Chapter 4
Haldir stared at the stubborn line made by the King’s full bottom lip. There was something both infuriating and irresistible about it.
“There is no shame in accepting help from your kin,” said the Marchwarden, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. Haldir’s eyes were drawn helplessly to that plump sweet lip as it slowly turned down into a frown.
The King of Mirkwood stood gracefully from the overly large and splendid throne, which was ornamented with the crest and seal of the line of Thranduilion. His slim, whipcord frame, paced like a caged leopard, up and down on the raised platform. The iridescent material of his flowing robes shimmered and clung to the slim muscular body. A delicate mithril band circled the fair brow and slender braids formed an ornate pattern around the King’s golden head giving him the look of a rare exotic bird. The agitated movement halted abruptly and he turned to look down on the Marchwarden, irritation evident in his finely chiseled form.
“But I did not send for help from the Lady and Lord of the Golden Wood.” The sapphire eyes fixed the older Elf with a heated stare. “Perhaps you think us merely as backward Wood Elves that cannot manage our own affairs?”
The Marchwarden sighed. He had heard of how difficult the formidable Thranduil could be, but he had not expected to run into this kind of stubborn resistance from his young heir. Legolas seemed querulous, suspicious, even paranoid. He was nothing like the gentle, gracious, and mild mannered Prince Haldir had met, when the Fellowship had passed through Lórien during the Quest of the Ring. He wondered briefly what could have happened to the sweet Elf to make him so bitter and mistrusting.
“My Liege,” Haldir tried again at diplomacy, “This offer of assistance is not made because Lothlórien doubts Mirkwood’s ability to defeat the most fearsome of foes. In fact, it is widely known that Mirkwood has produced the most formidable warriors in all Elvendom.” He slowed down his speech, noting the fire in the sapphire orbs was dampening, “The Lady has seen something in her mirror, King Legolas, that may threaten all of Middle Earth. We need to work together to fight this new and untested enemy.”
The youthful face of the King contorted in consternation. Finally, looking up from his thoughts, he faced the Lórien Elf with the smooth countenance of one who had reached a decision to give in gracefully. “Very well, Haldir of Lorien, your offer of assistance is acceptable. We will combine our forces, and under my direction, attack the enemy in their lair.”
Haldir tried not to bristle visibly at this Elfling’s assumption of authority to command the joint campaign. King or no King, this proud pup was just barely out of his minority. Haldir bit his tongue and bowed low before the beautiful Sovereign of Mirkwood. He hastily took his leave lest he say something that may undo all his hard work. Wood Elves! In the back of his mind, he could sense the indulgent smile of the Lady of the Wood, as she noted his self-restraint
Arwen looked deeper into the crystal and could easily see the cave’s interior. Two large insect-like forms, black and sinuous, moved without sound around the chamber. Three new eggs were ready to be moved. As the creatures abhorred sunlight Arwen knew they would wait before carrying the cocoons with their precious cargo closer to the surface. She was in no hurry to see their progress. The destruction of Mirkwood was inevitable. Soon the archers would come closer. Soon.
Movement outside her chambers startled her and she hastily tapped on the glass ball with one long nail, watching it grow murky, then turn clear. She rose from her seat and approached her door. She could sense the power of the being outside it. A frown creased the lines of her forehead. She waited until the knock came and rearranging the look on her face as she opened the door to greet her visitor.
“Good evening, My Lady,” said the Istari, “May I come in?”
“Gandalf! How delightful that you should come to visit me.” She paused as the Wizard entered, “I do hope this late call is not to tell of some fell news. Is everything all right? I know you recently visited my Grandmother…” Her eyes were wide and questioning.
The Wizard smiled benignly and patted her shoulder. “All is well, dear Queen. Well, your Grandmother did have an unusual occurrence while looking into her mirror …but she is well. You know how strong she is,” he said reassuringly as he saw the alarmed look in the large blue eyes.
“No, I merely wished to come see you and well…see how you are,” he walked to a chair near the window and took a seat as she followed more slowly.
“Oh, what ever do you mean?” she asked as she sat down primly across from him, smoothing her skirts with one white delicate hand.
“Come now, Arwen, you and I are not strangers. I am concerned for you. You are the child of my dear friend and I know how things here have not been the best for you.”
She regarded him with a look that wavered between feigned innocence and raw indignation. Finally she said, in tones that dripped of acid, “No, I dare say things have not been ‘the best’ for me as you put it. And I think you, my cunning old friend, know why. Perhaps you care to enlighten me?”
Gandalf met the suddenly hard stare with a look of sympathy. “I can only tell you, my dear, that the person with the answer to those questions is in the other wing of the castle. I only wish to see how you are feeling…after what happened.”
“Ah…after my miscarriage? Why not say it? Or perhaps you fear I will have another episode.” The blue eyes were no longer innocent and the Wizard felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. This was indeed the granddaughter of Galadriel. How could he ever forget it?
“Nay, I simply don’t wish for you to …to feel alone here,” he concluded, somewhat weakly.
“But I am alone, Gandalf!” Her words were a hiss that sizzled across his skin. “And you come here now with platitudes, but when I asked for your help…”
“Arwen!” The Wizard now puffed his own field larger, to capture her attention. “Magic is not the answer to domestic troubles or affairs of the heart! Now, child, I beg you to not even think of it again. Putting a spell on our King is not going to change this situation.”
The Queen collected herself at these words and resettled her self in her chair. “You are right,” she sighed and leaned back in her seat like a delicate flower that was suddenly visited by too heavy a rain. The Wizard resettled himself as well and leaned to take her hand in his.
“My dear, why do you not consider a visit to Rivendell? I can see the strain is taking its toll, and before things get worse your father may be able to ease your mind with some healing draughts.”
“Gandalf, I tell you I am well in my mind. There is no need to fear.” She said sweetly. “It is my heart that suffers, but as you say, that discussion must take place with another.”
She rose regally from her chair and walked to the door in an air of dismissal. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
Gandalf rose and walked to the door as she opened it for him. “Remember, if the voices start to bother you again…”
”Gandalf, I told you, there is no need for your concern. I feel that soon things will be much better for me. Soon.” Her smile highlighted the sparkle of a queer light in her blue eyes. Gandalf bowed low and left.
When the door was finally closed and she could no longer sense him, she returned to her crystal, and tapped on it as she began to hum an old lullaby. The crystal swirled to life and she watched with satisfaction as another egg oozed out of the long channel to land on the floor of the cave. She caressed the crystal with a finger.
“Don’t worry my children, Mamma will make it all better. Soon. Soon you shall feast on the flesh of my enemies.”
Haldir tried valiantly to stifle the rude retort that threatened to pour from his lips as the beautiful Elf stormed about the field, chastising the footmen for their slow retaliation at the ‘enemy’ in the mock battle. It wasn’t that the young King was inaccurate in his observations. Legolas had in fact, surprised the Marchwarden with his acumen for military strategy and his quick grasp of the subtleties of battle. It was the insufferable haughtiness, of the Mirkwood King, that was wearing on Haldir’s nerves. The Marchwarden was several thousand years older than this Elfling, and it chafed to have to bend his head to the unending stream of disparaging comments.
“Marchwarden, look here to this troop. Your archers from Lórien were too slow to pick up the signals sent by Mirkwood’s scouts.” The King of Mirkwood rode up on his white steed and looked down his nose at the Lórien Commander. Haldir shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked up at the golden Elf. Legolas practically glowed in a halo of sunlight that bounced off his streaming mane of hair. The sapphire eyes shown bright with anger and the full rosy lips were eternally frozen into a pout. Haldir felt his heart beat a little faster as the beautiful Monarch slid from his horse and walked to stand in front of him.
“Did you here me, Marchwarden? Your archers are too slow!” The sapphires flashed.
Haldir blinked at the impudent tone and at the stunning vision that had produced it. He was torn between two impulses: to grab the gorgeous frowning creature and kiss him senseless, or to turn the blond brat over his knee and give the young King a well earned spanking.
“Well?” demanded the golden beauty.
“Yes, yes. I did see that. You are quite right my Liege. I shall attend to it at once. By your leave, that is,” he added before turning to go. The Elf frowned at him. Was this Lórien interloper mocking him?
“You have it,” Legolas said stiffly. He watched the Marchwarden move to his troops, his frown deepening. He hated having these wily Lórien Elves in his kingdom. Thranduil had been right about outsiders. No one outside the Woodland Realm could appreciate what it took to thrive in the treacherous forests of Mirkwood. The basic instinctual oneness with the Earth and the fundamental honesty demanded by Nature were necessary for survival. It was as Thranduil had once told him, ‘what the Lórien Elves considered rudeness the Wood Elves merely stated as truth.’ Legolas regretted how he had looked upon his Ada as out of step with the times. He wished Thranduil were here now.
The thought of his Ada brought a sudden sharpness to his chest. He breathed until it went away. It was better not to think about Ada, or about…He gasped out loud this time. A delicate white hand drifted to lie over his heart. No. Don’t think, he told himself. Never think. Just stay busy. His eyes scanned over the sparring pairs of footmen, looking for a diversion from his painful thoughts.
“You there,” he shouted, as an Elf failed to evade a hidden dagger pulled on him by his sparring partner. He ran over to the pair and took the Elf’s blade, “Here, watch me, you need to feel the motion in your body and sense what your opponent is going to do by envisioning you are him. Like this,” he nodded to the other Elf to attack him.
The Lórien Elf who circled the King was a head taller than Legolas. He was obviously an experienced warrior. They tested each other cautiously with a few parries and blocks. The large Elf feigned a lunge at the Mirkwood Elf, then pulled a surprising half turn in a blinding move that should have knocked the more slender being to the ground easily. But the lithe form of the King catapulted over his opponent in a blur and attacked from behind. The large Elf went flying to the ground. Legolas was on him in an instant.
A small crowd had gathered to watch with interest as the seemingly ill matched pair slipped around each other, with moves of cunning and speed that few could follow with their eyes let alone emulate. It ended in a sudden whirlwind of spin against spin with the larger Lórien Elf disarmed and on his knees before the short sword of the King pointed at his throat.
After a moments silence the crowd of spectators broke into spontaneous applause. Legolas slowly pulled off the Elf and extended a hand to help him to his feet. The Elf bowed with a genuine show of respect for the Mirkwood King . Legolas nodded his head in return, with a small smile tugging at his full mouth. He turned to look into the face of the Marchwarden. Haldir merely stared at him with a rather odd look then bowed his head gravely before stepping aside for the King to pass.
Legolas wasn’t sure what had just happened but as he looked over his shoulder he saw the Marchwarden barking orders at the archers and the footmen to tighten up their lines and to listen to the signals given by the Mirkwood archers. Legolas sat down wearily on a stone bench and watched the practice. After a time his eyes drifted from the field to the trees and he let his mind travel.
He was moving through the tunnels again. It was easier this time. Perhaps the sparring had helped to loosen him up. He sailed down dark rock passageways. A pleasant flowery smell came to him and he wondered at it. Where would such a smell come from in this dark place. Almost in answer to the thought he was mentally whisked quickly left, then right, and around a group of fallen rocks into a wider chamber. In the center was a circle of green pulsing mounds. Pods of some sort. One of them looked ripe as if ready to open. He drifted closer as the flower petals began to peel back…
A hand on his arm startled him from his reverie and he jumped. “My Liege? Are you all right?” Haldir was sitting next to him and had one hand on Legolas’s arm, the other was shaking him slightly by the shoulder. Legolas shuddered.
“What? Yes, yes I am well…why do you ask?” he tried to collect himself but was not having much success. The sweet flowery smell clung to him. The vision this time had been much more detailed. What was that thing? If only he had not been interrupted.
“Are you sure?” asked the Marchwarden, who had not removed his hands from the King. Legolas was about to retort something scathing but the look in Haldir’s eyes made him pause. The Marchwarden was not mocking him. He looked genuinely concerned. Legolas’s gaze flickered away and nodded.
“Thank you, Haldir. It is nothing,” he responded softly.
The eyes of the Marchwarden narrowed shrewdly. He knew when someone was lying to him but he decided to not press the issue just yet. He was starting to appreciate the depths of this proud young Elf. Instead he nodded and began to pull out some medicinal herbs and a swatch of bandage.
Legolas looked at him in confusion. Haldir picked up the other Elf’s arm and pointed to a long slash on the inside of his forearm. With out saying another word Haldir went about cleansing the superficial cut and bandaging it. Legolas watched quietly as the older Elf tended to his wound. He noted the gentleness of the hands that touched him. When the Marchwarden was done, Legolas looked up into the gray eyes and found himself unaccountably touched. He nodded his thanks. Haldir gave him a curt nod in return and stood with a bow to return to the troops.
Legolas watched him go as he curled his arm, testing the firm dressing in quiet wonder. For the second time in one day a small smile found its way to his lips.
“There is no shame in accepting help from your kin,” said the Marchwarden, in what he hoped was a reasonable tone. Haldir’s eyes were drawn helplessly to that plump sweet lip as it slowly turned down into a frown.
The King of Mirkwood stood gracefully from the overly large and splendid throne, which was ornamented with the crest and seal of the line of Thranduilion. His slim, whipcord frame, paced like a caged leopard, up and down on the raised platform. The iridescent material of his flowing robes shimmered and clung to the slim muscular body. A delicate mithril band circled the fair brow and slender braids formed an ornate pattern around the King’s golden head giving him the look of a rare exotic bird. The agitated movement halted abruptly and he turned to look down on the Marchwarden, irritation evident in his finely chiseled form.
“But I did not send for help from the Lady and Lord of the Golden Wood.” The sapphire eyes fixed the older Elf with a heated stare. “Perhaps you think us merely as backward Wood Elves that cannot manage our own affairs?”
The Marchwarden sighed. He had heard of how difficult the formidable Thranduil could be, but he had not expected to run into this kind of stubborn resistance from his young heir. Legolas seemed querulous, suspicious, even paranoid. He was nothing like the gentle, gracious, and mild mannered Prince Haldir had met, when the Fellowship had passed through Lórien during the Quest of the Ring. He wondered briefly what could have happened to the sweet Elf to make him so bitter and mistrusting.
“My Liege,” Haldir tried again at diplomacy, “This offer of assistance is not made because Lothlórien doubts Mirkwood’s ability to defeat the most fearsome of foes. In fact, it is widely known that Mirkwood has produced the most formidable warriors in all Elvendom.” He slowed down his speech, noting the fire in the sapphire orbs was dampening, “The Lady has seen something in her mirror, King Legolas, that may threaten all of Middle Earth. We need to work together to fight this new and untested enemy.”
The youthful face of the King contorted in consternation. Finally, looking up from his thoughts, he faced the Lórien Elf with the smooth countenance of one who had reached a decision to give in gracefully. “Very well, Haldir of Lorien, your offer of assistance is acceptable. We will combine our forces, and under my direction, attack the enemy in their lair.”
Haldir tried not to bristle visibly at this Elfling’s assumption of authority to command the joint campaign. King or no King, this proud pup was just barely out of his minority. Haldir bit his tongue and bowed low before the beautiful Sovereign of Mirkwood. He hastily took his leave lest he say something that may undo all his hard work. Wood Elves! In the back of his mind, he could sense the indulgent smile of the Lady of the Wood, as she noted his self-restraint
Arwen looked deeper into the crystal and could easily see the cave’s interior. Two large insect-like forms, black and sinuous, moved without sound around the chamber. Three new eggs were ready to be moved. As the creatures abhorred sunlight Arwen knew they would wait before carrying the cocoons with their precious cargo closer to the surface. She was in no hurry to see their progress. The destruction of Mirkwood was inevitable. Soon the archers would come closer. Soon.
Movement outside her chambers startled her and she hastily tapped on the glass ball with one long nail, watching it grow murky, then turn clear. She rose from her seat and approached her door. She could sense the power of the being outside it. A frown creased the lines of her forehead. She waited until the knock came and rearranging the look on her face as she opened the door to greet her visitor.
“Good evening, My Lady,” said the Istari, “May I come in?”
“Gandalf! How delightful that you should come to visit me.” She paused as the Wizard entered, “I do hope this late call is not to tell of some fell news. Is everything all right? I know you recently visited my Grandmother…” Her eyes were wide and questioning.
The Wizard smiled benignly and patted her shoulder. “All is well, dear Queen. Well, your Grandmother did have an unusual occurrence while looking into her mirror …but she is well. You know how strong she is,” he said reassuringly as he saw the alarmed look in the large blue eyes.
“No, I merely wished to come see you and well…see how you are,” he walked to a chair near the window and took a seat as she followed more slowly.
“Oh, what ever do you mean?” she asked as she sat down primly across from him, smoothing her skirts with one white delicate hand.
“Come now, Arwen, you and I are not strangers. I am concerned for you. You are the child of my dear friend and I know how things here have not been the best for you.”
She regarded him with a look that wavered between feigned innocence and raw indignation. Finally she said, in tones that dripped of acid, “No, I dare say things have not been ‘the best’ for me as you put it. And I think you, my cunning old friend, know why. Perhaps you care to enlighten me?”
Gandalf met the suddenly hard stare with a look of sympathy. “I can only tell you, my dear, that the person with the answer to those questions is in the other wing of the castle. I only wish to see how you are feeling…after what happened.”
“Ah…after my miscarriage? Why not say it? Or perhaps you fear I will have another episode.” The blue eyes were no longer innocent and the Wizard felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. This was indeed the granddaughter of Galadriel. How could he ever forget it?
“Nay, I simply don’t wish for you to …to feel alone here,” he concluded, somewhat weakly.
“But I am alone, Gandalf!” Her words were a hiss that sizzled across his skin. “And you come here now with platitudes, but when I asked for your help…”
“Arwen!” The Wizard now puffed his own field larger, to capture her attention. “Magic is not the answer to domestic troubles or affairs of the heart! Now, child, I beg you to not even think of it again. Putting a spell on our King is not going to change this situation.”
The Queen collected herself at these words and resettled her self in her chair. “You are right,” she sighed and leaned back in her seat like a delicate flower that was suddenly visited by too heavy a rain. The Wizard resettled himself as well and leaned to take her hand in his.
“My dear, why do you not consider a visit to Rivendell? I can see the strain is taking its toll, and before things get worse your father may be able to ease your mind with some healing draughts.”
“Gandalf, I tell you I am well in my mind. There is no need to fear.” She said sweetly. “It is my heart that suffers, but as you say, that discussion must take place with another.”
She rose regally from her chair and walked to the door in an air of dismissal. “Thank you for coming to see me.”
Gandalf rose and walked to the door as she opened it for him. “Remember, if the voices start to bother you again…”
”Gandalf, I told you, there is no need for your concern. I feel that soon things will be much better for me. Soon.” Her smile highlighted the sparkle of a queer light in her blue eyes. Gandalf bowed low and left.
When the door was finally closed and she could no longer sense him, she returned to her crystal, and tapped on it as she began to hum an old lullaby. The crystal swirled to life and she watched with satisfaction as another egg oozed out of the long channel to land on the floor of the cave. She caressed the crystal with a finger.
“Don’t worry my children, Mamma will make it all better. Soon. Soon you shall feast on the flesh of my enemies.”
Haldir tried valiantly to stifle the rude retort that threatened to pour from his lips as the beautiful Elf stormed about the field, chastising the footmen for their slow retaliation at the ‘enemy’ in the mock battle. It wasn’t that the young King was inaccurate in his observations. Legolas had in fact, surprised the Marchwarden with his acumen for military strategy and his quick grasp of the subtleties of battle. It was the insufferable haughtiness, of the Mirkwood King, that was wearing on Haldir’s nerves. The Marchwarden was several thousand years older than this Elfling, and it chafed to have to bend his head to the unending stream of disparaging comments.
“Marchwarden, look here to this troop. Your archers from Lórien were too slow to pick up the signals sent by Mirkwood’s scouts.” The King of Mirkwood rode up on his white steed and looked down his nose at the Lórien Commander. Haldir shaded his eyes with his hand as he looked up at the golden Elf. Legolas practically glowed in a halo of sunlight that bounced off his streaming mane of hair. The sapphire eyes shown bright with anger and the full rosy lips were eternally frozen into a pout. Haldir felt his heart beat a little faster as the beautiful Monarch slid from his horse and walked to stand in front of him.
“Did you here me, Marchwarden? Your archers are too slow!” The sapphires flashed.
Haldir blinked at the impudent tone and at the stunning vision that had produced it. He was torn between two impulses: to grab the gorgeous frowning creature and kiss him senseless, or to turn the blond brat over his knee and give the young King a well earned spanking.
“Well?” demanded the golden beauty.
“Yes, yes. I did see that. You are quite right my Liege. I shall attend to it at once. By your leave, that is,” he added before turning to go. The Elf frowned at him. Was this Lórien interloper mocking him?
“You have it,” Legolas said stiffly. He watched the Marchwarden move to his troops, his frown deepening. He hated having these wily Lórien Elves in his kingdom. Thranduil had been right about outsiders. No one outside the Woodland Realm could appreciate what it took to thrive in the treacherous forests of Mirkwood. The basic instinctual oneness with the Earth and the fundamental honesty demanded by Nature were necessary for survival. It was as Thranduil had once told him, ‘what the Lórien Elves considered rudeness the Wood Elves merely stated as truth.’ Legolas regretted how he had looked upon his Ada as out of step with the times. He wished Thranduil were here now.
The thought of his Ada brought a sudden sharpness to his chest. He breathed until it went away. It was better not to think about Ada, or about…He gasped out loud this time. A delicate white hand drifted to lie over his heart. No. Don’t think, he told himself. Never think. Just stay busy. His eyes scanned over the sparring pairs of footmen, looking for a diversion from his painful thoughts.
“You there,” he shouted, as an Elf failed to evade a hidden dagger pulled on him by his sparring partner. He ran over to the pair and took the Elf’s blade, “Here, watch me, you need to feel the motion in your body and sense what your opponent is going to do by envisioning you are him. Like this,” he nodded to the other Elf to attack him.
The Lórien Elf who circled the King was a head taller than Legolas. He was obviously an experienced warrior. They tested each other cautiously with a few parries and blocks. The large Elf feigned a lunge at the Mirkwood Elf, then pulled a surprising half turn in a blinding move that should have knocked the more slender being to the ground easily. But the lithe form of the King catapulted over his opponent in a blur and attacked from behind. The large Elf went flying to the ground. Legolas was on him in an instant.
A small crowd had gathered to watch with interest as the seemingly ill matched pair slipped around each other, with moves of cunning and speed that few could follow with their eyes let alone emulate. It ended in a sudden whirlwind of spin against spin with the larger Lórien Elf disarmed and on his knees before the short sword of the King pointed at his throat.
After a moments silence the crowd of spectators broke into spontaneous applause. Legolas slowly pulled off the Elf and extended a hand to help him to his feet. The Elf bowed with a genuine show of respect for the Mirkwood King . Legolas nodded his head in return, with a small smile tugging at his full mouth. He turned to look into the face of the Marchwarden. Haldir merely stared at him with a rather odd look then bowed his head gravely before stepping aside for the King to pass.
Legolas wasn’t sure what had just happened but as he looked over his shoulder he saw the Marchwarden barking orders at the archers and the footmen to tighten up their lines and to listen to the signals given by the Mirkwood archers. Legolas sat down wearily on a stone bench and watched the practice. After a time his eyes drifted from the field to the trees and he let his mind travel.
He was moving through the tunnels again. It was easier this time. Perhaps the sparring had helped to loosen him up. He sailed down dark rock passageways. A pleasant flowery smell came to him and he wondered at it. Where would such a smell come from in this dark place. Almost in answer to the thought he was mentally whisked quickly left, then right, and around a group of fallen rocks into a wider chamber. In the center was a circle of green pulsing mounds. Pods of some sort. One of them looked ripe as if ready to open. He drifted closer as the flower petals began to peel back…
A hand on his arm startled him from his reverie and he jumped. “My Liege? Are you all right?” Haldir was sitting next to him and had one hand on Legolas’s arm, the other was shaking him slightly by the shoulder. Legolas shuddered.
“What? Yes, yes I am well…why do you ask?” he tried to collect himself but was not having much success. The sweet flowery smell clung to him. The vision this time had been much more detailed. What was that thing? If only he had not been interrupted.
“Are you sure?” asked the Marchwarden, who had not removed his hands from the King. Legolas was about to retort something scathing but the look in Haldir’s eyes made him pause. The Marchwarden was not mocking him. He looked genuinely concerned. Legolas’s gaze flickered away and nodded.
“Thank you, Haldir. It is nothing,” he responded softly.
The eyes of the Marchwarden narrowed shrewdly. He knew when someone was lying to him but he decided to not press the issue just yet. He was starting to appreciate the depths of this proud young Elf. Instead he nodded and began to pull out some medicinal herbs and a swatch of bandage.
Legolas looked at him in confusion. Haldir picked up the other Elf’s arm and pointed to a long slash on the inside of his forearm. With out saying another word Haldir went about cleansing the superficial cut and bandaging it. Legolas watched quietly as the older Elf tended to his wound. He noted the gentleness of the hands that touched him. When the Marchwarden was done, Legolas looked up into the gray eyes and found himself unaccountably touched. He nodded his thanks. Haldir gave him a curt nod in return and stood with a bow to return to the troops.
Legolas watched him go as he curled his arm, testing the firm dressing in quiet wonder. For the second time in one day a small smile found its way to his lips.
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