Fathers and Sons

Chapter 11

Legolas heard the ominous howl over the tree tops and was immediately on his feet. The howl that had every elf on alert, their weapons in hand. He started to head towards where the horses had been put up for the night, only to see them dashing away, much to the dismay of all there.

"An orc pack," said Haleth as he stood beside Legolas, both of them gazing out at the darkness. "Coming out of the Misty Mountains; perhaps four score and more as the scouts have been able to access."

"Arm yourselves," Legolas instructed as he took his bow in hand and an arrow in another. "Put out the fire."

Legolas knew that wouldn't be enough. Elves had keen senses even in the dark, but so did orcs. He doubted the night would hinder his enemies in any way. Turning, he hurried to the carriage and peered through the curtains to find Thranduil sitting up in bed.

The king had been bedridden through much of their passage through Mirkwood. He drifted in and out of consciousness and Legolas worried if the journey would take more time than Thranduil had. Legolas had no idea how to assess just how ill his father really was, the healer keeping constant vigil over him warned that he was growing weaker.

But there he was, sitting up for the first time since his collapse. The healer glanced at Legolas with concern. "He came to moments ago," the healer explained. "He was asking for you."

"Indeed," Thranduil said dryly, throwing a pensive glance at his son. "I would like to know why I am out here this far from my kingdom and about to be overrun by orcs."

Even now, as Legolas met his father's eyes, his dark orbs glistening in the light of a lantern hanging overhead, he still saw how dim those eyes seemed, how distant. Though the king was conscious and apparently coherent, he was still not well by any sense of the word.

"I haven't the time to explain," the elf prince responded, his breath catching in his throat as the piercing sound of another howl, much closer this time caused commotion as the camping elves readied themselves for the oncoming onslaught. "You must stay here, we will protect you."

Legolas didn't give his father time to respond. He didn't have time to listen to Thranduil's criticisms or scoldings. He worried that he had made a mistake in risking this journey, worried that they were all about to be cut down, never to reach Lothlorien. And then Thranduil would be correct. He'd warned about ever leaving his palace, of the dangers that lie beyond their realm. The stubborn king would just assume die locked in his kingdom than to ever leave it, even if it were in his own best interest.

But Legolas didn't have time for regrets now. He rushed out of the carriage, surveying the scene around them. It was late at night, the moon was high in the sky. Fortunately for them, it was a full moon, the light illuminating the night below. Legolas's elf eyes surveyed the night, noticing the silence of the night animals. The crickets, the owls, the croaking frogs, all were silenced, all were still.

The elves had camped on the west banks of the Anduin, keeping the trees of Mirkwood across the river and far to the east and the Misty Mountains to the west. They had crossed just south of the Gladden river and had made the Gladden Fields, a flat marshland, their pit stop. They had found a large patch of dry land whereas the surrounding marshlands were muddy and made for difficult terrain. The woods of Lothlorien, still many miles south, were close, yet still at least a day away.

Though Legolas doubted the wisdom of camping so close to the river, in this marshland, they had no other choice. They had become weary by many miles at a slow pace without rest. Even the endurance of elves had been taxed by the effort of forging the river with the carriage.