Ephemeros

Summary: Legolas visits Estel in Imladris and finds that his friend is no longer the child he once knew and comes to a startling realization.

Chapter 1: The Children Are Home

Legolas was due to arrive at the Last Homely House any minute now. The sentries had signaled his passage into the valley not so long ago and various members of the household had eagerly come out to greet him. Elrond smiled to himself as he descended the elegant staircase into the courtyard of the main entrance. It had not been too long since the prince’s last visit by the reckoning of the Elves, but the last eight years had seemed an age to his mortal son. The faithful and frequent correspondence between them had seen a unique friendship blossom between the young prince and Estel and this reunion had been carefully planned and anxiously anticipated for months and months. Estel and the twins were just newly returned from a long campaign up North with the Dunedain and the recent lull in spider-activity had finally allowed Legolas a well-earned respite from princely duties and patrol in the southern reaches of Taur-e-Ndaedelos.

Elrond loved the young prince like one of his own. An ache rose in his chest as he regarded the familiar figure riding swiftly up the path, the rider’s streaming hair glowing a radiant golden hue in the late afternoon sun. Legolas was still considered a youth by the standards of their people, yet growing up amidst the ever-encroaching darkness in Mirkwood, he had seen and experienced far more than many seasoned warriors from the other Elven realms. Thranduil may not have entirely approved of the friendship that had sprung up between his young son and Elrond’s mortal fosterling, but upon seeing the light it brought to his child’s eyes, seeing that brightness so dimmed by constant battle rekindled, Thranduil gladly sent his son to Imladris when the invitation came, hoping that the tranquility of the Last Homely House and the companionship of Elrond’s lively sons might grant Legolas a measure of peace in these troubled times.

---

Almost there, Legolas whispered to his faithful mount. It had been a largely uneventful journey across the Hithaeglir. He had only spotted orcs once and it had been easy enough to evade their detection. The giant spiders had been unusually reticent of late too and his father had taken the opportunity to send him off to Imladris as message bearer, telling him that he was under no obligation to return before the leaves began to fall. On the one hand, he disliked his father’s overprotectiveness and felt guilty leaving his patrol but he appreciated the concern and an opportunity to visit with Estel again was not to be passed up.

He had first met Elrond’s foster son during a visit to the Last Homely House years ago, and had been very taken with the adorably inquisitive toddler who had in turn grown much attached to him. Over the years, they had kept up a faithful correspondence and he had watched as the childish scribbles had given way to insightful epistles which he eagerly received and wrote lengthy replies to, sharing his own inner thoughts and cares with a mortal youth he had come to love as a brother.

They had managed to see each other a few more times in between, but nothing had prepared Legolas for what awaited him upon his arrival.

Where there once had been a gangly adolescent youth, there now stood a tall young man full grown and dressed in the manner of Dunedain. The dark, waist-long mane had been cut into a messy riot of short curls. Smooth cheeks and gentle chin had given way to rough-shaven stubble and a strong, square jawline. Once carefree, innocent silver eyes had taken on a more worldly glimmer, though they still shone vibrantly as ever.

Still staring at the man who stood at the very front of the assembled group, Legolas dismounted swiftly and came to stand before the young ranger, the astonishment clearly written all over his fair face.

“Mae Govannen, Legolas,” Estel grinned. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Estel,” Legolas whispered with a widening grin of his own. “It really is you!”

The two friends flung their arms around one another and heartily embraced, laughing with unrestrained joy.

“Of course it’s me. Have I changed so much?”

Before Legolas could reply, Lord Elrond stepped forward with a smile and the two youngsters turned to face him.

“Oh but where are my manners! Mae Govannen, Lord Elrond,” said Legolas with a short bow. “I bring you my father’s fond regards and my humble thanks for your gracious hospitality in having me here once again.”

“You are welcome anytime, Legolas my child. I am glad to have you beneath my roof once more.” Elrond took his forearm in the traditional warrior’s greeting before drawing him in for a warm embrace.

“You have had a long journey. I shall let the boys show you to your room so you may freshen up before evening meal. It is wonderful that you have come, penneth. You have been missed.”

Glorfindel and Erestor stepped forward to greet the prince but they did not get much beyond “Mae Govannen” when twin forms barreled down the stairs and all but tackled the young prince to the floor with twin shouts of “Legolas! You’re here!”

Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor smiled knowing smiles and shook their heads at the enthusiastic welcome they had gotten used to over the years.

“Don’t tire out our guest now. See him to his rooms and try to stay out of trouble, hmm?”

Receiving a variety of cheerful grins and “yessirs” and “yes, adas” they made their way back into the house with parental bemusement, leaving the youngsters to sort themselves out and get the prince to his rooms.

“I see you refused your father’s escort this time round, Tithen Las.” Elladan couldn’t help but point out as he hefted one of Legolas’ packs and began making his way down the corridors to the residential wing of the grand house.

Legolas’ face darkened a bit. “Ada means well but I’m no elfling to be protected and wrapped in swaddling clothes.”

“No?” jibed Elrohir with a wicked smirk.

Playful blue eyes narrowed swiftly as Legolas leaned over to smack the offender.

“No! And I’ll thank you kindly for not bringing up that epithet again, Elladan!”

“Aww, but you’re still a little leaflet. Even Estel here is taller than you now!”

The ensuing melee of arms and legs did not bear witnessing and it was a characteristically and cheerfully disheveled foursome that delivered Legolas and his belongings to his customary suite overlooking the serene valley of Imladris.

A little ways away, Elrond stood upon a high balcony, letting the sounds of laughter and merry companionship drift up to him over the soothing spray of the waterfalls. A sweet song rose in his heart as the peace of tinnu settled over the valley.

The children are home…

Ephemeros

Chapter 2: Of Wild Boars and Tavern Maids

The evening meal was a family affair this night and a lively one. At Elrond’s suggestion they had set up a table on a wide stone balcony overlooking one of the smaller falls. They would make merry together under the radiance of ithil and watch the stars as they made their way across the night sky. A gentle summer breeze blew across the valley, and the candle flames danced in its wake. The sweet echoes of evensong drifted up and above the rooftops as the elves of the Last Homely House prepared for nightfall.

Legolas drew his gaze from the beautiful valley to the tanned, rugged face of the young edain sitting before him. Estel was currently recounting some wild adventure they had had on the way back from the north, punctuated with selected anecdotes courtesy of the twins, who were only too glad to fill in the details their brother had decided to leave out.

“You should have seen his face, Legolas! When that wild boar charged out of the thicket it went straight at him. I’ve never seen Estel climb a tree so fast. You would’ve been proud, mellon!”

“Hey! As I recall, it was you, Elrohir, that spooked the poor beast with an ill-timed arrow!”

“All the same, it was you up that skinny little sapling, swaying from side to side. What possessed you to pick that tree of all the trees surrounding the clearing!”

“It was the nearest thing with low branches. I’d like to see you with a mad pig tusking at your heels! Besides, we ate very well that night, all thanks to my efforts.”

 “’Twas a bit gamey for my tastes actually.” 

That earned Elrohir a hunk of bread thrown skillfully in his direction. Ducking the projectile just as expertly, he already had both hands on the bowl of grapes when Lord Elrond made his displeasure known with merely one raised eyebrow. Both delinquents duly chastised, they returned their hands to their own plates with grins that spoke “we’ll settle this later.”

Some things never change, Legolas smiled. Meals at Elrond’s table were never uneventful with his sons around.

“Legolas, did we tell you that we stopped at the old inn at Bree?” grinned Elladan with a wicked gleam in his silver eyes.

At that, Estel fell back into his chair with a groan and dramatically brought one hand up to his forehead.

“Oh! Mandos take me now!”

Unfazed, Elladan launched into the account.

“You see, there was this pretty tavern maid whom our young friend took a fancy to…”

“It was the other way around, how many times must I say it?”

“It is a better story this way, gwador nin, now let me finish.”

Rolling his eyes at his twin tormentors, Estel turned to Legolas.

“Pay them no heed, Legolas. Much wind pours from their mouths, you know this!”

“Still, penneth, she was declaring her undying love for you by the next morning. One shouldn’t make a habit of breaking hearts at every village, town and city you enter. Spare their poor men folk a thought. ‘Tis bad form, bad form indeed!”

“Now isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black, my dear Elladan!” chortled Legolas.

“Quite possibly, Tithen Las,” rejoined Elladan.

“Scoundrel!”

The night passed pleasantly indeed. It felt good to be back amongst friends. Legolas relished the easygoing camaraderie amongst the three brothers, delighting in the new dynamic that a grown Estel brought to the relationship. Yet, Legolas could not help but think of the chubby toddler, the endearing child who had sat upon his knee and the eager student who had tried his hardest to please his bow-master. The awkward youth who had saddened with every time he had been told he was too young to join his elders was now an accomplished Ranger of the North. For all their good-natured ribbing, the twins doted on Estel like the elder brothers that they were and alongside the teasing, had impressed upon Legolas the remarkable prowess their little brother had with the broadsword and his bravery in battle. Even reading about it in Estel’s letters could not have prepared him for this extraordinary change in his young friend. In what seemed like the blink of an eye, little Estel was now Aragorn, leader of the Dunedain, expert swordsman and, oh my, ladies’ man! The last brought a chuckle to his heart of hearts, yet it only reminded him further that Estel had grown up, and grown up so very, very quickly.

---

The next morning, Lord Elrond rose before dawn as was his wont and made his way noiselessly to his children’s rooms. No matter how old they grew or how accomplished, his father’s instincts needed the reassurance of seeing them with his own eyes to truly believe they were safe and sound. It always brought him a measure of simple joy to see them all home, resting peacefully in their beds. So for nights and early mornings uncounted, he had knelt by those bedsides, tucked in blankets around his most precious treasures and offered up prayers of thanks to the Valar for bringing his children home to him once more.

The twins were, as usual, sprawled over their beds, arms and legs in wild disarray. Once, he might have tried to rearrange the mess of limbs and bedclothes but long experience had showed it to be a futile endeavour. He smiled down upon his sleeping sons and satisfied with the sounds of steady breathing and contented faces in repose, he gently closed the door to their shared room.

Estel’s rooms showed all the signs of recent inhabitation. Clothes were strewn on chairs and all over the nightstand; books and maps lay open on the table. There in the corner stood Estel’s plain, unadorned ranger bow and quiver and an assortment of knives and swords. A small collection of precious childhood relics still adorned the mantelpiece. A more elaborately decorated bow hung from a stand on the far wall. It had been a gift from Legolas for attaining sixteen summers. How that seemed like only yesterday to him, yet how much the boy had grown since then.

No, Estel was a boy no longer. Such was the fleeting, ephemeral nature of childhood and so quickly do those precious moments pass by like the first blossoms in ethuil.

Lord Elrond moved to the bedroom but found the bed empty and the sheets not slept in. For just a moment, he felt a twinge of dread but knowing his son better than that, he made his way a few doors down the corridor and silently entered the suite reserved especially for Legolas when the prince visited Imladris.

True enough, the two friends lay asleep on Legolas’ bed, facing each other, dark and golden hair mingled upon the pillows. One with silver eyes closed in the manner of Men, the other with sapphire eyes glazed over in the sleep of Elfkind. The remains of a late night kitchen raid were still evident on the side table.

The first rays of dawn shone in through the large windows, and Elrond felt his heart stir with feeling for his mortal son and one he loved just as much. Here too, was one who had grown up too fast, robbed of true childhood by the ever-lengthening shadow that they all were touched by. So deeply did he mourn the precious loss of innocence with every life taken by their hands and every friend that those same hands buried. Laying a tender kiss on each smooth brow, he covered his two sleeping charges with a warm blanket and left as silently as he had come.

---

A/N: Thank you kindly to all who reviewed… Joee1, IwishChan, Keshieshimmer, An Exquisite Elfling, Faith, and anyone else I’ve missed. It’s been awhile since I last posted a story. I hope this one does not disappoint. I’m not sure how many chapters this story will run to, but it’ll probably be longer than anything else I’ve written. I must apologise because I have a (painful!) 8-hour exam coming up in a few weeks, so I can’t say for sure when updates will be posted.

I can say for certain that plot bunnies visit me only during exam time …grrrr…

I do know that there is another word for this and it is spelt =  PROCRASTINATION ;) Anyhow, hope you enjoy the story and do send feedback if you are so inclined.

=)

Ephemeros

Ch 3: Dawn in the Valley

The new day dawned bright and fair in the tranquil valley as it had done for innumerous turns of the sun. Elrond swept gracefully down to the dining hall; the swish of his elegant robes as he descended the stone stair echoed up the corridor. Happy, animated voices could be heard coming from the hallway.

The pleasant summer days had passed swiftly by and uneventfully too. Elrond supposed he should count his blessings for as father to three lively sons, he knew that peace in the Valley, when all three were in residence, would be precarious at best. Not that he begrudged them their merriment, for such laughter had been so woefully absent in these halls for so very long.

In losing Celebrian to the sea, it seemed for a time as though he had lost his children too. Arwen’s grief had consumed her and she had taken to ever-lengthening visits with her grandparents in Lorien. He could not blame her for running away. Deep down, he would always wonder if he had not done enough and this grieved him truly. They called him Loremaster and Healer, but for all his renown, he had not been able to prevent the departure of his Silver Queen, and now lost to him also was his Evenstar.

Gone too, were the sons he once knew. Where young, lighthearted youths had been, now were there Elflords, mighty in their wrath, seeking vengeance in the depths of the Misty Mountains for the hurts visited upon their dear naneth. Across the length and breadth of Arda, the Sons of Elrond were now known by a new name …  orc-bane … for so valiant were their deeds in battle. They were celebrated as saviours of peasant villages from the rolling plains of Rohan to the ancient hills of Evendim but oh, how those bright eyes had dimmed just a little more with each vengeful crusade into the bitter wilds. All these sorrows he had buried deep, as was his way, but the light that was Imladris had never shone as vividly again.

And then one fateful day some twenty years past, the candle flame of hope had been rekindled. Laughter and music had rung out once more within these halls. Bit by bit, the pall of black sorrow had lifted. The miracle-wielder had been but a tiny silver-eyed mortal child who had guilelessly found his way into their weary hearts. Elrond had named the little one well, for he was not just Hope of Men, but also of Elves. 

The twins had doted lovingly on their new little brother with a zeal that surprised all, no less themselves. It was not uncommon during those early years to see the young lords of Imladris going about their duties with a small figure ever present trotting behind them, sat happily on broad shoulders or warmly enfolded in strong arms. Little Estel flourished under the twin’s tender watchcare and responded in kind with all the unconditional love that a child could bestow upon much beloved older brothers. Little by little, joy returned to their eyes and lightness once again quickened their steps. In Estel’s company, they became more like the lively, exuberant young elves that they once were. It was as if Life had returned to the Valley.

No, if his sons could find happiness by delighting once more in the pleasures of youth, he would not be the one to stop them.

Within reason of course.

But what’s this he was hearing now? It seemed a hunting trip was in the offing...

---

“Are you so restless that you have tired of this house already?” chided Elrond, the beginnings of a smirk gracing his features.

Four startled heads turned to face him as he swept into the dining hall.

“No, of course not, Ada!” exclaimed Estel.

“No, really, Ada, and it will be the most harmless of excursions,” began Elladan, in all innocence.

“That is not a word I usually associate with your sojourns, ion nin,” replied Elrond with a longsuffering smile. “Nor are the larders so depleted that they need refilling. As I recall, last week’s foray was quite successful.”

Elrond took his customary seat at the head of the table and poured himself a cup of hot, fragrant tea. He took a sip and looked up to see four crestfallen faces glancing at each other balefully across the table. He chuckled to himself. He knew very well that his children and Legolas were most certainly capable of taking care of themselves on a simple hunting trip. He still enjoyed teasing them every now and then though. It wasn’t as if they needed his permission to come and go! But it was nice to know that they still desired his approval.

“You see, Ada, Belthalion’s patrol has reported seeing a magnificent stag on the Eastern borders,” Elrohir explained. “We just want to see it.”

“We really won’t be gone long, Ada,” entreated Estel with a hopeful look. “There and back only. Promise.”     

Elrond smiled fondly at his youngest and shook his head with a paternal sigh.

“Forgive an old father who will ever worry after his children’s wellbeing, hmm? It is just that he has enjoyed the last few days with his family home and wishes to extend that time as much as he can. Of course you may go.”

His words were received with smiles on three faces. The fourth clouded over in thought.

“But Ada, if you do not wish it, we won’t go,” said Estel in all seriousness.

Oh bless him, thought Elrond. Little Estel may have grown up, but he had never lost his sweet, thoughtful nature.

The other three grew solemn too.

“Aye, Ada. We have enjoyed this time at home too. If you do not wish it, we will stay,” said Elrohir.

Elrond felt his heart swell just a little.

“Oh come now. As much as it warms my heart, do not let the musings of an old elf stop you from such worthy pursuit. And besides, it has been long since any of you required my leave to come and go.”

“Not so long for me, Ada,” mused Estel, with a cheeky grin.

“And had I expressed disapproval for this endeavor, you truly would have stayed without complaint, ion nin?” probed Elrond with a grin of his own.

“Uhm, yes?” came the reply, the owner of the voice colouring just a tiny bit.

The other three laughed affably, knowing quite well how Estel chafed at confinement.

“Well, I would have! Though I would also have wondered where reason had fled to!”

They all laughed at that.

“You could come with us, you know, Lord Elrond. Belthalion said the stag was truly magnificent. They counted at least sixteen points to its rack!”  said Legolas.

“Yes, Ada, we would remain within the Valley, for the most part. Why don’t you come?”

“No, it is kind of you to invite me, Legolas, but there is much work that must be done here. You young ones go off and enjoy yourselves,” smiled Elrond. "Perhaps you will bring me a trophy for my hall." 

“Well, don’t you worry about us then, Ada,” said Estel. “We’ll be quite safe.”

“Really now,” rejoined Elrond with a wry grin, one dark eyebrow rising in no little doubt. “But as you say, it is merely a simple hunting trip. I pray that it stays that way.”

----

A/N 1: I am not entirely sure if it is possible for a stag to have 16 points to its antlers. It seemed like a large enough number to render this stag worthy enough to merit an expedition to find it, that is, if it can still walk with its head up with so large a rack on it. Anyone out there who would know?

A/N 2: Before anyone crucifies me for portraying elves as trophy hunters... elves eat right? I don't think it's too out of character for elves to honour the animals who gave their lives by displaying their antlers in remembrance, is it?

A/N 3: Sorry this chapter was so long in coming. Between exam prep, a new job and nasty computer viruses I think it’s been a rather trying few weeks. Some reviewers have expressed concerns about the twin’s lack of maturity. I guess they did turn out a little more immature than I initially planned. But oh well. Even Elf-lords have lighthearted moments haha. Or perhaps I’m channeling my own desperate need for amusement into the story; exam prep is terrible you know.

Much thanks to all who reviewed the previous chapter. It really makes my day when I see the reviews, knowing that this little story brought a smile to someone’s face.

I've said a frightful lot. Till we meet again... Namárië…

Ephemeros

Ch 4: The Nature of Mortality

It was decided that the four friends would leave for the hunt after morning meal on the following day. Preparations took up the better half of the afternoon and the four threw themselves into the planning of their expedition happily. It was not often now that any of them rode out without darker objectives in mind. The prospect of a leisurely hunt brought much delight. Maps were pored over, routes argued and gear lists were eagerly compared. Arrows were newly fletched, bows lovingly oiled and daggers skillfully sharpened on lucky whetstones.

The next day saw Elrond sending off his young charges with the blessings of Oromë and a prayer to Elbereth for their safekeeping. He stood upon the stone steps and watched them ride out of the courtyard, across the bridges, until they disappeared into the light morning mists. 

---

The happy foursome made their way along the path at a slow canter, then a gentle walk, riding in companionable silence, relishing the sweetness of the beautiful morning. The dew still clung to the grasses and morning glories slowly unfurled to greet the new day. The gentle rays of Anor shone softly through the verdant canopy, making the mists glow in the warmest of golden hues. A chorus of birdsong harmonized with the symphony that was Arda’s song on this most glorious of summer mornings.

“If this creature is half as stunning as Belthalion says it is, I will count myself satisfied,” mused Elrohir to no one in particular. The path was wide enough to ride two abreast, and Elrohir and Legolas had paired up at the front, with Elladan and Estel bringing up the rear.

“Aye, the splendour of this morning is reward enough for me,” agreed Legolas. “Though seeing this stag would be a treat indeed.”

“Well, only you would think such a thing, Legolas,” laughed Elladan. “I for one, will not be nearly so content till I have seen this creature with my own eyes!”

“I think we have naught to fear, brother mine, for we have an estimable tracker with us on this trip,” grinned Elrohir, who turned in his saddle to wink at Estel.

Estel coloured a little at the praise and grinned back.

“The Dunedain have a saying, and a wise one too. Do not count your chickens before they’re hatched.”

“You have become a veritable font of wisdom, penneth. And such modesty!” exclaimed Elladan.

“I only learned from the best,” replied Estel just as glibly.

“Well then it wasn’t learned at your brothers’ feet, now was it Estel?” Legolas chuckled.

“Whatever could you mean, Tithen Lass?” grinned Elladan. “I think I will claim the wisdom part. Elrohir can make a claim for modesty.”

Loud guffaws and various choking sounds could be heard.

“I was actually referring to my tracking skills if you recall,” Estel pointed out, a lopsided grin still on his face. “I know only what you lot taught me.”

“Nay, even we have to admit it, gwador nin, that you have surpassed us where that is concerned,” stated Elrohir solemnly. “Your teachers are most proud.”

“Aye. Recall how you tracked those cunning slavers this past season, and the game trails on the way home that even our eyes missed. You are one of the best trackers in Imladris, Estel,” said Elladan.

Estel blushed to his ears. He began to wish he was beyond such reactions but his brothers’ praise was like music to his soul, for he knew it was not given lightly.

“We’re going to swell his head so large now, he’ll fall off his horse!” laughed Elrohir. “Find us that stag, little brother. We believe most ardently in you!”

The sounds of hearty laughter floated up from the forest path.

---

As they rode on a little more, the conversation ran itself over in Legolas’ head. Well could he believe that Estel’s tracking skills were as canny the twins claimed. Even at an early age, the young adan had shown remarkable prowess in finding obscure trails and prints. Legolas recalled one cheerful afternoon some years past, spent wandering along the banks of the Bruinen, finding animal tracks with a young Estel.

“An otter, Legolas!” the high pitched squeal of excitement rang out across the water. “And a deer has been here too!”

“Aye, you are right. But look carefully, penneth. Some of the deer tracks are smaller than the others.”

“Oooo! It’s a baby deer! A baby deer came here with its naneth!”

It really hadn’t seemed all that long ago, but once again he found himself marveling at the changes those short years had wrought in his friend.

Silver eyes lighted up. A berry bush lay just up ahead, laden with dark ripe blackberries, ready for picking. Nearing the bush, those silver eyes widened further.

“Are those real bear tracks, Legolas?” 

“Aye. And fresh too. We should not linger,” said Legolas as he bent to look closer at the tracks.  

The dark little head moved closer too and silver eyes peered down at the tracks then up at the berries.  

“Do you think this bear will share his berries, Legolas?”  

Legolas couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.  

“The berries don’t belong to the bear, Estel. They are for all the forest dwellers to enjoy. And I’m sure this bush would be most pleased to let you have some. The bear however, would be most obliged if you left him a few when you are finished.”  

“Then we won’t pick too many so that the bear gets some too.”  

Little fingers and lips turned purple rather quickly after that.  

“I should like to meet a bear one day!”  

“Perhaps you shall, my brave little hunter...”

Legolas sighed heavily. Out there in the perilous wilderness with the rangers, he knew that a not-so-little Estel hunts more than bears now.

---

By consensus, they decide to stop for the night near a small pool fed by a gushing waterfall, still well within the borders of the Hidden Valley. They unburden the horses and then all four of them gleefully strip down, tossing clothes to the wind and with various measures of gracefulness, remove themselves to the cool, refreshing waters.

Legolas finds himself floating upon his back sometime later, gazing up at the fluffy clouds that drift slowly overhead, his view of the sky framed by the tops of the tree sentinels that surround the pleasant glade, their leaves swaying gently in the breeze. Nearby, two of the sons of Elrond have engaged in some manner of grappling, the objective seemingly being to get Estel completely submersed underwater.

Elladan is tall, even by the measure of Elfkind. But Estel is nearly of a height with him, and now grown far broader too. Legolas notes the rippling musculature on the broad back and the strength of the man who can now hold his own against one of the twins.

The struggle continues with good-humored encouragement shouted out for both sides. After a little more twisting and shoving, they end up both falling into the water with a great splash much to the other’s amusement.

“It seems to me you are well matched, Elladan!” chortled his twin.

“Aye, what have they been feeding you up north?” demands Elladan as they move up to the banks to dry off.

Estel laughs. “I always thought it was the mushrooms, myself!”

That night after a jolly time around a blazing campfire, they shake out their sleeping rolls and divvy up the watches. Legolas, as the guest, ends up with first watch and after bidding the brothers good night he seats himself upon a fallen log, not too far from his sleeping companions. Here, alone with himself, his wandering thoughts lead him to contemplation of his friend once again.

He watches Estel in slumber, eyes closed, the firelight casting shadows on the young face.

And then it hits him so suddenly; like the first bolt of lightning in the summer storms. Tendrils of fear creep up his back, wrapping around his heart with cold, hard fingers.  He turns pale as his eyes glitter with chilling realization.

Estel sleeps with his eyes closed. He feels the early morning chill, and the mid-day heat. Estel falls prey to the malady of illness. He tires every night. His ears are round. Estel cannot share in his communion with Arda’s song. Estel is Mortal.

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known it before. But he had never taken much notice of the passage of the years before he’d met Estel. Not that he hadn’t been aware of that either, but the chiming bell of Time just did not mark him or his kin as it had this little child. Now, it haunted him as he imagined the toll those bells would exact upon his very mortal friend. It had been what, a scant twenty years since he had first met Estel. He fondly recalled the chubby toddler who peeked out at him with big eyes from behind Elrond’s robes. And now here he was a man full-grown already. Mortal life-spans were, what, maybe four score years? If they were fortunate. Even with the blood of Númenor flowing through his veins, Estel would not live to see much more than one or two centuries at most.

Pulling himself out of the horrifying trance, Legolas shot up from his seat on the log, and began to pace the campsite. His heart thudded within him so violently he felt it ringing in his ears. He was still in turmoil when Elladan rose some time later to take over his watch. As Legolas slid beneath the light blanket, he knew he would find no rest that night, or for many nights after that either.

---

Ephemeros

Ch 5: The Hunt

“This is where Belthalion’s patrol said they saw it,” Elladan said excitedly as they emerged from the trees and found themselves at the edge of a pretty meadow sprinkled with summer blooms.  The mid-morning sun shone brightly down on them all. No stag in sight though.

They were now at the far eastern reach of the valley. The steep cliffs surrounding the heart of Imladris had now given way to green rolling hills and meadows, with the northern arm of the Bruinen meandering its way through the dells as far as the eye could see. Even further east, the snowy peaks of the Hithaeglir were visible above the treetops.

“That was some days ago at least,” Elrohir replied, looking around the clearing.

“Maybe we can pick up a trail,” suggested Legolas. “A beast that large must have left some trace of his presence.”

They all dismount and let the horses wander over the sweet grass. The hunters steadily make their way around the meadow, searching diligently for any tracks and tree rubbings. They comb the area till the sun rises high in the sky above, but for all their efforts, they have turned up nothing. Feeling a bit disheartened, the twins trudge over to where the horses stand munching quite contentedly in the shade of an old oak tree. They pull out their waterskins and take long sips while watching Legolas and Estel explore the far side of the meadow.

“Those two are inseparable,” remarks one twin to the other.

“Aye. They have scarcely been out of each other’s company since Legolas rode in through the gates.”

“It is a good thing though, I reckon. Estel will have need of such a friend in the years to come. I would like to see how well they perform together in battle.”

“The look on Legolas’ face was priceless, you know, that day he arrived and saw Estel on the steps?”

“Ha! That was one for the annals! Poor lad, it probably never occurred to him that Estel was no longer a youth, but a man by the standards of his people, for all the letters those two have written these last few years. Thranduil’s folk have limited contact with mortals, though they trade readily enough with the Lakemen.”

“He has been troubled, I think, but he is taking it well, somewhat. It cannot be easy to see the child who he dandled on his knee suddenly full-grown and of an age with him! But surely someone has spoken to him of this? And they sing of Turin and Beleg (see A/N 1) in Thranduil’s halls, do they not?”

Before the other had time to respond, a call from across the field brings them both out of contemplation.

“Elladan! Elrohir! Come look!”

Leaving behind their previous thoughts, they jog over to see what their companions have found.

“Look there! That’s a game trail or I’ll eat my hat!” exclaims Estel.

The narrow little trail was well hidden by long grasses and undergrowth, but to well-trained eyes, it was plain for all to see. The two younger ones were grinning from ear to ear as they turned triumphantly to look at the twins.

Elladan wastes no time. “You’re right. We should get the horses.”

Thumping Estel on the back, they call their mounts and lead them to the trailhead. On swift feet, they follow the winding path into the woods, looking for any signs of passing.

It is Legolas who finds the first print – a massive cloven impression in the dirt.

“Elbereth! That is the largest print I have seen in two centuries!” exclaims Elrohir.

“And these seem fresh. Not even half a day. Maybe he was here this very morning!” Estel can not help his excitement.

Exhilarated by the discovery, they leave the horses in a small clearing with soft instructions and continue on the narrow trail for a good while more. Soon enough, they find themselves beyond the protection afforded them within the borders of Imladris itself. Outside the protective sphere, they are now at the mercy of the elements, and also vulnerable to any number of enemies that have multiplied unnumbered in recent years. Warriors, all four are they, and such threats do not alarm them overmuch, and yet, instinctively, all four silently switch to a mode of increased stealth and awareness of their surroundings, on watch for anything that might come their way.

They follow the trail through the dense forest, the ground undulating beneath their feet as they draw nearer and nearer to the foothills of the Hithaeglir. They crest a small, steep hill and look down to see the forest floor spread out before them. And there, less than a hundred yards away and half hidden by the brush, stands their quarry. They watch spellbound as it wanders in and out amongst the trees, heeding them not, looking for all the world like a grand lord at rest in his demesne. 

Truly, Belthalion had not spoken falsehoods. The beast before them is magnificent. It is a trophy worthy of the greatest of huntsmen, standing a full metre and a half at the shoulder. The proud, kingly visage, held aloft by an elegant, curving neck radiates ascendancy while the sleek, russet coat glistens gently in the slanting sun rays. The legendary sixteen points stand proudly upon its majestic rack.

The four hunters marvel in awe for a long moment. None of them dares make a single sound as their eyes drink in the beauty of the creature in the distance while they crouch motionless in the dirt behind the shrubbery at the top of the cliff.

Finally, Elladan whispers so softly, the others strain to hear him.

“Legolas, you have the surest aim. You should take the shot.”

The others nod their agreement. Legolas has a clear line of sight to the stag, and silently he readies his bow and nocks an arrow. He brings his left arm up, holding the bow steadily, as he draws the bowstring taut to a pale cheek with the right, eyes dark and focused on the target. The forest grows still in that instant. No bird sings, nor does the wind blow. The stag slowly raises its stately head, as if sensing their presence.

There is no wind, and they are well hidden by the foliage on the cliff top. Still, the stag looks straight at them, liquid eyes piercing the distance between them. Five hearts beat in thunderous chorus. Four breaths are held in excruciating anticipation of the fatal shot.

But it does not come.

Legolas lowers his bow, his eyes not leaving the stag’s.

The other three glance at their companion, incomprehension in their gazes. They say nothing, but the question burns in their eyes. A new silence descends upon them all. They watch the stag pace the small clearing, then turn away and disappear deeper into the wood.

Still their silence prevails.

No one moves.

“I… I could not take its life,” A soft whisper finally meets their bewilderment. “I just couldn’t. That glorious creature did not deserve such an end… I am sorry, my friends. I could not do it.”

All at once, their confusion melts into empathetic understanding.

 “It is alright, Legolas. We understand. Do not be sorry.”

Estel is the first to speak. He turns to his friend and grasps him gently by the shoulders.

“We got to see him, remember? It is enough. And what you say is true. Such a glorious creature should live out his days in peace.”

He wraps a kind arm around his distraught friend’s shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze. Legolas leans into the warm embrace, grateful for this noble acceptance of what he perceived as failure in their eyes.

Elrohir places a gentle hand on Legolas’ cold ones.

“Aye, you have saved us from grave error, my friend. There is no need for apology, Legolas.”

Elladan rises slowly to his feet, gazing down upon his two younger companions with a tender smile and a mixture of guilt, admiration and brotherly love, squashing down the tiny twinge of disappointment he could not help but feel. There was guilt for having nearly been party to the stag’s unhappy demise, but also admiration for Legolas’ courage to stand by his beliefs, and then such love for these two he counted as brothers in all but blood. His twin comes to stand beside him, and they look out over the calmness of the forest, singing a sweet hymn of blessing upon the land.

Yes, it was the right thing to do.

They turn to begin the long trek homeward, but Elladan pauses to glance back at the now empty clearing, envisioning the beautiful creature that had stood there not so long ago.

“Fare thee well, good beast. May you live out your days in Yavanna’s keeping...”

---

A/N 1: The friendship between Aragorn and Legolas has sometimes been compared to that of Turin Turambar and Beleg Strongbow because of the depth of these two friendships between an elf and a man. I am not the first to draw this comparison, but I can direct readers to take a look at Legolass' story Once Upon a Strongbow. It is a beautiful telling of that tale and highly recommended.

A/N 2: Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter. Your kind words and encouragement are what keep this story going.

Ephemeros

Ch 6: The Long Way Home

The mood around the campfire that night was solemn and introspective. It was not an uncomfortable silence, but none of them could find it within themselves to be lighthearted after the events of the afternoon. So they sat around the fire, staring into the dancing flames, each deep in his own thoughts.

Legolas felt utterly dreadful. As he saw it, the trip had come to such a pass because of his actions. He had been out of sorts the whole evening, even though his friends had tried to convince him that they did not fault him in the least for not taking the shot, and in fact, had commended his compassion. But that was not all of it.

It was just that in those few moments when the stag had turned to look in their direction, those dark, regal eyes had seemed to see right through to him.

Do you want to be the one to bring my end to me? …they had said.

In those eyes, he had seen an image of Estel reflected back at him, a vision of Estel in the near future, crowned and bearing the Sceptre of Annúminas. How like were the two in grace and nobility. How stately in accoutrement, with a fine air of distinction about them. Both were kings in their own right. One was the imperial sovereign of all noble beasts of the Wood, somehow strayed from his forest realm to wander the Hidden Valley; the other, the last of a line of exiled Númenorian kings who roamed with the Dúnedain far to the north.

Both were very mortal.

Only recently had he become acquainted with the true nature of mortality. Thoughts of Estel’s impending doom now weighed heavily upon his every step and haunted his every waking moment. The thought that he was about to deal death to one such as this had horrified him beyond compare. How could he possibly bring himself to needlessly end this poor creature’s life? It would have gone against the very fibre of his being. No, he just could not do it. With trembling hands and raging turmoil pounding within him, he had lowered his bow, willing the stag to flee, to live.

----

A sudden movement in the thicket across the fire startles him out of his dismal reverie. Legolas is on his feet in an instant, with an arrow nocked and aimed at the disturbance. How could we have been so careless?

The others react within moments of his alert, swords drawn and battle-ready. All four of them become swiftly aware of the multitude of glittering eyes surrounding them. They have been caught unawares by a full pack of wolves on the prowl.

The pack closes in, steadily circling the small clearing, razor-sharp fangs bared in vicious snarls. The three swordsmen pull flaming logs from the fire, brandishing them against the foe but the incessant press of starvation has rendered these usually reticent creatures unfearful of the conventional deterrent. When they do not desist, Legolas reluctantly releases a swift series of arrows into the first ring of attackers, felling four with trademark accuracy before the battle is brought too near for the long-range weapon to be of use. It is then smoothly exchanged for two sleek, ivory-handled longknives with a ringing flourish.

The four of them pair up at opposite ends of the fire, using the blaze to shield as much of themselves as possible in a double triangle formation. A savage dance plays itself out as the feral beasts hurl themselves mindlessly at the foursome in hunger-driven fury, eyes wild and claws out for the kill; whilst blades whirl and flash in the firelight before sinking into fur and soft flesh, bringing ruin to a half dozen wolves before the rest of the pack slinks away in defeat.

The victors remain amidst the bloody carnage, breathing heavily, eyes bright, as the battle fever drains swiftly out of them. They take in the remains of a once splendid hunting pack, dead by their hands, and now reduced to the mangled carcasses strewn about the clearing. All four know that as long as the Yrch infestation persists in the Misty Mountains, game stocks would continue to dwindle, forcing the natural predators out of the hills and into the valleys. This sad reality was not lost on any of them as they gathered up the dead wolves and set the pyre alight. Solemnly, they offer up a prayer for the spirits of the slain creatures, acknowledging that this attack was not one of evil intent.

They can no longer remain at the camp site, for the stench of battle which has infused the ground would likely draw other unwelcome visitors before the night was out. They would also need a clean place to treat their wounds; for while the battle may have been brief, it was hardly lacking in violence. Legolas and Elrohir had stayed mostly uninjured, but Estel and Elladan now sported large, gaping gouges where vicious teeth and claws had managed to penetrate their defenses. Estel’s injury was to the right arm and side and Elladan’s was on his upper left leg. The bleeding had not slowed much and both would probably need stitches.

Well-trained by Lord Elrond, none of them had left the house without a small stock of basic healing supplies. Fortunately also, the horses had escaped unscathed and had returned upon hearing their masters’ call. At the new site a fair distance away, Legolas had set quickly to making a fire to boil water and prepare bandages. His combat experience told him that the injuries sustained were minor but his heart had leapt in fear when he had seen the red blossoming on Estel’s sleeve and side after one of the large grey wolves had sprung upon his friend. Mortal bodies were far more susceptible to injury and vulnerable when damaged. Fortune had smiled upon them this time, but warriors could not afford such lapses. He should have sensed their assailants long before he had. Self-reproach coursed through his veins.

Meanwhile, Elrohir was fussing over his injured brothers with his usual meticulous care and concern, drawing various protestations from the unhappy patients. The chief objection appeared to be “But it’s only a scratch” and was accompanied by identical glares and much hand-swatting. 

“Will you two behave like the warriors you are and let your brother treat those ‘scratches’ before infection sets in?”

Three sets of silver eyes spin around to look Legolas’ way. Two appear duly chastised and the third smiles gratefully at him. Elrohir turns back to his recalcitrant patients with a sardonic grin.

“Yes. Heed Legolas’ advice, will you? And start coming up with a story to explain to Adar why you will be requiring his services yet again.”

----

When Elrohir checked the injuries the next morning, the gashes on Elladan’s leg had already knitted neatly together, with the inflammation all but gone. New pink flesh had appeared and the injury was well on its way to full healing, thanks to the wonders of Elven regenerative ability.

Estel’s wounds on the other hand, were still red and puffy and very tender to the touch, though he claimed otherwise. Infection seemed likely, though his wounds were of similar severity to Elladan’s and the same care had been afforded to both patients. Mortal bodies just were unable to handle injury as well as Elven ones. To Legolas, this was just another reminder of Estel’s fate and he sadly watched his friend mount his stallion stiffly, refusing to acknowledge the discomfort. For all his outward confidence, Estel had never truly shed himself of the insecurities of a mortal child growing up amongst Elves.  It had been so very hard accepting that he would never be able to hear Arda’s song; that he would never be as swift, as keen-sighted, as graceful, or as immune to the elements; that much Legolas had gathered from their correspondence over the years. Estel would never admit weakness, not if he thought it meant lessening himself in their eyes and Legolas grieved that Estel should view himself in such a way. He wished he could make Estel see that there was no shame in being mortal, and that mortality was supposed to be a gift to the Secondborn. But how could he, when he found he could scarcely believe it himself, now that the stark reality of Mortal Fate had been revealed to him?

----

Elrond glanced out the window from his favourite seat in the library. It afforded him a commanding view of the valley, and also let him keep an eye on the eastern path into the city, upon which he knew his sons and Legolas would be returning on, hopefully soon. They had been gone some days and were due to arrive (safely) back home anytime now.

The words upon the parchment in his hands faded away as he contemplated their homecoming.

Perhaps they saw their stag. Perhaps the outing had turned out as well as they had hoped for and it would be a jolly night when they returned with happy stories, stories untouched by the sadness and sorrow which fueled their other expeditions – the patrols, the tours with the Rangers, the yrch hunts which took them through one devastated settlement after another. Well, a father could dream, couldn’t he?

A ripple at the edge of his consciousness brings him back to awareness and in the distance, he sees the four figures he has been waiting for. No doubt the sentries have already noted their presence. At least all four seem to be riding in on their own strength.

He put the scroll away, and made his way down to the courtyard to receive his sons.

Standing upon the weathered stone steps as he had done countless times before, he watched them ride in through the gates, and as they near the house, various bandages make themselves apparent. No extra game sacks or fantastic rack of antlers are visible, so there would probably be a story behind that too. They all seem to be in good spirits, and the injuries did not seem life-threatening. He supposed he should be thankful for that at least. Perhaps it was just too much to ask that they might come home entirely unscathed.

The four dismount and come to stand before him, sheepish smiles upon their ruddy faces. His sentiments must have shown rather clearly upon his own visage because Elladan met his eyes for just a second before sighing dramatically.

“We have a fantastic story about trolls and mysterious mud swamps, Ada, but I don’t think you want to hear it, do you?”

“No, probably not,” Elrond grins affably back. “Go on inside, clean up and then I want to see you,” looking pointedly at Elladan, “and you,” swivelling to Estel, “in the healing chambers.”

“Yes, Ada.”

Elrond gazes fondly at them all, a warm smile lighting up his eyes.     

“Welcome home, my sons...”

----

A/N: Thank you to alibi girl, eliza61, Legolass, an exquisite elfling, IwishChan, Slayer3, grumpy, KawaiiWhiteWolf, QueenofFlarmphgal, Athena and Ceriadara for taking the time to review the last two chapters. Hope I didn’t miss anyone else…. It is always wonderful to hear from you!

Slayer3: Your eh-hem…methods of persuasion… seem to have worked. Hope you liked the new chapter.

Athena: I just couldn’t see Elves as trophy hunters either. And yeah, these four seem to see much abuse at the hands of many fanfic writers! I hope I did not disappoint you by including the wolf incident. I’m not out to torment our favourite elves and ranger needlessly!!  Thank you again for the lovely long review.

Ephemeros

Ch 7: No Price Too Dear

Elrond sighed despairingly as he discarded the last of the soiled bandages and put away the unused herbs and ointments. From one of the large medicine chests that lined the walls of his healing chambers, he picked out a selection of dried leaves to brew a draught for Estel. His son would not be particularly pleased with him, but Elrond knew Legolas would see to it that Estel finished every drop of it. Between Legolas and the twins, Estel had been mothered beyond comprehension, to Estel’s way of thinking, since they had returned from the ill-fated hunting expedition. Legolas had been especially vexed by the injury, hovering about the young man as if the injuries were truly dire. In the end, Elrond, though touched by Legolas’ concern, had taken pity on his son and assured Legolas with every confidence that Estel would be quite fine, and that the injuries would heal in due time with no consequence. Legolas had just smiled a sad smile and quietly left the room.

Elrond admitted to being slightly puzzled. Estel was equally baffled but had just shrugged his shoulders. They had not given it much thought after that.

That evening, the four of them had recounted their journey to him, they had spoken of the tranquility of the ride and the excitement of the hunt, and how Legolas had shown such valour when it had come down to it. He too had been touched by the young elf’s actions. He recognized and admired the strength of character and respect for life that was firmly entrenched in one of so few years. It had been good for them to experience that ephemeral moment of grace, for of late, it was all too often that they found themselves in closer association with Death.

How he wished his children could have grown up in a world without shadow darkening their every footstep. And yet, he knew this time of waiting would soon be over. He had felt it in the very air like the stirrings of an immense storm. The fate of Middle Earth would be decided within the lifetime of this generation of Men.

But would it be Hope leading them? …or Despair…

----

Several nights later…

It was a clear, summer night with a sky full of stars twinkling above them like jewels set in a rich carpet of darkest blue velvet. The air was still and sweet and most of the household had retired to their beds. The Lord of the House decided to make the most of this precious peace to wander the grounds at leisure, enjoying the tranquil serenity of the late hours. 

Coming up to the grand balcony overlooking the great falls and pleasure gardens, Elrond took the time to savour the beauty of his home, this haven of his own making, the fruit of his labours.  Alone with only his thoughts for company, he wondered, when the time of reckoning arrived at last, would Imladris stand? Or would the Last Homely House fall under the wave after wave of unspeakable horrors that would pour forth from the bastions of shadow?

No. He would not give voice to the nameless fears that had haunted him for centuries. Everyone would look to him, then as now. He would be strong; he must be strong, so that they all might be too. This is he repeated to himself again and again. His promise he would keep, his people he would protect. There would be no surrender while he yet breathed.

A soft, silvery glow in the corner of his vision caught his eye at that moment. With elven sight piercing through the darkness, he could see that it is none other than young Legolas, perched up high in an old oak tree as he had been for several nights in a row, gazing desolately up at Ithil, who this time had all but hidden her countenance from them, leaving just the barest crescent of light.

Noiselessly, he makes his way down from the upper balcony, through the winding corridors of the house and out into the gardens. He navigates his way to the roots of the old oak with the experience of one who has spent many hours pacing these very same paths in summer and winter, in darkness or in light.

He looks up to see sapphire eyes gazing down at him from the branches, distress clearly swirling within them. He sensed this was not one of those times that called for a discrete departure. Gathering his billowing robes in hand, Elrond gracefully ascends the old oak, wordlessly thanking the tree upon reaching his destination with pride and person intact. He seats himself next to the younger elf high up in the ancient tree. It is one of the oldest in the Valley and probably the wisest. He knows why Legolas has chosen to come to this tree of all the trees in the garden this night.

They do not say anything at first, both of them content to let the silence linger. But the air of melancholy does not fade away and Elrond feels compelled to speak.

“For three nights you have come here, penneth. Even elves need their rest.”

Another span of silence greets his unspoken question before it is broken by a weary whisper of response.

“I can find no rest abed, my lord.”

He probes gently further. “Something troubles your thoughts?”

Legolas does not respond just yet, but brings his knees up to his chin and wraps slim arms around them. He looks forlornly over the slumbering valley bathed in starlight before slowly nodding his admission.

Elrond nods and waits with a patience borne of long centuries of listening, knowing that his young friend would speak when he was ready. He places a comforting hand on slender shoulders in encouragement.

The words do come, softly and uncertainly, as Legolas tries to give voice to his turbulent feelings.

“I… I have always known that Estel is one of the Edain…that he is… mortal. And yet, it has only recently come to me that… that…Estel will one day…die…and that we shall be sundered and we shall see each other nevermore.”

Elrond’s heart clenches within him, but Legolas continues.

“It is different from the death I may die as a warrior, or the death my naneth died. She has gone to Mando’s keeping and perhaps, one day, I shall see her again in the Blessed Isle…but… Estel…”

At this his voice falters and Legolas turns to look at him, eyes bright with unshed tears, anguish written all over his young face, the pain of the realization crashing down upon them both like a mountain of stone.

Oh penneth, penneth, would that I could spare you this sorrow… the sorrow that is not unknown to the son of Eärendil who chose immortality, and who became the eternal guardian to all his brother’s line of mortal sons.

“I, too, know this grief,” Elrond whispers, once more looking out over the valley. “They say it is the consequence of loving mortals…and that it is the price we pay for a mere taste of the fleeting intensity of mortal lives.”

He turns to face Legolas again.

“It is a dear price, Legolas, but so many times have I willingly paid it.”

“But how do you do it? How do you live with knowing your friend will one day go where you cannot follow?”

Desperation tinges the trembling voice.

Elrond looks sorrowfully from tear-bright blue eyes to his father’s star shining high up above them. Eärendil shimmers just a little brighter, with the all radiance of the last of the Silmarils. 

Give me strength, give me the right words, Ada…what can I say to this child of the Eldar?

He draws a deep breath then covers twisting hands clenched so tightly with his own.

“We, the Firstborn of Illúvatar, may be tied to the circles of this world and to Arda itself, while our mortal brethren go elsewhere, to a place prepared for them by the great Father. This is what the ancients have handed down to us from the first days.”

He pauses, grasping at words to convey his own tumultuous thoughts.

“Even the wisest do not know the will of the Father in this matter, but I believe …I believe that at the end of all things, we must have hope that Illúvatar will reunite his children, for I cannot see how he could be so cruel, to sunder such love for all eternity...”

He raises a gentle hand to cup one pale cheek, summoning a calm he did not have into his voice.

“You need not despair, my child. The brevity of Estel’s life need not take away from, or lessen your love for him.”

He swallowed hard as pain-filled eyes turn to look at him, a flicker of hope kindled within them.

“Instead, cherish every second you have with him, savour every short moment he has upon this Middle Earth for in their paucity are they all the more precious... And when that dread day comes, you will think on him and not see the grim, cold spectre of death… but you will look into yourself and remember his Life... You will remember the wonderful, noble person that he was and the beauty of your unwavering friendship through every joy and every sadness. Those treasured memories will warm your heart and soothe the very anguish of your soul... In this way, he will live forever in the fond remembrance of those who remain...”

“He will never leave your side...”

Blue and silver eyes welled up with tears they could no longer hold and Elrond takes the younger elf into his embrace, gently running a soothing hand over soft golden tresses till both their sorrows had run their course.

----

Epilogue:

With the rising of the sun did Legolas resolve to stay ever by Aragorn’s side, come rain or shine, joys and sorrows all. The years passed by and it was said that never had there been a greater friendship than there was between the two.

When the time came to choose an elf to accompany the Fellowship of the Ring, Elrond knew just the one who would go willingly and unhesitatingly with Aragorn to fulfill his destiny, be it to Mordor and back.

After the war, Legolas was never far from his most beloved friend, denying the longing in his heart to sail oversea for one hundred and twenty years for love of Estel Elrondion. Variously may Estel have been known as Aragorn of the Dunedain, Elessar Telcontar, and  King of Gondor, but most cherished of all was the title he bore to the end of his days; that being the dear and most beloved friend of Legolas Greenleaf, an elf of the Woodland Realm.

The End

A/N: A massive thank you to all who took the time to send me reviews of this story: starchild867, SmilingDragonGirl, alibi_girl, theo_darkstar, Keji, Imaginigma, QueenofFlarmphgal, Ceriadara, Athena, Slayer3, IwishChan, Legolas_Q, KawaiiWhiteWolf, Etharei, grumpy, Evergreene, KeshieShimmer, Inwe Nolatari, Alanna, midknightdragonz, Amethyst_Princess, Hel5gen, viggomaniac, Draco_Amora, Banshee_Queen, DarkStarofMirkWood, Deana, Faith, Shaan Lien, an exquisite elfling, eliza61, Angelelf, Galimeril, Larner.

Hope I got everyone there…

I would just like to take a little time to explain how this story came about. I was thinking, how crushing it is for us, mere mortals, when the realization of death’s finality actually dawns upon our consciousness, and then again, how much more so it would be for an immortal youth such as Legolas. I dedicate this story to my grandparents, though they will probably never read it…I love you, and I miss you…

Thank you to all the readers for coming this far…

Namárië…

Glossary:

Adar, Ada: Father, Daddy.

Anor: The sun.

Edain: Mortal Men.

Ephemeros: Greek root word of Ephemeral; lasting for a short time, transient.

Ethuil: Spring.

Gwador nin: My brother; spoken of one who is not related by blood.

Hithaeglir: The Misty Mountains.

Ion nin: My son.

Imladris: Elvish name for Rivendell.

Ithil: The moon.

Mae Govannen: Well met.

Mellon: Friend.

Naneth: Mother.

Oromë: The Huntsman of the Valar, the brother of Nessa and one of the eight Aratar. In ancient times, he rode often in the forests of Middle-earth, and it was he who first discovered the Eldar at Cuiviénen. (source: Encyclopaedia of Arda)

Penneth: Young one.

Sceptre of Annúminas: A silver rod that served as symbol of office for the Lords of Andúnië in Númenor and their heirs. (source: Encyclopaedia of Arda)

Taur-e-Ndaedelos: Forest of the Great Fear. The Elvish name for Mirkwood, after the Necromancer appeared there about a thousand years into the Third Age. (source: Encyclopaedia of Arda)

Tithen Las: Little Leaf.

Tinnu: Twilight

Yavanna: Called the 'Giver of Fruits', Yavanna was the Vala whose province was all growing things upon the earth. She was the spouse of Aulë the Smith. (source: Encyclopaedia of Arda)