not do to step too near the edge of the bank and end up back in the river. “For as long as possible, in any case…”
The dense cover of the palace waterway had already begun to thinning, so he knew he must be very near to where it joined Forest River. That was good, as it meant he would not have too far to travel to reach the village, but bad, as it meant it might soon find the tree to far apart to leap between. “A bridge to cross when I reach it,” he declared, determined not to lose courage now.
Turning back toward the trunk of the tree he was in, Legolas rested his palm against the rough bark and whispered, “Thank you for your care, mellon.” He was not certain had not imagined the tree speaking to him when he first awoke, but his naneth had taught him to be polite, and he knew full well he would likely have succumbed to the cold were it not for the tree’s aid.
The tree shivered in response, and Legolas chuckled delightedly, before turning to dash along the thick branch. As the branch thinned, he noticed the next tree shift a branch upward to ease his path and smiled. “Perhaps I shall make it farther along in the trees than I feared!”
oOoOoOoOoOo
The journey to the village seemed simultaneously too long and all to brief as Thranduil rode beside his wife at the head of the searching party. Baelorn met his as he pulled his horse to a halt. The expression on his son-in-law’s told him all he needed to know, well before Baelorn spoke the words, but he listened attentively all the same.
“He is not here,” Baelorn sighed. “We have checked every barrel, as well as scouring the water, banks and pier for….” He left the sentence unfinished, unwilling to speak the possilbity aloud.
“For his body,” the queen finished for him. She knew Thranduil has wished her to stay behind to spare her the sight of it were that what had awaited them here, but she had experienced too much in her long life to not have prepared herself for the possibility.
Baelorn nodded grimly, as Thranduil gripped her hand tightly, more for his own benefit than hers.
“Send the raft to Laketown,” the king commanded. “He is unlikely to have traveled so far, but it is better to be certain.” Baelorn turned to a warrior hovering at his shoulder. The elf nodded to acknowledge the order and quickly turned back toward the river. “The rest of us will return to the palace on foot, scouring the bank as we go.”
Baelorn nodded and turned to inform the warriors of the plan. Thranduil’s stoicism cracked once the attention had turned from him.
“Despair not, my love,” the queen consoled, resting her head upon his shoulder. “There is ever hope, until there is not. That point, we have not yet reached.”
Resting his head upon her, Thranduil nodded.
Baelorn allowed them the moment, before approaching once more. “All are ready.”
With a sigh, Thranduil and his queen separated and moved to join the searchers. Focused on steeling himself for whatever came next, the kind nearly missed it when his wife abruptly halted and spun on her heals. Turning to face her, he saw her hands had flown up to cover her mouth and tears welled in her eyes. He was still deciding whether to finish the turn and follow her watery gaze, when the small voice reached his ears.
“Nana! Ada! Nana! Ada!” It shouted. He’d barely managed to finish turning toward it, when the elfling attached to the voice threw itself against him. “Ada!”
A small hand reached for the queen. “Nana!” She took it eagerly, and soon Legolas had one arms wrapped round each parent.
Baelorn, hovering a step away, was soon pulled into the circle, as previously restrained tears began to stream down all four sets of cheeks.
“Ada! Nana! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean! Truly, I didn’t!” The words flew a fast flurry that rivaled the wind in speed.
“Hush, ion-non, it well now,” Thranduil crooned. “You are well.”
But the mad flurry could not be stopped. “I only wanted an apple,” Legolas insisted. “I did not mean to knock the barrel into the water! Truly, Ada! I tried very hard to be careful! I just wanted an apple.”
“Shhhh, now,” both parents now soothed. “It is well, Legolas.”
The elfling finally quieted, a constant stream of petting and hugs finally conquering his nervous energy. “I didn’t mean to ruin the feast, Ada,” he added after several silent minutes, peering up at the king with woeful eyes. “I am sorry.”
“Worry not, Lassen,” Thranduil comforted. “Night has not yet fallen. Our feast, though disrupted, is not ruined.”
Smiling through his tears, Legolas buried his head back between his mother’s and father’s legs, where he stayed until he felt himself being lifted. Looking up, he found himself being placed upon his father’s horse.
Soon mounted behind him, Thranduil exclaimed loudly, “My thanks to you all for your service! Now let us return at once. A feast awaits! And there is much to be celebrated this night!
Pausing long enough to acknowledge the cheer that followed the announcement, Thranduil reached for his queen’s hand, and together, they turned their horses toward home.
The end.
A/N: I have read (and greatly enjoyed) many a tale in which little elfling Legolas is rescued by others. I thought it might be fun if he got to rescue himself in this one.