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The journey back to Imladris passed without incident, but by the time
they returned it was nearly dawn. As they ascended the steps,
Elrond studied his sons carefully.
“I want all three of you to go and rest. Legolas as well, I would
suggest. I do not want to see any
of you before noon!” As they turned away towards the
stairs, he added: “And Elladan, I mean your own room! Elrohir is well;
you do not need to watch over him while he sleeps!”
Indignant, Elladan turned, ready to argue, but a glare from his father
– and his twin – stopped him. “I really am all right, El.
There is no need to worry!” Elrohir told him firmly. The
four dispersed, each to their own chambers, and a brief peace descended
on the Last Homely House.
At noon, the soft ringing of many bells summoned all to the mid-day
meal. As Legolas crossed the hall, Erestor approached him.
“My Lord, a messenger arrived from your father this morning. He
awaits you in the Hall of Fire.”
Slightly apprehensive, hoping nothing was wrong, Legolas went into the
dimly lit hall. At the sound of his soft footsteps the messenger got to
his feet and bowed. “My Lord Legolas! I bring greetings from your
Lord Father.”
Legolas greeted the messenger warmly. “Nifael! It is a pleasure
to see someone from home. Did you have a safe journey?”
Nifael nodded. He was a new recruit to the messenger service, young,
very much in awe of the army commander and his prince. He looked a
little shocked as Legolas went to one of the tables and poured him a
cup of wine. “Here. You must have been riding all night.”
Nifael bowed uneasily. “Thank you, my Lord.”
Legolas ignored the honorific. He had tried before to persuade Nifael
to call him by name, but to no avail. The only way would seem to be a
direct order, which rather defeated the object. “Do you have a
message for me?”
“Yes, my Lord. I was instructed by Lord Tirnan to inform you and Lord
Elrond that the crossing at the ford has been repaired. It was washed
away in floods a week or two ago.”
“Yes, I had noticed,” Legolas commented dryly.
“Oh. Well, Lord Tirnan sent a patrol to repair the stones. He asked me
to inform you, my Lord.” Nifael stopped, and bowed again.
Legolas sighed. “Thank you. Is there any further news?”
“Yes, my Lord. Your Lord Father asks when you will return to Lasgalen.”
Frowning, Legolas considered the question. “Well, we have not
finished here yet. You can tell him … tell him I will be back when the
last of the trolls is dead.”
Nifael nodded. “Of course, my Lord. I can leave at once.”
Legolas stopped the messenger as he turned, ready to depart
immediately. “No, you will not! You have only just arrived. Stay
here. Rest. The message will keep until tomorrow. And join us for
the noon meal.”
The messenger nodded nervously. “Yes, my Lord. Thank you.” He gave a
final bow.
Legolas watched Nifael leave, and shook his head. He hated excessive
formality, but at times fought a losing battle. There was clearly no
hope for Nifael. But with his zeal and enthusiasm, Legolas knew he
would deliver the message safely, and it would not be long before he
himself returned home.
Legolas rejoined the others after Nifael left the Hall of Fire, as
Aragorn looked at him quizzically. “You look harassed. Is there
trouble at home?”
“No, no important messages,” Legolas replied shortly. “Just
Nifael, ‘my Lording’ me all the time!”
Elladan laughed. “I know how you feel. We had a servant here
once; she looked dazed every time she had to speak to us!”
“Well, you can understand that,” Aragorn commented slyly.
Elladan ignored him. “It was El’s fault; but all he did was smile at
her. You know what some ellyth
are like around him. One day she was so busy looking at him she poured
soup in Glorfindel’s lap. She was never the same after
that! Mind you, neither was he.”
Legolas was intrigued. “What happened to her?” he asked.
“In the end she asked to work in the kitchens. She married one of the
cooks eventually.”
After the noon meal, Nifael appeared again, once more eager to leave to
deliver his message.
“At least stay overnight. If you leave then there will be
better light, and you will make better time. I will make
sure your horse is ready, and the supplies you will need,” Legolas
persuaded him.
“Please, my Lord, you should not ...”
“Stop arguing!”
Nifael flinched. “Yes, my Lord. I apologise, my Lord.”
“Nifael, please … oh, never mind!”
In addition to the message he had given Nifael, Legolas wrote a long
letter to be delivered to his father. He described his journey to
Rivendell, crossing the ford, and the progress of the troll hunt. He
gave a detailed account – as far as he could recall events – of the
attack by the three trolls. He wanted to reassure his father that he
was well – it was entirely possible that Thranduil had sensed something
of what had happened. If so, he would have been concerned.
Nifael departed soon after dawn the next day. He had carefully
put the letter in his pack; checked it, repeated the verbal
message – twice – to be sure he had it correctly memorised, and
finally rode out of the courtyard. In truth, Legolas was not
sorry to see him go. The youngster’s constant deference and eagerness
to please was exhausting.
That evening the hunting parties rode out from Imladris yet again. With
only one troll left, the hunt would either be over quickly, or could
take another year. Legolas knew he could not be away indefinitely, so
hoped it would not be too long. He did not want to have to leave before
the final battle, but was beginning to feel guilty about the length of
his absence from Lasgalen. His leave was nearly over, and he
would not abuse his position by extending it.
The night was cold and wet, a thin drizzling rain soaking everything.
Clouds veiled the stars, and a chill wind blew up the valley.
They rode quietly, huddled within cloaks, breath misting on the air
before them.
Elladan and Aragorn, and even Elrohir, had successfully argued that
they were fit to join the hunting party. Elrond, however, insisted on
accompanying them ‘to keep an eye on them.’ Arwen too had decided
to join the group - Legolas realized that she did not trust them to
stay out of trouble any more than Elrond did.
About an hour’s travel from Imladris they came to an area Legolas had
not seen before. The area they had decided to watch was a small dell,
overhung by a high cliff and surrounded by trees. It was a gloomy
place, where the sun rarely penetrated, but a narrow, twisting trail
led through the trees and across the dell, and in the soft mud scouts
had found the clear tracks of a troll.
Watching alone all night could be deathly dull, so Legolas sat with
Arwen against a rock below the cliff. The horses were safely hidden
beneath the trees that grew thickly all around. The night was cold, and
they sat huddled in their cloaks, shielded from the wind by the
sheltering rocks.
Legolas spent a pleasant few hours with Arwen, reminiscing about
adventures around Imladris and in Lasgalen, and giving her a colourful
account of the Battle of Five Armies.
“What nonsense!” exclaimed Arwen. “Eagles? And bears? I suppose you
will tell me next that the wolves were on your side?”
“Wargs, not wolves. They were worse. And no, they were most definitely
not on our side,” said Legolas seriously. “And there was only one bear
- but it was very big! I think I have a few fangs from the wargs
somewhere, souvenirs …” He pretended to grope in a pocket on his tunic
for a warg fang, causing Arwen to giggle like an elfling. Suddenly he
stopped, and drew from his pocket a silver-handled knife, enamelled
with a design of fish and waterfalls. “Curse it. I forgot I had
this.”
“That looks like Elladan’s.”
Legolas nodded. “Yes, I borrowed it yesterday. I should give it
back.”
He pushed himself away from the rock he had been leaning against, and
moved across the dell to Elladan’s position. As he reached the twins,
somewhere behind him he heard a low rumble, like thunder, but not
quite. His skin prickled. Where had he heard that before?
Elladan took the knife, looking at him curiously. “What was that?” he
mouthed.
“It sounds familiar,” Legolas whispered back, shaking his head.
“I feel I should know.” Then his eyes widened in disbelief. He
remembered where he had heard the sound before – two nights ago, in the
cave; the troll. He turned slowly.
The rock he and Arwen had been leaning against was moving. It straightened stiffly,
gradually awakening, and stood, towering over the dell as the
elves stared in disbelief. It seemed they had found the final
troll.
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