CHAPTER FIVE
A nod, and Legolas trotted willingly enough at my side, out of the stables and around to the open field where I kept Silme. Apparently, horses were the key to this child's heart. Horses and stories, had Mithrandir and I not agreed? Judging by the speed with which Legolas was accompanying me, apparently, we'd been right.
I had been worried for a moment, back in the stable before Naur's stall. I'd seen the light in Legolas's eyes reflected before in grown elves' eyes: the light that said, "This is the horse for me, I will have no other." Grown elves had paid in painful ways for such love at first sight.
I shivered inwardly as I pondered what would happen were Legolas to trip the latch into Naur's stall. The stallion struck with hooves and teeth at everyone who came near -- everyone but Glorfindel. One small elf would have been a small morsel to Naur, quickly and easily killed with a blow to the head or to the fragile little body. But all was well; Legolas had been diverted, the light in his eyes had been only a momentary distraction with Naur easily forgotten. Children shift interests so swiftly, and I'd see to it that he did.
Setting Legolas atop the fence, I entered the field, secured the gate, and whistled for Silme. A white gelding, he'd been my companion for seven years. At my whistle, he bolted out of the trees at the far side of the field. His herd followed -- an impressive collection of mares that were the mainstay of my breeding program. The foundation stallions -- two of them -- were kept on the opposite end of the stable yard. I would not be introducing Legolas to them this morning.
I heard Legolas's swift intake of breath as Silme danced up to us, blowing and snorting. His eye was fierce, but it was all show. This one liked to play more than attack. He'd been an enthusiastic, faithful companion to me all of his days.
Jumping down from the fence, Legolas pressed against my leg and reached up to touch the horse's chest. Backing up a step, Silme blew at the child's hair and peered down at him with what appeared to be astonishment to discover an elf so small. There had been no elflings born within his lifetime, nor within many generations preceding him. This was clearly something quite startling to all the horses.
But Silme's interest was all curiosity and no apprehension. Legolas's small fingers were nibbled, a velvet nose was stroked. And Legolas actually smiled up at me.
"He's good," came the quiet conclusion.
"Do you want to sit on him?"
A shy nod, and Legolas turned toward me. I hesitated, suspecting that I'd been granted permission to lift Legolas onto the horse's back, but wanting to make certain.
Moving slowly, I slipped my hands beneath his arms. When he didn't stiffen or pull away, I picked him up and settled him across the horse's back. Scooting up into position behind Silme's withers, Legolas buried his fingers deep in the white mane and then startled me by bending low to sniff the dusty mane where it cascaded over his fingers. Evidently my elegant fellow had had a fine roll this morning, though what interest this small one had in sniffing dust puzzled me.
I shook the thought aside and grasped my own bit of mane to leap up behind Legolas when Glorfindel called to me from the fence. /Follow me,/ I silently commanded Silme, and he paced obediently behind me to meet Glorfindel. It was a relief, really, to leave the difficult horses to Glorfindel.
They talked and they talked and they talked. The Big Elves were going to talk forever it seemed and showed no signs of ever stopping. I wanted to RIDE and Silme wanted to carry me. He'd told me so, and he'd already pointed out the best paths. He promised that we could run with the others in the warm sunlight, streak through the trees and over logs and feel the wind in our manes. He knew how to go very fast and I wanted to go very fast. He wanted to carry me and I was up on him, so why were we standing around waiting for Lord Elrond and Glorfindel to finish talking?
Losing patience, I tightened my fingers and my legs. /Go,/ I told Silme, and he went. Seeming to know the advantages of sneaking, he tiptoed away from Lord Elrond before breaking into a trot. Grinning, I told him, /Go faster./
His canter was smooth. As he wove his way through the grazing mares, one joined us, then another, until all of the mares flowed beside us, running in a great herd just as they had when Annun raced with me. I loved riding most of all, because then I could forget that I was just a small elf and could pretend to be one of them. Horses really were much better than elves.
We headed with all speed toward the trees, with Silme's first mare ahead and to the side of us while the others followed. Reaching over, Silme lazily bit her flank. She squealed, but more in amusement than outrage and flashed a kick in his general direction before quickening her pace. Silme stretched out, matching her, and into the trees we went. Finally flying and for the first time since coming to Rivendell, I was free.
Glorfindel's gaze left me and grew distant, intent upon something behind me. "Lord Elrond...."
I turned in time to see the elfling in my charge boot my horse into a gallop and disappear in the distant grove of trees. "By Elbereth, he'll kill himself!"
"I don't think so. The boy knows what he's doing. And he has excellent taste in a mount, don't you think?"
"But... but... that's MY horse!"
"Yes," Glorfindel said cheerily, "it is. Or was, anyway. Might be again, if you're lucky. Wait a bit and they'll all come round."
Come round, they did. Silme was in the lead now with Legolas stretched out on his neck, half buried in the whipping mane. The child looked so small on that long back, so vulnerable. I held my breath, waiting for Silme to punt him off when the horse kicked playfully at a mare that was venturing too close. How would I tell Mithrandir that I'd managed to see his elfling killed within hours of the wizard's leaving?
"Are you having fun, then?" Glorfindel shouted at Legolas when he passed.
A shriek of laughter answered as horse and child streaked past us, on their way back into the narrow woods where all sorts of traps -- half-fallen trees and wayward branches -- waited to snag the unwary, inexperienced rider. I knew those paths well, had taught Arwen when she was younger how to navigate gnarled and half-decayed old trunks that had been struck by lightning and now lay half-hidden in sand that also hid an assortment of unforgiving rocks. The entire herd thundered into the grove, intent on their fun and turning my blood to ice.
"Legolas, come back," I called as calmly as I could.
"Now there's a sight we've not seen in Imladris since I've been here," Glorfindel commented mildly at my side. "A boy and his horse taking the jumps and a bit of air on a fine, sunlit morning."
I spared a glare for him as the horses once more broke free of the bramble.
"Relax, Elrond," Glorfindel scolded and nodded toward the thundering pack. "The boy rides better than you did at his age, and I ought to know for I was there. Gil-galad had cause to worry over you far more than you have cause to worry over this one. You'd see that too, if you'd care to look."
I looked and saw a small butt planted firmly on a broad back. Legolas's legs were tight and sure, no matter that they barely reached down to Silme's ribs, and Legolas's fingers were securely buried in the silver-white mane flowing over his arms. He rode in balance and with confidence, as if he'd been born to it. Leaning close, he whispered new commands toward a velvet ear, and Silme listened. My own Silme, who sometimes would not listen to me.
The gelding slowed and Legolas locked gazes with me as if to ask, "Do you want us to stop?"
Glorfindel chose that moment to touch my arm and murmur softly, "Legolas is laughing, Elrond. How long has it been since that child had cause for joy?"
Stunned at Glorfindel's assessment and my grudging, if silent, agreement with it, I waved the young one on for another round, but shouted, "Stay out of the trees this time, if you please?"
He pleased and guided Silme past the wood. With all of the obstacles gone, my horse stretched into a gallop. They flew, slender child and powerful horse. Legolas closed his eyes to ride the wind, trusting Silme to carry him safely around and back to us. /Come here,/ I sent to the horse and he obeyed, slowing until he stopped before us, with the rest of the herd thundering past.
I shook my head in wonder as Legolas released Silme's mane, straightened, and grinned down at me. Irritation threatened to overwhelm my wonder when Glorfindel chuckled beside me.
"It's not many who've managed to relieve Lord Elrond of his horse," Glorfindel told the boy. "But I think he'd like him back now. Wouldn't you like a mount of your own, Legolas?"
Legolas shook his head and patted Silme's mane as if to say, 'This one will do nicely.' Oh, no, he would not.
"Silme is mine," I explained with far more patience than I was feeling at the moment, "and while I will share him with you from time to time, I don't want you on him when I am not here. Wouldn't you like a horse of your own to ride, whenever you'd like?"
Legolas considered, and then nodded, albeit reluctantly. Clearly, he was still taken with Silme.
"Very well, then." Reaching up, I snagged the elfling around the waist and returned him to earth. "Let's go and see what's available in another field, hmm?"
Legolas sighed deeply, but marched sturdily between Glorfindel and me into another pasture. I exchanged glances with the golden-haired elf-lord who seemed a sudden nemesis determined to greet my irritation not with murmurs of commiseration, but with yet another grin. That was fine, but it wasn't his horse being stolen nearly out from under him, was it? Not that anyone could steal Naur from him. Not that anyone even remotely sane would want to. In all honesty, I was irritated that Legolas had managed in seconds to ride a horse that had required a month of careful convincing from me before he would agree to carry me.
The field we led Legolas to held many geldings, of both Glorfindel's and my breeding. Briefly, the lord and I discussed possible mounts for Legolas before I sent Glorfindel off to retrieve the horses in question. One by one, they were paraded before the elfling. And to my rapidly growing irritation, one by one, he refused them all.
"This one would make a fine mount for you, yes?"
Legolas again shook his head, the silver-blond hair catching the light as he eyed this new prospective mount with obvious distain.
"What's wrong with this one?" Even Glorfindel was sounding a bit exasperated now. I was glad to note I was not the only one.
Frowning, the elfling gestured toward the animal's hocks and then wrinkled his nose in displeasure.
Hocks. Again it was the hocks. What was this child's obsession with hind leg joints in horses? And why weren't my horses good enough for a small brat who stole horses? I was being generous to share Silme. I was being *very* generous in giving Legolas a mount of his own. And was he grateful? No. He stood there and critiqued my horses as though he were some horsemaster with ages of experience behind him. I expected such things from Glorfindel. It was most annoying to find it in one so short that he didn't meet my waist.
That one's chest was too narrow, that one was too long in the back -- Legolas liked short-coupled horses. That one was cow-hocked, while another's withers were non-existent. That one didn't have enough angulation in the front end and could not extend its stride, much less get its knees up when jumping, and on and on it went.
"Strange that he's pointing out to you the very things I've pointed out to you in the past," murmured Glorfindel after he'd released Legolas's latest rejection. "The boy's got a gift, no doubt of it."
I all but growled in reply -- would have, if not for Legolas who had been watching us both so closely throughout the afternoon. Now I was irritated with Glorfindel as well as my small critic.
"Legolas, you must choose one," I insisted. With great longing, he gazed back toward the field holding Silme. "No, you cannot have my horse," I reiterated, emphatic this time. "There are at least thirty geldings in this field. This field, right here. Will you have any of them for your mount, or should we go forget this altogether and go in for lunch. You don't have to have your own horse. We can forget all about it right now."
There was a satisfying moment in which genuine horror flashed through those blue eyes, then Legolas shook his head quickly and turned back toward the field with new interest. He stood at the fence, brow furrowed in concentration, and considered, as serious as any horseman come from Lothlorien to purchase one of our offerings. I fully expected Legolas to reject them all out of hand and demand that I surrender Silme. Glorfindel and I had discovered a hidden strength of will in this child. Even as it irritated me in this instance, it amused Glorfindel no end. The lord wheezed beside me, trying to hold back his laughter.
"That one," came the final decision, as princely as any who had come out of Mirkwood before.
"You want the bay with the blaze?" Glorfindel ventured. "A fine choice with fine conformation, lad, but can you ride him?"
Glorfindel had offered quite a few horses for Legolas's consideration, but they had been chosen more for their placid temperaments than their conformation. This one was not on the elf lord's most trusty list of mounts and I could see the anxiety in him over what would come next.
"Can," Legolas assured us. "Can ride anything," he declared. I arched an eyebrow at that, at the presumption as well as the confidence.
"Let's just see if you can."
Going into the field, Glorfindel retrieved the horse in question and brought him round to a nearby paddock. Darting through the fence boards, Legolas followed eagerly down the path, trotting more than walking and dancing backward ahead of us half the time so as to watch his new friend as we traveled.
The horse snuzzed the boy, amazed as the other animals had been by this miniature elf, and then he stood quietly, much as Silme had, while Legolas circled him several times. Small hands checked legs and Legolas scowled as he picked at a scab, then poked the bump on the bone underneath it.
"Is he still the one?" Glorfindel asked.
Legolas sighed, peering critically at the animal's chest, then straightened to face us. When he nodded, Glorfindel lifted Legolas without protest into his arms and circled the horse again. "Best have another look from up here."
"So, what do you think?" I asked the imp after the two of them had made several rotations.
"Wait," Legolas ordered, all but frowning at me for my impatience.
I arched an eyebrow at Glorfindel, who grinned to hear the order. Again, Legolas was carried around the horse, and again, and I found myself wondering what might be going on in that silver-blond head of his. Legolas's eye seemed as critical as the elf-lord's who was carrying him.
Glancing over my shoulder on a whim, I saw that my own gelding was standing at the fence and staring intently at the goings-on. And it wasn't me he was watching, but the boy. Giving an inward growl, I returned my focus to the child and his -- HIS -- horse.
"Good," came Legolas's final decree.
"Yes, he is," Glorfindel agreed. "But do you know why he's good?"
"Legs are good," Legolas announced. "Head and back and neck, all good. Chest too narrow, though." He shrugged, then added the qualifier "But deep enough. He's mostly all good."
Glorfindel laughed outright. "That's one way to put it, I suppose. And you're quite right. He has clean legs and his head is noble, his back is not over-long, he's well-coupled and will carry you easily over jumps. Well chosen, little one. Did someone teach you to look for all of those things?"
Legolas shrugged. "Nesséro. Told me a little. Other stuff..." He shrugged, disinterested. "Can just see it."
Nesséro, I presumed, was one of the stablemen at Mirkwood. The great irony evident in all of this was that Glorfindel himself would have chosen only this horse from that field. The flaws Legolas had pointed out in the others were the same flaws in my own horses that Glorfindel had been pointing out to me for years. That was a fact I'd no doubt be reminded of when the wine and the song and the conversation was flowing inside my Fire Hall this coming night. Perhaps I would dine alone in my library tonight.
"All right, then. Up you go, and we'll see if you can ride him."
Setting action to words, Glorfindel settled Legolas across the horse's back. Small hands buried themselves in the mane once more, and Legolas leaned forward to give the first command.
"Hold," I said. "You wish no halter? No tack? This horse has not had a rider for some time, and he may not listen to you very well."
The child shook his head in adamant refusal. "Tack gets inna way."
I opened my mouth to object further, but the child had other plans. Kicking the horse into a canter, Legolas began by doing lazy figure eights there on the grass before us. Once more, Glorfindel's easy laughter rang out.
"Don't say anything," I growled.
"No, m'lord. I think I'll save all of my words for the night to come." He choked. "All, save these once more: the boy has a true gift, of that there's no doubt."
Legolas rode until afternoon, and even then I had to pull him off of the horse. I think that he would have slept on that poor gelding's back if I had let him.
CHAPTER SIX
The screaming reached me first. It was the high-pitched shriek of a terrified child, and one that I had heard before. My gaze flew instantly to the great old oak that grew outside my library balcony, and my heart turned cold as I realized that Legolas was no longer in its branches.
He'd been playing quietly in this tree all afternoon, easily within my line of site, exploring his favorite tree before curling up to sleep in the cradle of two close-growing branches I deemed not so high off the ground as to cause grievous damage should he fall. He was napping quietly only a moment ago, totally oblivious to the rain that had started to fall. My heart began to pound; something dire was in progress.
The screaming escalated, now with a hint of rage, and there was another voice joining his, this one laced with pain. I was through the library and onto the staircase when I heard Glorfindel's step behind me.
The screams mounted into piercing ranges. I gained the stairs to the lower level, charging toward the entryway with all possible speed, Glorfindel at my heels. The stairs at least gave me a view of the entry hall, as well as the source of the discord.
Arwen was rushing toward the stairs, holding Legolas clenched in her arms as he kicked and flailed and shrieked, landing no few blows as they traveled. She cried out as well, as his total effort was behind his counterassault, but she was not to be dissuaded and staggered a few more steps toward me, hands white-knuckled as she struggled to hang on to the small child. The noise stopped momentarily as Legolas twisted in her grip and managed to sink his teeth into her wrist.
This time it was Arwen who screamed so piercingly, and she abruptly released the child who landed on the stone floor with a thud that made me wince. Injuries did not seem to be his major concern, however. As Arwen examined her bitten wrist, Legolas bounced to his feet, whirled to face her and with another scream of utter fury charged directly into her, both arms extended before him, impacting into her midriff like a small battering ram.
Arwen replied with a most undignified sound of oooffff as this tiny whirlwind slammed into her, knocking her over backward to land on her much-admired backside. Legolas followed her descent so that when she looked up she found herself eye-to-eye with this little terror.
"YOU DON'T TOUCH ME!" it screamed, mere inches from her nose and bristling with fury. "YOU DON'T NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN! NOT EVER!" Legolas then continued with words one does not normally use in court, delivered with great passion and sincerity. I had wondered what vocabulary he might have, but this was never one I had considered.
"Ah, so he can speak," murmured Glorfindel behind me "Quite fluently, too. Ouch, where did he hear that one? I don't think that's physically possible..." he mused. He seemed not at all concerned about this altercation.
"NOT EVER! OR I'LL BITE YOU ! I WILL!"
I saw Arwen's eyes widen with ... was that fear? She tried to rise from the floor, I assumed in an attempt to retreat from this violent little elf, but she was yanked back down immediately. Legolas was standing on her skirt, it appeared.
"YOU GO AWAY! YOU GO AWAY AND YOU LEAVE ME ALONE! AND DON'T YOU NEVER TOUCH ME AGAIN!" Legolas howled at her again. Her eyes widened in sudden panic, and Arwen made a new effort to escape, once again finding her pinned skirts would not allow her to rise. She turned her fearful gaze toward me and cried out for rescue.
"Fatherrrrrr!"
I'm not certain when I halted on the staircase, but intervention seemed appropriate, and I began to run down the steps again. Glorfindel followed, of course. I could hear him choking, trying not to laugh. I had to admit to the humor of this surreal moment; Arwen, the Evenstar, the most beautiful and loved elven lady of Imladris was currently in a physical altercation with a tiny little wildling not a quarter of her size, and the little one was winning.
He was impressive: wet hair plastered to his cheeks, oversized little boy ears sticking out through the soggy strands, spine rigid, fists clenched, absolutely shaking with fury. The sight was truly comical in one so small. It wasn't until I saw those eyes that I realized what she was up against. They were dark, they were filled with rage and almost feral. I felt a chill seize me then.
Arwen saw it too, and decided that rescue was too far away. Grabbing her skirts in both hands she yanked - hard - pulling them out from under Legolas, sending him tumbling over backwards. This gained her a split second to scramble to her feet, but she was almost too slow. Legolas bounced back to his feet with far greater speed and took off after her again. Arwen shrieked once, then took flight, hurtling through the entryway and past me with a retreating cry of "Fatheeeer, heeeellllllp!" Glorfindel's choking evolved into full laughter.
I managed to intercept the little predator, catching him out of his pursuit as he hurtled past me. He struggled wildly, seemingly unaware of who held him in his passion to further assault my daughter.
"NOT NEVER!" he screeched, full volume, into my ear. I winced, then shoved him at the still laughing Glorfindel.
"Here. Deal with him," I snapped, shoving the screaming child into his arms. I heard him grunt in pain at some impact, probably boot to knee. I didn't look back to see, but took off to attend my battered daughter. The cry of "NEEVVVEERRRRRRR!" followed me as I left the room.
She hadn't run far, just into the inner hall where she stood sniffling and trying to smooth her skirts. She looked up as I entered, and stared at me as though in shock. "Father, he's gone mad," she advised me in a shocked whisper.
I smiled - I couldn't help it. "No, Arwen. I think we've just found he has his father's temper."
"Well, he's horrid. He is an absolutely horrid child."
I put my arm around her shoulders, and guided her toward a bench where we might rest for a moment. She was trembling, I noticed; Legolas had genuinely frightened her with the intensity of his anger.
The screaming was dying down. I hoped it was not due to the demise of Lord Glorfindel. "What happened, Arwen? What started all this?"
"I was--" She paused to draw in a shuddering breath. "I was bringing him to you. I thought he was hurt or - or dead! He was in that tree, just lying there in the rain, and he didn't move when I spoke to him, so I pulled him out and I was bringing him to you--" She broke off in tears, and I held her as she shuddered for a moment. She sniffed, then straightened up, though not out of my embrace, I noted. Parental reassurance was still desirable.
"He was just lying there in that tree. He was soaked. He didn't even move when I pulled him down. I thought he was hurt or dead. But when I got about halfway here he woke up and started kicking and screaming - Father, he was really frightening me!"
"Arwen, he was merely napping in the tree."
"Then why didn't he answer me? Why didn't he wake up when I moved him? Why--why was he sleeping in the RAIN!?"
"He likes sleeping in the rain. He wanders at night when Mithrandir is away, and he seems to feel secure enough to sleep in the tree during the day. The rain was warm enough and he was under the canopy of the leaves, so not that much reached him. I was watching him, and he was quite safe. I do appreciate your concern for him, though. That was very dear of you." I rewarded her with a kiss to the forehead, but she only glared at me.
"How was I to know that? Normal elves do not sleep in trees, most certainly not in the rain. And they wake up when you shout at them. That child is not normal."
"He's had a difficult time, Arwen."
"He BIT me! Look!" She thrust her dainty wrist beneath my nose, displaying matching crescents of indentations, deep and blue-grey, with surrounding redness.
"He certainly did."
"And he hit me. He knocked me down and shouted at me. And he's ruined my dress. Father, he threatened me"
"He did all of that," I agreed patiently. "But, Arwen, you frightened him. From what Mithrandir has told, me being hauled from a tree without warning was often the prelude to a very unpleasant confrontation for him."
"And my frightening him is excuse for his turning into a savage little animal and attacking me? What fear could justify that? You'd think they hauled him off and beat him the way he was fighting me."
"Arwen, they did."
That stopped her. She looked up at me, startled, seeking truth in my expression. "Mithrandir told me he actually interrupted one such event. As he watched, the elf pulled Legolas from a tree with enough force to dislocate his elbow, and then struck him several times to gain his cooperation. And he was being taken to his father for further disciplinary purposes at that time. You woke him from very deep sleep, it sounds, and the memories came forth first as he woke."
Horror, then comprehension then compassion; the emotions crossed her lovely features swiftly. I added the final detail, one I knew of personally. "Legolas father also has such a temper, and he was being dragged before him when Mithrandir stepped in and brought him to us. It was not the first such audience, daughter. I know he frightened you and hurt you," I added, caressing the bite marks with my thumb as I held her hand, "but do try to forgive him. He is a very frightened little elf."
"I'll forgive, but just see if I ever touch him again," she finally growled, sounding far from forgiving.
"That is all I ask." I stood then, pulling her to her feet. "Come, we best see what is left of Glorfindel. I shoved Legolas into his arms as I followed you, and the silence is beginning to worry me."
She laughed at that, then turned toward me, pleased. "You came to me first?"
"You are my dear daughter. Of course I followed you." Lest there be chaos and wailing for an inordinate length of time, I added silently, but she need not know my true motivation. Peace was what Rivendell was founded upon; best we not disturb it unnecessarily.
"On the positive side, you did get him to speak to us."
"Yes, but did you hear what he said? How could-- He said, used words--
Father, his language is - is--"
"Not acceptable," I finished for her. "Yes, we'll deal with that in due time. At least he is speaking, and I am pleased with that. I think."
"Father, what are you going to do with him?"
"I plan to keep him safe and contained until Mithrandir returns. Then we shall as him what he plans to do."
The child was thrown bodily against me, still screaming in rage. I managed to snag an arm as he lunged after Arwen, and he spun to face me. His eyes were cold and frightening. Had he been an elf grown I would have been prepared to defend my very life. What could have produced such rage in someone so small? My thoughts were redirected as he lunged again against my hold, then turned to swing at me.
This was not the first irate elf I had restrained over my many years, though most were bigger. Anger of this intensity cannot be reasoned with; one must merely contain it until it burns itself out. And so I set about capturing this tiny whirlwind of fists and feet and flying silvery hair and blazing blue eyes. Yes, and teeth, I noted with a yelp, shaking him off my wrist.
I finally managed to get the hold I wanted, somewhere mid-torso, and spun him away from me to lock my arms about his chest. Pulling him securely against my chest I sank down to the chill stone of the entryway, holding him close as he screamed and fought against my hold.
"Peace, little one. Be at peace. No one will harm you here. No one is angry with you. Stop your fighting, there is no need for it now. Be still. Just be still...." I rocked him back and forth, whispering soothing words in his ear as he gradually calmed. Anger is often an overlay of fear, and as his fighting diminished, I recognized that his fury subsided into silent shivering. Or trembling.
Finally he lay still in my lap, cradled against me more than pinned there by my embrace. "Are you finished?" I asked softly. He stared at the floor for a moment, then offered a hesitant nod. "If I let go, are you going to hit me?" This time the head shook in a negative reply. "Very well, I'm going to let go now." And I did, slowly opening my arms and allowing him to stand.
I turned him to face me, noting the troubled expression and the tracks of tears that had fallen while I could not see his face. I reached up to wipe them away, but he twisted away, just out of reach.
"That was quite a speech, little one," I began. "Where did you learn all those words." He hunched in on himself, evidently well aware that those were not the appropriate means of expressing himself. "I think I learned a new word or two," I added, "and I know many not-nice words." He canted an eye toward me, as though trying to gauge my reaction and just how much trouble he was in.
"I'm sorry I bit you."
"I am too. It hurt."
"Sorry," he repeated, though this apology was directed to his toes.
"Are you really sorry?" I asked. "Sorry enough to promise not to bite me again?"
He nodded. "Really sorry. Won't bite you again."
"What about Arwen?"
"I'll bite her if she touches me." His anger flared back into life with surprising suddenness.
"She must have frightened you very badly."
He looked up at me, startled.
"Sometimes we get angry when we're scared. And I think she scared you when she took you out of the tree." He didn't reply, but tears suddenly welled up in those blue eyes. "She did, didn't she. Did someone else pull you out of trees?"
Nod.
"And did something bad happen then?"
Pause, then nod. A tear broke free to trace down one cheek, followed by it's mate down the other cheek.
I pulled him into my arms, hugging him close. It was an impulsive move I thought better of the moment I reached for him, but other than stiffening initially he allowed the contact. I was surprised, and honored by his trust for some strange reason, holding him protectively in my arms.
"Nothing like that will happen here. I, Lord Glorfindel, defender of Imladris, of the House of the Golden Flower, promise you that nothing like that will ever happen here." It sounded appallingly pompous to my ears, but it seemed to impress my young charge immensely, as those worried blue eyes grew huge and round at my words.
"No, nothing like that will ever happen here, young Legolas."
We both jumped at the new voice, and found Lord Elrond and a rather watery, rumpled Arwen peeking around from behind him. Her hair was in disarray, her nose was red, her skirt was wet and wrinkled, and smooth at it though she might, she could not erase the hand prints over either hip bone, nor the muddy footprints up the left side. This was Arwen as we'd never seen her before. I knew it was a mistake, but I had to laugh.
She scowled at me, then at Legolas, proving we were now both in her ill graces. And the child in my arms growled at her. Growled. I looked down in shock and shook him slightly. "No. Put the anger aside now and behave."
"Legolas, are you all right?" Elrond asked, from a safe distance of several feet. The child nodded, tearing his glare away from Arwen long enough to meet Elrond's eyes. "Arwen misunderstood. She thought you were hurt because you were sleeping in the tree in the rain. She wanted only to bring you to me, to help you."
The glare intensified. Elrond looked uncomfortable, and Arwen somewhere between injured and apprehensive, clearly ready to flee at any moment.
"She shouldn't have touched me," he finally spat at Elrond, then turned toward Arwen with a stamp of one small foot. "You go away! You don't touch me again."
"That," she replied primly, "Is not a problem. Just see if I ever come anywhere near you again." And with this formal pronouncement, she turned and swept off down the hallway with as much dignity as her tattered appearance and the large dusty spot on her backside would allow.
Elrond watched her go, then turned back toward this newfound little terror and sighed. "Legolas, we cannot have that kind of behavior here. Not ever. I understand that you were angry--"
"And very frightened, and not fully awake," I interjected in his defense.
"True. We understand, little one," he continued, stern expression softening a bit. "But that is not the way to react. We cannot bite people, Legolas. Not ever."
He looked somewhat downcast, but the anger still thrummed through him, so I doubted he was overly repentant just yet.
"Promise me you won't bite again."
"She better not touch me."
"She will not. I have her promise on this. Now I need one from you. Promise me, Legolas. There will be no more biting."
He studied his toes, my toes, the stones beneath our feet...anything and everything other than Lord Elrond.
"Legolas?" I knew that voice. It demanded - and received - obedience from the most unruly of elves and men. But the silence stretched out and I began to wonder if this little elf was actually able to face down the lord of Imladris.
"I promise," he whispered finally. "I won't bite."
"And will you apologize to Arwen?"
"No." Flat, absolute and nonnegotiable. Was this to fall under the category of defiance? I dared look at Elrond, who gave me a faint shrug that carried 'what can I do' connotations about it. I didn't blame him; I wouldn't want to continue a head-on confrontation with this child of steel either.
Elrond hesitated, then nodded. "Would you like to return to your tree now?"
He considered this for a moment, then turned and marched from the hall every inch the prince that he was. The word regal came to my mind as I watched the dignified departure of this elfling.
"No?" I asked of Elrond once he was out of the door.
"It was phrased in the form of a question, so his refusal is not direct defiance," he hedged. "And I have no wish to fight that particular battle today."
"I doubt you'd win." I watched as the small elf reached his tree and scrambled back into the shelter of its branches. Elrond watched as well, though he didn't seem as amused as I. "A peculiar child, " I observed, "but very entertaining."
"What am I to do with this?" he burst out "The child was quite out of control."
"The child was terrified. He fought to defend himself. Granted, against the wrong foe," I amended, holding up one hand to forestall the obvious objections.
"Arwen is quite traumatized by the entire event."
"Arwen needs to stop grabbing him. That would help their relationship immensely."
He nodded, then turned to pace back to his library, definitely in need of the sanctuary. I followed, of course.
"We learned he will speak to us at need, and in complete sentences. This is a positive thing."
"It would be gratifying if he would use words acceptable for conversation and a tone of voice that didn't imply imminent death."
"This is true, but we must start someplace. And I must confess I find his vocabulary most complete," I laughed. It earned me a dark glare, but there were hints of a smile with it.
"I doubt some of it is physically possible. I haven't heard such cursing since the night you stuffed Isildur's sword in the privy."
"We, Lord Elrond. WE attended to that sword."
"I merely distracted him. You were responsible for selecting the site of its repose," Elrond replied smoothly.
"You were a full accomplice, whether you choose to confess it or not. He was most irate, however, and I can appreciate your willingness to deflect your share of the outrage."
"And this little one could match him in his anger," Elrond sighed. "We learned today that he can and will express himself when provoked, and we learned he has a temper."
"You feel he shares he shares his father's temper."
Elrond flinched visibly as the words made reality of the thought ghosting about his mind. He settled into his chair and peered hopefully into his abandoned wine goblet, checking the level of wine within. "This is not a pleasant discovery. Thranduil is known for his rages, and I do not relish having one so blessed - or cursed- within my household."
I poured more wine into his cup and mine, then settled back, trying to order my thoughts. Over the balcony rail I could see the little elf curled up against the tree trunk rather than sprawled across the branches as he was when relaxed. Today's activities had taken a toll upon him as well. I hoped we had not set his confidence back too far.
"I do not think this is quite Thranduil's temper," I commented slowly. "Thranduil knows his rage and wields it as a weapon upon occasion. Other times it is simply how he chooses to express himself. He puts no rein upon his anger because he feels no need to, and therefore it feeds upon itself and multiplies, both in intensity and frequency of appearance."
Elrond scowled into his goblet. "I know this. I know Thranduil. I knew his father, and his elder sons. The family temper breeds true. You saw this tonight."
"I saw a child with a temper frightened out of his wits. This was a fight for survival in his mind, not a tantrum."
"That could hardly be classed as a mere tantrum."
"No, it was that child choosing to survive and defend himself. I think this one has possibilities. I think that temper can be harnessed and directed. This one is a warrior, Elrond."
The skeptical look he gave me was shortened by his turning to look at the child huddled in the tree. "I have my doubts. He is violent, unpredictable and antisocial in the extreme."
"He regained control. He was willing to interact and to bow to your leadership afterward. And yet he maintained his own personal boundaries. I believe he is trainable. Even more, I think this one has potential."
"How can you say that with only that much to go on?"
"The same way you can judge the horse that will be from a weanling. I think he has potential *if* he's trained. We will harness the temper and school it, just like a difficult horse's temper. You will see." I smiled and turned my goblet in my hands.
"Not unlike Naur, is it? You do like the challenges, don't you. The difficult ones."
Glorfindel only smiled.
"You'll have to take it up with Mithrandir."
"Of course."
"But you give me hope that this wild child can be tamed."
