Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
William Butler Yeats

“You haven’t seen me,” Estel’s voice hissed up in a loud whisper.

Elrohir rolled his eyes. He had not needed to see Estel. He had recognized the soft thuds of running feet coming through the woods behind him. In Rivendell, only Estel had such short strides that landed with mannish force. It would also have been hard to overlook the jolt against the back of the bench as the footsteps came to a sliding halt and the scrabble as the boy rapidly inserted himself under it.

Elrohir felt the quiet morning he had longed for all summer slipping away. It was good to be home at last, but even in Rivendell, every day could not be perfect. This early autumn day promised to be fair enough. The air, heavy with damp as the dew burned off, held puffs of silver-edged, gray-bellied clouds floating high above him. The dappled shade under the tree blocked just enough of the glare of the bright morning sun. The book he held was just engrossing enough to keep him awake to enjoy it. The bench had no cushions, but curved enough to be comfortable.

Elrohir had been sitting alone, a rare enough occurrence to be enjoyable in itself.

“Please?” The thready sound reached him at the same time as a shadow came around the curve of the path.

Even with nearly ten years of practice, he still found it difficult to resist Estel. What were brothers for, if not to assist when appealed to? Elrohir twitched the trailing end of his cloak to better conceal the boy under the bench just before his father’s chief counselor, Erestor, appeared on the path before him.

Careful to keep reading until Erestor stood in front of him, Elrohir blandly looked up with brows arched in a question at the interruption.

“Have you seen Estel?” Erestor asked.

Mindful of his instructions and with perfect truth, Elrohir replied, “No, not this morning. Is he playing the truant?”

“It seems so. He is very late,” Erestor said, a frown appearing on his features.

Elrohir looked east to where the sun shone above the trees. “The day is fair enough to tempt him away. Will one day of lessons more or less matter?”

“One?” Erestor said, throwing up his hands. “Would that it were one! And when he does attend, he pays little attention. At this rate the boy will learn nothing.”

Elrohir knew what it took to upset Erestor’s normally unruffled demeanor. There had been a time when he and Elladan had considered it a point of honor to exasperate Erestor at least once a week. It did not surprise him that Estel could do the same. Still, Erestor’s time could be put to better use than looking for the boy.

“You worry needlessly.” Elrohir gave Erestor a conspiratorial nod and indicated the boy’s location with a pointing finger. “I am certain he will be along eventually.”

Erestor acknowledged the signal with raised brows, and a long-suffering shake of his head. “If you do see Estel, tell him to come any time. I will be in my study.”

So, Erestor thought he would talk Estel into attending his lessons. He gave his mouth a wry twist.

Erestor grinned at his discomfiture. “Have you any idea where he might be?”

“I heard a commotion over near the kitchens. You might try there.”

“I will. Enjoy your quiet morning.” Erestor walked on.

When he was out of sight, Elrohir said, “It is safe to come out now.”

Estel scooted out from under the bench, wiping his hands off on his trousers. Gilraen sent him out washed and brushed every morning, but he already looked disheveled. Dirt from under the bench smirched his clothes, and strands of his hair, escaping from their tight plaits, straggled over his shoulders. He sat on the bench with a wide grin and a jaunty toss of his head.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But your lessons are also important, so do not think I will add ‘any time.’” Duty done, Elrohir smiled to take any sting out of the mild rebuke and fixed his eyes on his book. Perhaps today Estel would take the hint.

Elrohir tried to concentrate, but Estel began whistling and his leg swung, kicking the bench at intervals just off the beat of the nearly tuneless music. Looking up, Elrohir met Estel’s wide, grey eyes staring at him with an expectant expression.

“You can go now,” Elrohir encouraged the boy. “Time to meet your friends and start whatever adventures you planned for today instead of lessons.”

“The only plan I have is to stay away from anyone who would send me back to Erestor.” Estel settled back more comfortably on the bench and gave Elrohir a wide, hopeful smile.

“What are your friends doing today?” Elrohir asked.

Estel shrugged and looked away. “Imros and Edracar know Mother always keeps me in to eat breakfast with her on lesson days. They left at dawn so they wouldn’t have to take me with them. Morniel doesn’t do anything anymore except paint and carve, and she says I’m too clumsy to help her.”

“What about Rilde? Or Lossen and Neldor?” A few years ago, those four had been inseparable.

“They are too little. I don’t mind playing with them sometimes, but I need to learn warrior skills, and they still want to do baby things,” the boy said.

There were only one or two others, and they were older still, nearly grown and already with duties. Elrohir tried, and failed, to envision a solitary childhood. When Elrohir remembered his own childhood, by comparison, it teemed with playmates. Elrohir realized, with a jolt, no one in Rivendell could grow up with Estel. After a year, or two or three, he would be older than any elf-child he befriended, with the different interests and different needs that came with maturity.

It did not help that Estel’s only possible friends were Silvan elves under his father’s protection. They had no use for, and their parents did not want them to have, the intense, political education being lavished on the last scion of the Númenoreans.

“Why don’t you just attend your lessons?” Elrohir asked.

Estel gave a derisive snort. “I learn a lot more just being in the woods, even by myself. Didn’t you find Erestor’s lessons boring?”

After a thoughtful shake of his head, Elrohir closed his book and placed it on the bench. “No. I cannot say that I did. Of course, they were quite some time ago - perhaps I am misremembering - but I think I was eager for Erestor’s lessons.”

Estel eyed him with disbelief. “He never tells me anything useful,” he huffed. “I already know all kinds of things. I can read – in four languages! - and add and divide and, and, lots of other stuff. Why do I have to keep learning stupid theories, or care about what the old kings did? ‘The kingdom of Rhudaur was founded in third Age 863 and its first king was the second son of Eärendur,’” he droned. “I am never, ever, going to need to know that. I could be doing important things, like sword work or archery practice.”

Elrohir wished now he had simply handed the boy over to Erestor. In Elrohir’s opinion, this had always been more complicated than it needed to be. Swordsmanship and archery were not all the boy needed to know. It would certainly be easier to say, “A Chieftain of the Dúnedain needs to know this,” than to expect Estel to voluntarily forego playing to grapple with abstracts. Though he did not agree with his father’s insistence that Estel would be safer if he was unaware of his exalted heritage, he knew - they all knew - the boy still needed to be educated enough to fulfill his destiny when the time came.

Elrohir quirked his brows. “And those are the most important things?”

“They are!” Estel glowed with excitement and he leaned forward. “You promised that as soon as I’m big enough, I could hunt orcs with you and Elladan all the time, and you told me to practice as much as I could. And I do! They almost never find me anymore.” A speculative gleam came into his eyes.

Elrohir had promised; for some unspecified future date when Estel had grown into a ‘great warrior’. “Are you a great warrior already?” Elrohir laughed, leaning over to tousle Estel’s hair.

The boy’s chin rose and he sounded aggrieved at Elrohir’s skepticism. “I’m a good tracker. And I can use a bow and a sword and a knife. I can always find something to eat in the woods and I can start a fire and cook. I can find my way and tell time by the stars. I’m big enough.” He sat back, relaxed and poised. “Take me along next time and you’ll see how useful I will be.”

Elrohir sat up straighter and a clutch of cold gripped his heart. So many of his friends and family – he quickly suppressed a memory of his mother’s wan and wasted face - had been lost in the Wild. Estel’s confident air and the paean of self-praise for his skills gave Elrohir an unwelcome suspicion. Unless he did something to discourage it, the next time they ventured into the Wild, he and Elladan would spend most of their time looking behind them expecting to see Estel. The boy would have to face the Wild some day, but, surely, he was still too young.

“I think you need to grow up a bit more first.” Elrohir reached out to lay his hand on the boy’s shoulder but Estel twitched away.

“No one ever understands.” Estel stood up, shoved his thumbs in his belt and sullenly kicked a stray pebble off the path. He planted himself stiff-backed in front of Elrohir and stared a challenge into his eyes. “It’s not fair.”

Standing, the boy was eye-to-eye with Elrohir still seated on the bench. “What is not fair? You are growing up as fast as you can. I cannot stretch you, nor change the rate at which you grow,” he said in his best imitation of their father’s ‘be reasonable’ tone. “Soon, I promise, you will be old enough and bigger.”

“I know that,” Estel said in a voice dripping scorn. “I will grow as tall as you are, maybe taller. But my mother is Edain, not Eldar. I’m in my eleventh year! Mother says that is about half way to being grown up. Imros and Edracar are, too. They can go outside the valley, but not me! Everyone still treats me like one of the babies!”

Estel’s eyes fixed on Elrohir with a plea for understanding hovering in their depths. Apparently not finding it, he rushed on, his voice becoming singsong. “Stay close to the house, Estel. Don’t go into the woods without a grown-up, Estel. You’re too young to do that, Estel. Do this, Estel. Don’t do that, Estel.” He sneered. “ Go to your lessons, Estel. And I have more lessons and studying than anybody! It. Is. Just. Not. Fair!” He punctuated the last words with resentful kicks at the path and ended up at rigid attention, arms akimbo and jaw thrust out towards Elrohir.

Elrohir was momentarily taken aback. Did Estel have a valid grievance? Were they too conscious that the boy carried the last bloodline of the Dúnedain kings and putting too many restraints on him? The boy was rushing to adulthood more than twice as fast as an elf-child would. He inspected Estel carefully, noting the skinny arms and legs barely beginning their stretch to adolescence. In the boyishly rounded face, there were hints of the man to be in the determined eyes and the jut of the firm jaw.

Elrohir realized that Estel was beginning to recognize he was different. For no reason that he knew, his education was more structured and much more was demanded of him than of his playmates. No wonder he felt resentful. Unfortunately, the surest cure was the explanation of his heritage that Elrohir was forbidden to give him.

The other Dúnedain fosterlings had been several years older and had already had a season or two of Ranger training when they arrived. Had his father fostered a boy as young as Estel since Valandil? Perhaps they had misjudged and Estel was ready for more experience. Elrohir gave his head a shake.

Estel wilted at the apparent lack of support and slumped down onto the bench. “Are you going to send me to Erestor?”

“If I sent you now, would you actually go to your lessons?” Elrohir’s brow lifted with the skeptical question.

“Maybe. Eventually.” Estel heaved a noisy sigh and capitulated. “If I have to.”

They were both quiet for a minute. When Elrohir looked over at the boy, Estel was glumly contemplating the path at his feet. How to convince him it would be far better if he stayed safely in Rivendell and went willingly to his lessons? Estel was so sure he knew enough already… Elrohir had an idea; a way to show him how much he had yet to learn.

“Hmmm. There is no doubt you are growing up quickly. You look quite the warrior compared to how you looked last summer.” At the change in tone, Estel shot him a surprised and wary glance. Elrohir leaned towards the boy and gave him a nudge with his elbow. “Would you like to hunt orcs today?”

“Real orcs? Really?” Estel drew himself up from his slump and turned open, incredulous eyes on Elrohir.

Elrohir was quick to damp his excitement. “Not exactly. Not yet. The Wild is different from Rivendell and orcs are very dangerous. You are my brother, and for some reason I seem to be fond of you. I would not want to lose you untimely. I need to see for myself if you are ready to hunt real orcs.” Elrohir put his hands on Estel’s shoulders and tried to impress upon him the seriousness of his offer. “If you prove it to me today, I will speak to Father about changing your lessons and giving you more experience.”

Estel quivered like a leashed hound on a scent. “You will? I mean, Yes, sir!” Estel snapped. He leapt to his feet. “What do I need to do?”

Elrohir stood and pointed Estel towards the house. “Go get your weapons, and whatever else you think you will need for a day of orc hunting. Do not burden yourself overmuch. Elladan and I usually cache most of the supplies. This will be a scouting mission, and we will only fight if we are forced to. Meet me back here as soon as you can.”

“I will.” Estel whirled away, and then ran back to Elrohir. He threw his arms around Elrohir’s hips and hugged him, burying his face in his chest. “You are the best brother ever. I will not let you down.”

Elrohir’s arms went around the boy and he gave him a squeeze. “I love you, too, little brother. I know you will make me proud. Now go! We have an orc den to spy out.”

Elrohir hurried through his own preparations, changing his loose, long tunic for serviceable leathers, issuing warnings, and collecting supplies. Despite his haste, Estel was already sitting quietly on the bench when he arrived, with a quiver of arrows and an unstrung bow at his feet, and a wallet of leather over one shoulder. The boy barely looked up as Elrohir approached.

“Are you ready to hunt orcs?” Elrohir asked, wondering what had happened to the boy’s enthusiasm.

Estel shrugged his shoulders. “Mother says this will just be make-believe - a baby’s game! - and we are not going to go anywhere but places I am already allowed to go.”

Silently damning Gilraen, Elrohir put his pack on the bench, and sat down next to the boy. He stretched his legs out in front of him, sword resting easily against one thigh. “I remember those games,” he said. “You killed hundreds every afternoon, and flailed your old wooden sword against every tree and post in furious combat. Do you remember when you took me hostage and forced Elladan to pay my ransom in honey cakes and strawberries?”

Estel still did not look up, but he nodded a few bobs of his head.

“We had a lot of fun together, playing orc hunts, didn’t we?” The boy sighed, shrugged, and nodded again. “Estel, did I say today would be a game?”

Estel’s head came up and he looked over to Elrohir. “N… no,” he said a little uncertainly.

“I have spent many years under arms. The Wild is very different from Rivendell, and hunting orcs in the mountains is nothing like our old games. As much as I understand your desire to go outside the valley, I cannot take you on a real orc hunt without Father’s permission. And he is not likely to give it, unless you can show him you are ready to face the Wild,” Elrohir said.

Turning on the bench to face Elrohir more directly, Estel threw up his hands. “How I can I prove it, if I can’t do anything?”

“I do not deny that we will have to use our imaginations for some things today, but it will be as real an experience as I can make it, as real as you wish it to be.” Estel still looked unconvinced. “Listen. A short while ago, orcs attacked a Dúnedain homestead. They took everything - the pigs and chickens and horses, the plow oxen, the standing crops, the wheat stores, even the seed corn put aside for next year’s planting - and hewed and despoiled the rest. No one discovered it until several days of rain had washed away much of the evidence, so we do not know how many orcs attacked, nor can we follow them directly to where they lair.”

Estel had been listening intently to the story. Now his mouth curled and he flapped a hand in the direction of the mountains. “Just ask the people on the farm how many orcs there were and which way they went.”

“There were no survivors,” Elrohir said keeping his voice gentle. Estel’s mouth formed an ‘o’ of astonishment as he realized this was very different from the games they used to play. Elrohir continued, gesturing to the sweep of the valley he could see from the bench. “Somewhere out there, there are orcs. We need to know how many and how they are armed, if they are digging in to stay or if this was just a passing raid. We need to find what trails they are using to send provisions back to the mountain lairs, or if they are keeping what they steal and planning to stay the winter in this area and continue to raid. They will be expecting someone to scout them out, and we are only two, so we will have to be very cautious.” Estel sat up very straight and leaned towards Elrohir, lips parted and eyes wide. “They will be attacked and destroyed, but only after we bring back the information on their strength and numbers. Do you think we can do that?”

The boy sprang up from the bench, shrugging his quiver over his shoulder.

“I’m ready!” he announced. “Let’s go!”

“Whoa! Wait! Not quite so fast. Show me what you have.” Estel had brought what looked like a reasonable amount for him to carry, and much less than Elrohir had feared.

“I have my knife. My good bow. A full quiver of arrows.” Estel patted the sheath strapped on his belt and the quiver on his shoulder. Elrohir recognized the bow as the one Elrond had given Estel on his last begetting day. Though it had a light draw suitable for a boy, the bow was not a toy. “I didn’t bring much else, because of what Mother said, not even my sword,” he said, “but it’s only a blunt practice one. I don’t think it would be good for this kind of hunt anyway.”

“A very good decision. Did you bring anything else?”

“Some bread and cheese, a handful of raisins, and my water-skin. Is it enough?” He waited for Elrohir’s approval.

“Yes. You chose very well, but your bow is not strung,” Elrohir said.

Estel looked blankly from Elrohir to the bow. “Course it’s not. I know better than to keep my bow strung. That’s not good for it.”

“Generally, yes. But we are not target shooting today. If you need to use it, you will need it quickly. Can you string it by yourself?”

“Wouldn’t do me much good otherwise,” Estel muttered under his breath. He fished a bow stringer out of a pocket on the quiver and, with only a little grunting, bent the bow enough to slip the bowstring over the grooves at the tips. He stowed the stringer and fastened the bow where he could easily reach it. “Now can we go?”

Elrohir stood still with eyebrows raised in a question.

“What?” Estel danced a little with impatience. “I’m ready.”

“Do you not want to know what I brought?” Elrohir said.

“Oh, of course.” A dull red flush moved up Estel’s neck. “I ought to know. What did you bring?” Estel asked.

Elrohir ticked off his supplies on his fingers. “My sword and knife. A flint and striker with a bag of charcloth and tow in case we need to make a fire. A small hatchet, because I do not care to ruin my sword chopping wood. A shallow metal pan we could use to heat water in, or as a plate, or even to dig with if we needed to. Some rope, about ten ells long. And my lunch.”

“Did you bring lembas?” Not waiting for an answer, Estel slid around Elrohir and started plucking at the ties on his pack where it lay on the bench. “If we’re supposed to be really scouting, we ought to have lembas. I want some now.”

“Estel! Stop!” Elrohir’s commanding voice was sharp with irritation and the boy backed away, eyes confused.

“But scouts need lembas to keep up their strength,” Estel complained. “I never get lembas.”

Elrohir sat down on the bench and stood the protesting boy in front of him. He shook his head and sighed. “You are still thinking of this as a game. It is not a game; it is a test. If you think of this as a game, then you have already failed.” Estel started to protest and Elrohir held up his hand for silence. “You asked to prove yourself. I am willing to grant you the chance to show me you are no longer a child and can be trusted to think clearly in situations of real danger. If you would rather stay a child and play games, one more day of truancy does not matter, and I am willing to spend all day with you.”

Estel’s eyes reflected his hesitation. His mouth hung slightly open, and he was silent. Elrohir continued, “If you are still a child, I expect to hear no more complaints – from anyone, including you – about your studies. If you still want a chance to prove yourself, then we can proceed. I warn you, if I see anything, any look or comment or action, that makes me think you do not take this test seriously, it will be over and I will escort you to your next lesson immediately. You can try this test, which will be harder than any of your lessons have been, or, if you prefer, we can spend today doing anything else you would like - hunt, or fish the trout streams, or play our old orc hunting games - and then starting tomorrow you will go to your lessons without complaint. If that does not please you, you can go to your lessons now. The choice is yours, Estel. What shall we do?”

Elrohir half expected Estel to quickly choose to play games all day and wheedle his way out of tomorrow’s lessons later, but the boy did not blurt out an answer. Elrohir waited patiently while Estel shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and chewed his lower lip. The boy looked down for a minute fingering the hilt of his knife, looked toward the house, and then examined the woods behind Elrohir. He looked down again. At last Estel drew a deep breath, compressed his lips together and nodded.

Looking up, he straightened his shoulders and met Elrohir’s eyes squarely, “I am ready. Let’s begin the test.”

He looked very young and vulnerable, but he stood straight and tall. Though still clearly eager to get started, he stood in a relaxed and alert pose obviously copied from watching the patrols leave. Elrohir expected the day’s activities to show Estel that he was not yet ready to venture into the Wild, but the boy’s willingness to undertake the test still inordinately pleased him.

“Very well.” Elrohir nodded and they began walking towards the woods that blanketed the hillside. “Today, do not expect me to give orders you will have to follow. We need to work together. But because this is a test of your abilities, I may do foolish things today, and you will have to keep me out of trouble, not the other way around. If you think that I have missed seeing something important, or if you think I am about to do something unwise, I expect you to find some way to communicate that to me.”

“I will try,” the boy said, sounding a little uncertain. Good.

“Do more than try, our lives may depend on it,” Elrohir cautioned him.

Apprehension darkened Estel’s grey eyes, and he took a rather shaky breath. Pleased that Estel finally seemed to understand the seriousness of the exercise, Elrohir paused at the edge of the path. He turned to Estel and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This will not be easy. If you want to end it, tell me at any time and it will become only a game.”

Estel nodded decisively. “I understand. I will not let you down. I know I am ready.”

“Real scouts go silently. Start now.”

Elrohir turned to face the woods. He expanded his senses until the trees felt like extensions of his own body. He felt the wind blowing around every leaf, the position of every bird on every branch, the location of each root where it bit into the ground, the spring of the release and the bite of tiny claws as squirrels leapt from tree to tree. Estel was a solid weight next to him as he slipped invisibly through the dappled patterns and trod lightly across the hillside.

Keeping to unpopulated areas of the valley, Elrohir led Estel across a variety of terrain. They snaked through meadows on their stomachs. Climbed up steep, thickly wooded hillsides. Danced between patches of shade in more open woods. Through it all, Estel gamely kept pace, silently and without complaint. Elrohir felt a surge of pride in his brother. He would never be as light as an elf, but his skill, for a Man-child, was impressive. Given more years of experience and an adult’s control, he would rank amongst the best of Edain woodsmen. Elrohir, safely in front of Estel, smiled with satisfaction. The boy was already as good as some adult Rangers.

After nearly two hours they had traveled almost half a league over strenuous terrain. Elrohir felt Estel tiring. For all his skill, he was still a boy and began to make mistakes. As Estel clambered over a crooked root, his foot slipped off and slapped against a stone. The sound started a bird out of a nearby bush and it exploded up into the treetops, calling an alarm. They froze for anxious minutes, worriedly scanning the forest for ‘enemies’. Not fifty paces later, Estel stepped on a twig that cracked loudly. Elrohir turned in time to see a chagrined wince on his brother’s face. He stopped and mimed motions of resting but Estel only shook his head and pointed onward.

Sighing inwardly, Elrohir began working his way towards the stables. He had warned Elladan, while he changed into hunting leathers, that the stables would become a surrogate orc den. Rivendell’s stables sat in a bowl-shaped meadow, backed by the high valley walls, a low hill blocking it from the main house. Clambering down from the valley walls behind the stables, they could go either east or west to get a better view of the front and the paddocks.

Elrohir slid into the trees and headed east. He had gone no more than three steps when he felt a tugging on his tunic. Oh, very good! He gave Estel a questioning look.

Estel shook his head and pointed west. He stuck his forefinger in his mouth. Pulling it out, he held it up, pointing to indicate the wind direction on his finger.

“Downwind.” Estel’s pitched his voice very low and soft, not as a sibilant whisper that would carry farther, and he pointed west, jabbing his finger in the direction he wanted them to go.

Elrohir nodded, smiled a little, and indicated that Estel should go first. Estel’s eyes widened. He swallowed visibly and turned to make his way down the slope to the west. With the new responsibility of finding their path, Estel appeared to tap into a hidden reservoir of energy. He took time to cautiously work their way down to a good vantage point. Elrohir stopped. He started to conceal himself better while they reconnoitered, but realized that Estel was still moving down the slope, glancing back over his shoulder and motioning Elrohir forward. Where was the boy going? Elrohir followed.

Flitting from shadow to shadow and dropping to a crawl, Estel moved far down the slope before he finally stopped. Close below the watchers, Elladan, Glorfindel and several other people moved among a small, milling herd of yearlings. Occasionally someone ran their hands down a leg or urged a horse into a trot and discussed its gait as it moved away. Snatches of their conversation floated up to the concealed watchers. Estel turned shining eyes on Elrohir, pleased that he had gotten them so close.

“Orcs,” Elrohir acknowledged, mouthing the words almost without sound. “Many orcs.”

Estel absorbed this information, looking to Elrohir for clues on what to do next. He was taking this very seriously. Though there had been very little pressure so far, the boy was performing reasonably well. It was time to add another difficulty. Elrohir had had several schemes in mind to increase the problems they encountered as the day progressed, but Estel had handed him an opportunity he had not expected. They were well within bowshot of the ‘orcs’ at the stables.

Elladan. He called his brother silently. We are here.

Elladan scanned the hillside. He touched Glorfindel’s arm and indicated upslope, pinpointing the brush that concealed the watchers. The other elves followed Elladan’s gesture and scanned the slope. One of them pointed and waved, calling, “Estel, come down.”

“They’ve seen us!” Estel gasped. “What do we do?”

“They are too many to fight. Run!”

Estel turned and scrambled up the hill, making only a cursory effort to remain concealed, not looking back. Elrohir followed. He climbed only a few steps before he cried out in pain. He clutched his shoulder and, as Estel turned back, collapsed ungracefully onto the ground. Estel slid back down to him. Elrohir yanked Estel down as he bent over him.

“Stay down. I’ve been hit.”

Estel looked disbelieving. Elrohir, using his ‘good’ hand, pulled open his tunic and exposed a puckered, pale scar between his collarbone and his ribs. “It’s deep. Help me.” He put a gasp of pain into the words. Though it had happened hundreds of years ago, Elrohir had no trouble remembering, and acting, how it had felt to have that arrow lodged in him. It had grated against bone with every breath, and jolted pain with every step he had taken until the cruelly barbed arrow had been cut out.

Estel reached out and tentatively touched the scar. Elrohir saw him begin to believe, perhaps not that the wound was real, but that it had been real. Scouting forays, for Estel, would never again be only walks in the wood and cleverly outwitting stupid foes.

“Coneflower and comfrey,” Estel said, looking wildly around the hillside. “I should have brought some. Or, or, shepherd’s purse, marigold. Tea and a poultice. I’ll make a fire…”

“Estel!” Elrohir gripped the boy’s hand to focus his attention. Apparently there were some lessons he had learned well, but medical treatment would have to wait. “The orcs are coming after us. There is no time. Break off the shaft.”

“What? How?” He moved his hands in the air over Elrohir’s shoulder.

“ Break it off! If you don’t think it will crack easily, take your knife, score the shaft, and crack it. Quickly!”

“But… I … if I moved the shaft at all, it would hurt you.” There was real distress on Estel’s face.

“Less than the shaft moving with my every step. Now, Estel! Do it now.”

Estel looked down and away. While his attention was diverted, Elrohir snatched up a stick. When Estel looked back, Elrohir held the stick protruding from the scar as if an arrow shaft were embedded there. Estel gripped the stick and tried to crack it, but the angle was awkward and the stick not well seasoned. Elrohir let out a soft groan. Estel fumbled his knife out of its sheath on his belt and tried to run it firmly enough around to mark the stick. Though the stick was not a real arrow shaft, it still took far more pressure and sawing than Estel expected to score it enough to crack it. Estel grimaced harder at every attempt, as he saw how the motions caused his brother pain. Elrohir tried not to overdo his performance as the wounded warrior. Though he thought himself far more stoic when actually wounded, he wanted Estel to believe in the wound. It certainly seemed to be convincing the boy. When Estel finally grasped the stick and cracked it off, the broken end skittered an inch across his chest. Elrohir sucked in his breath and gave a louder groan. Estel dropped the broken end of the stick and rocked back onto his heels, breathing almost as shallowly as Elrohir.

“Help me up!” Elrohir demanded.

Estel started, gulped and pulled Elrohir’s good arm over his shoulder. Wedging his shoulder under Elrohir’s arm, he tried to stand. Elrohir allowed Estel to struggle for a few seconds under his full weight before he pushed himself upright. They stumbled together up the slope, Elrohir hugging his injured arm to his side. At the top, they paused for a moment. Draping his good arm over Estel’s shoulders, Elrohir leaned a great deal of his weight on the boy, as if he were truly weakened. Estel sagged momentarily under the pressure, then braced himself and surged upright. Under Elrohir’s guidance, they set off northwestward towards the stream that ran its way across the upper meadow and down to the Bruinen, moving at the fastest pace the boy could manage while supporting Elrohir. Estel made no effort to conceal their passage, leaving behind them a trail even a blind dwarf could follow.

The trees thinned out as they progressed, giving way to a grassy meadow, dotted here and there with tangled clumps of bushes. Golden-topped stalks heavy with seed spread around them rippling in the wind. The stream ahead ran broad and shallow, the water chuckling happily over the pebbles and scattering of rocks that lined its bed. Though spring floods had carved banks, in some places as much as a foot or two deep, at this time of year the stream was easily fordable for its whole length.

Scanning ahead, Elrohir gave a nod of satisfaction. The last time he had been here a majestic old tree had towered over the water, but he had heard the wood had been harvested after a lightening strike. He saw that nothing remained save a clean stump and a few branches, too thin or twisted to be useful as lumber, which were seasoning for firewood. Elrohir steered the boy’s increasingly staggering progress towards a narrow portion of the stream. Here, the water had carved the deepest banks as the land sloped down. Just upstream, the water ran wider and shallower, the banks bounded by tussocks of bushy willow.

“The orcs are tracking us, but we will be safe if we can cross the ravine ahead,” Elrohir gasped as he eased himself down a little way away from the stream.

“Ravine?” Estel asked uncertainly, rubbing his shoulder and adjusting the straps on his quiver.

Elrohir nodded, reminding himself to breathe hard and shallowly. He put his hand protectively on his shoulder. “Ahead. It is rocky, deep, and steep-sided. The water at the bottom is too deep and wild to ford. Wounded like this, I might be able to get down, but I cannot cross the water nor climb the other side. And it is too wide to jump. We will have to bridge it somehow.”

“Bridge it?” Estel repeated, turning to look at the creek.

“And it will have to hold us both,” Elrohir said.

Estel nodded and stood up. Looking around the area, his glance paused for a moment at the willows upstream, then at a clump of bushes farther down. His face grew thoughtful as he scanned the closest bank.

“I need the rope,” Estel demanded.

Why the rope? Elrohir thought. But he said nothing as Estel untied the strings and pulled the rope out of Elrohir’s pack.

Estel knelt down next to Elrohir. “Keep watch for the orcs. Do you think you can still fight at all?”

“I will not lie here waiting to be slaughtered. If the orcs come before the bridge is done, I can fight,” Elrohir assured the boy.

“This should not take long. Call me if you need help.” Estel said. The boy looked confident as he got to his feet and ran towards the bank of the stream.

Elrohir got to his feet and drew his sword, but he turned to watch what Estel did. The boy walked along the grassy banks kicking at the few rocks that showed above the dirt. On his fifth kick he found one that seemed to suit him. Kneeling at the edge of the bank, he shook out a loop or two of the rope and tried to fasten it around the smooth top of the small boulder protruding from the dirt. He quickly tied a knot, but the rope slipped over the top of the rock when he tugged on it. Estel tried to refit the knotted rope around the stone, but it would not seat itself properly. He tugged the knot open, and tried again. And again it slipped off when he pulled on it. Elrohir saw the boy’s face begin to redden in frustration, and it took him longer to loosen the knot the second time. Using his fingers, he tried to dig down around the rock, but the thick grass roots defeated him. He pulled out his knife, and hacked at the turf. Elrohir winced as the blade scraped against the rock. The boy fitted the rope a fourth time, stood, and gave it a sharp tug. The rock pulled out of the ground and tumbled down the bank into the stream.

Estel stood holding the rope in his hands and staring down at the shallow new depression in the bank. He untied the knot again and ran upstream. Elrohir watched him with admiration for his tenacity, but still bewildered as to his intentions. Why didn’t Estel just ask him how to bridge the stream?

The stream spread very broad and shallow next to the tree. It had been very old and stately, with a trunk nearly three ells around. Estel dropped one end and unreeled the rope as he ran around the stump. He tied a knot, and walked to the edge of the stream. There was only a loop or two of rope left in his hand, not enough to bridge the stream.

Estel stood uncertainly for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He turned in a circle, scanning the area, again pausing at the branches. His brows wrinkled but he minutely shook his head, and continued his turn. Giving a tight-lipped sigh, he untied the knot and recoiled the rope. He ran downstream, showing Elrohir a smile and an encouraging flap of his hand as he went by.

“Hurry!” Elrohir called. “Orcs will be here soon. I can see them coming out of the valley now!”

Estel dove under the brush at the stream’s edge, downstream from the cut. The foliage rustled and thrashed as Estel wormed around underneath. He emerged, rope in hand and tugged it, throwing his whole weight against it. The rope held. He coiled the remaining rope on the ground at his feet and fumbled an arrow out of his quiver. With a few quick twists, he knotted the free end of the rope around the arrow. Nocking the arrow against the string, he drew and aimed it across the stream.

He held his stance for long moments until his hand trembled under the draw. Elrohir saw Estel’s shoulders slump as he finally noticed what Elrohir had seen from the beginning. Even assuming the boy had enough strength to shoot an arrow weighted by rope across the stream, only smooth, flower dotted, meadow faced him; no tree stood conveniently across the water to shoot into. The arrow point drooped and slipped off the bow, the shaft falling unheeded onto the ground at the boy’s feet.

Elrohir assumed a one-handed defensive stance and faced the meadow. “Estel! The orcs are almost here!”

He heard the boy run up next to him, and saw, from the corner of his eye, Estel nock an arrow, ready to shoot.

“They are coming!” Elrohir growled.

“Tell…” Estel swallowed, and he panted as if he had been running. “Tell me… if I kill … any at all… before I … before we…and, and when I should fall.”

Elrohir glanced down at the boy, expecting to see a gallant hero with a cocky grin facing death against overwhelming odds. Instead, Estel’s face was drawn into a rictus of despair, tears welling up in his eyes and dropping onto the ground as he focused along the arrow. But his aim was steady.

Elrohir sheathed his sword and knelt down next to the boy. He gently took the bow from Estel’s suddenly nerveless hands, as Estel shook with suppressed sobs.

“Shhh, shhh. It’s over, Estel. Stop. It is not so bad,” Elrohir tried to assure him as he gripped the boy’s shoulders.

“I killed you!” The words were wrenched from the boy in a wail of agony. His lower lip quivered and his tears streaked his cheeks under despairing eyes. “The first time… and I’ll never… you’ll never… I wanted, and now… you’ll never let me… Never... I can’t…. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” A sob finally escaped, loosing a flood of despair.

Drawing the weeping boy into his arms, Elrohir rode out the storm of sobbing, stroking Estel’s heaving back and murmuring soothing sounds into his ear. The exercise seemed to have successfully convinced the boy that he was not ready to venture forth into the Wild, but Elrohir had not expected Estel to take it quite so seriously. From the disjointed snufflings the boy managed to choke out, his distress was equally divided between the fear he would never be good enough to be a real warrior, and fear that his mistakes would kill a brother. At last the boy quieted somewhat and Elrohir held him away so he could look into his face, though Estel would not meet his eyes. He ran his hand over Estel’s hair and down his cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

“We do not die today,” Elrohir said.

“We don’t?” Estel asked raising his eyes, but his lip still quivered.

“No.” Elrohir gave him a reassuring smile. “Would you like to see how we get across?”

Estel nodded, but there was still no hope in his eyes and he made no move to rise. Elrohir put his hand under Estel’s arm and gently tugged the boy to his feet, leading him over to the bank where the rope lay abandoned. Estel stood listlessly. The tears had left cleaner tracks on Estel’s face and his eyes looked red and puffy. Pulling out a handkerchief, Elrohir knelt down and dipped it into the stream. Elrohir wiped the tear-streaked dirt from Estel’s face. Re-wetting the cloth, he handed it to the boy.

“Hold this over your eyes for a minute while I retrieve my rope,” Elrohir told him.

Shucking his pack onto the ground, Elrohir picked up the arrow that Estel had discarded on the bank. As he undid the half hitches that bound the rope to the shaft, Elrohir saw the point was a slim, smooth broadhead, suitable for hunting small game. Even if there had been a tree on the opposite bank, and it had been driven in solidly, which was doubtful considering the drag of the rope and the light draw of the bow, it would never have held Estel’s weight.

Elrohir gave a wry grin. It was far more likely the rope would have slid over the fletching or broken the arrow, dumping the boy unceremoniously into the stream at the first step. He glanced at Estel, still standing slumped-shouldered, the handkerchief dangling from his slack hand, and gave a moment of thanks that he did not have to deal with an exhausted and despondent boy who was also soaking wet and shaken from an unexpected fall.

Elrohir followed the rope under the buckthorn bush. Dropping to his stomach and pushing his way under, he felt the stiff woody tips of the branches poking into his back. Ahead, he saw the knot, the free end of the mooring hitch beckoning him. He could just reach it. With a sharp jerk, the knot came sweetly untied. Some things Estel did very well.

Backing out, he recoiled the rope and stowed it in his pack. He picked up the arrow and slid it into Estel’s quiver. Shrugging his pack back onto his shoulders, Elrohir plucked the still damp cloth from Estel’s hand and tucked it under his belt. He led the boy upstream to the center of the cut where the banks were steepest.

“Is this the narrowest spot?” he asked.

Estel looked up and down the stream and shrugged.

Taking the boy’s silence for consent, Elrohir said, “Before we do anything else, we need to know how wide it is here. Whatever we put across, we will need to allow for some overlap on each side. Do you see the clump of black briony berries growing on the other bank?” Elrohir pointed to the nearest splash of red across the stream.

Estel nodded.

“Now stand up very straight and do this,” Elrohir said, holding out his hand, palm flat and parallel to the ground. He raised it to his forehead and tilted his hand down until it shaded part of his eyes.

Estel copied the gesture, a very slight spark of interest showing in his face.

“Move your hand a little up or down until you can see right up to the berries, but not past them,” Elrohir continued. “Yes? Hold very still and make sure.”

Estel nodded again, then bit his lip in chagrin at his mistake. He stood straighter and held his hand stiffly against his forehead. “I see it.”

“Good. Now, being very careful not to move your hand or change your posture, turn to look upstream. You may have to do it more than once, because this takes a little practice.”

Taking a deep breath and holding it, Estel carefully twisted his body until he was facing upstream.

“What can you see?” Elrohir asked.

“Just the ground. What am I supposed to see?” Estel still sounded subdued.

“Something to focus on, like the briony on the other side,” Elrohir told him.

“Oh. Yes. I can see a ripped burdock leaf, lying next to a clump of grass.”

“Here?” Elrohir put his toe against the leaf he thought Estel described.

“Yes. That one.”

“Drop your hand and pace off to the place where my foot is.”

Estel counted carefully. “… thirteen, fourteen… about fifteen feet?”

“Close enough. Is there something around about fifteen feet long that we could use as a bridge?” Elrohir asked.

Estel made a cursory survey of the area, shook his head, and mumbled, “I’m not stupid. The branches over there are too short.”

“You didn’t know exactly how long your bridge needed to be,” Elrohir reminded him.

Estel sent Elrohir a resentful glance and slouched over to the longest branch that lay on the ground beyond the stump. He paced along it, counting desultorily, “... two, three, four…” As he neared the end it became clear the branch was long enough. “… sixteen, seventeen, eighteen… and a few inches.”

Elrohir was relieved. He had expected to have to notch and lash at least two of the branches together. This would be much easier. Elrohir reached down one-handed and picked up the thickest end of the slim branch. He started to drag it towards the narrowest part of the stream. Estel stood staring down at his feet, unmoving.

“I am still wounded, Estel. Will you not help me?”

Estel backhanded a fresh flow of tears off his eyes and nodded. He ran to Elrohir and grasped the branch behind Elrohir’s hand. Together, they wrestled the branch to the bank and stood it upright where the stream was narrowest. Elrohir had planned to rig a harness for the branch to keep it from bouncing into the stream when it fell across, but looking at Estel’s pale face, he decided to risk letting it drop unaided, hoping the soft banks would absorb much of the impact. With Estel’s assistance, he lowered the branch as gently as he could until it dropped the rest of the way and fell onto the further bank.

It bounced once, but held. Elrohir jumped on the end to wedge it more firmly into the soft dirt. Estel’s face looked blank, his thoughts turned inward, his hands dangling and listless.

“Who crosses first?” Elrohir asked.

Estel’s chin came up and a puzzled look twisted his brows. He thought about it for a second. “You do. You are wounded.”

Elrohir sighed and shook his head. “We are scouting, and have learned important information about the location of an orc den. While I do not intend to throw away my life lightly, it is more important that the message gets back. This branch is not very thick, and may not be strong enough. If I cross first and it breaks, I will be dead and you will be trapped on this side with no chance to escape another way. You are lighter. There is a better chance the information will be saved if you cross first.”

Estel dropped his head again, gnawed his lower lip, and sniffed. He would not meet Elrohir’s eyes.

Elrohir placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder, but he restrained himself from offering further comfort. Though he felt Estel’s distress and wanted to sweep him up, carry him across and assure him that he would never really have to make these kinds of choices, such coddling would do him no service for the future.

“However, I think it will hold. It is far more likely that we will both get across safely. Go,” Elrohir encouraged him.

Estel stepped onto the narrow branch and began shuffling his way across. Halfway along the branch had a lumpy kink. As he reached it, Estel wobbled and windmilled for a second, while Elrohir held his breath, but the boy managed to regain his balance and continued to shuffle his way along the uneven, swaying surface. When the boy reached the far bank, Elrohir stepped onto the branch and was across in a few quick steps. By the time Estel turned to see if Elrohir was following, he was already next to the boy.

“There! Now we kick our bridge into the river.” Elrohir suited his actions to the words. The branch made a satisfying splash as it hit the water. “And we are safe.”

Elrohir put his arm around the boy and shepherded him away from the stream towards a grove of apple trees higher up the slope. Estel stumbled more than once on the gentle incline.

By the time they reached the trees, Estel’s tears had dried, but his face looked pinched and grey. The boy did not resist as Elrohir pushed him into a sitting position under one of the apple trees. He simply sat with his hands gripping his upraised knees, worried eyes staring into the grass.

Elrohir slipped his pack off his shoulders and sat down next to Estel. He untied the straps and pulled a bundle wrapped in a cloth out of its depths. Laying the bundle on the grass, he pulled the knotted corners of the cloth apart and spread it open. Inside there were several separately wrapped lumps. Elrohir uncovered half a roasted chicken, and a small loaf of dark and crusty bread that had been split and spread with butter. Reaching into the wallet on Estel’s belt, he pulled out the boy’s lunch of bread and cheese and a twist with raisins and laid it on the cloth. Estel did not react, except to wrinkle his face into a more puzzled expression.

Elrohir ripped the leg and thigh off the chicken, and handed it to Estel. The boy accepted it, but held it loosely and looked at it as if he did not know what to do with it.

“Eat,” Elrohir said.

Estel stared at his hands for another few seconds. He seemed to reach a decision. His head reared up and he met Elrohir’s eyes with a fierce intensity.

“Tell me everything I did wrong,” Estel demanded.

“After lunch. Things will not look so bad when you are not hungry.” Elrohir gestured to the chicken leg.

Estel shook his head, pressing his lips together into a determined line. “No. I know I made mistakes. I’ve thought and thought, and I still don’t know what they were or what I should have done differently. Father says I need to learn from the mistakes I make. Tell me! I do not want to make them ever again.”

There was the blood of Númenor, defeated but not bowed. Back straight, chin raised, imperious eyes determined to face a future of the same hard choices without flinching.

“You were not alone today, and we had different weapons. Think on that while you eat and then tell me what mistakes you made.” Elrohir waited until Estel bit off a mouthful of chicken and began to chew before he started his own lunch.

Estel ate desultorily for a few bites, picking bits of meat off the bone with his, rather grubby, fingers and chewing slowly. Soon, he was biting off large pieces and sucking at the ends of the bones. Noting that a slight tinge of color was coming back into Estel’s face as he gnawed the last of the meat off the chicken bones, Elrohir pulled out his belt knife and cut off a thick slice of the chicken breast. Laying it onto the bread and cheese from Estel’s wallet, he handed it to the boy.

After taking a few bites, Estel looked over to Elrohir, brows crinkled with the effort of thought and mouth twisted. “I think,” he said slowly, “that, maybe, it should have been you who went down to spy on the orcs and I ought to have stayed higher up the slope.”

Elrohir swallowed a bite of bread. “Why?”

“Well, uh… You’re better at it than I am.” Estel made the statement into a faint question, and crammed a bite of bread into his mouth.

“I do have more years of practice in sneaking up on orc dens. And…?” He left the question dangle, but gave what he hoped looked like an encouraging smile.

“I, uh, you, um…” Estel looked around wildly and bit off more bread, chewing audibly.

“Think! If I were careless, or the sentries very alert, and I was seen, what could you do upslope that I could not?” Elrohir encouraged him.

Estel’s eyes were darting around the grove, until they alighted on Elrohir’s sword. “Oh.” He sounded relieved. “You only had a sword. I had a bow. I could have shot them, or, or, even sent down a fire arrow and set the building on fire.”

“Yes, if you’d had fire arrows in your quiver and a source of flame.” Elrohir suppressed a smile at the stricken look on Estel’s face. “From a vantage point uphill, you could have seen if they became suspicious and shot something away to the side as a distraction. You could certainly have provided covering shots for my escape. Shooting down, you had a much greater range than they did shooting up, even with a light bow.”

“Yes. I could have done that, I suppose.” A guilty look spread over his features. “Maybe you wouldn’t have been wounded then?”

“Perhaps not.”

Estel sighed and took another bite of his bread.

Elrohir nudged him. “And…? What else should you have done differently?”

Estel toyed with his last bite of bread, turning it over in his fingers and shredding off crumbs. “Um, maybe I, maybe… oh, I know. I should have seen that there was nothing to shoot an arrow into on the other side of the stream. I wasted a lot of time there.”

“I do not understand how you could have failed to see that there was nothing to hold an arrowshot across. Even if you had brought a grapnel…” Elrohir broke off. “It was unfortunate that the terrain did not cooperate, but that was not the first mistake you made there. Can you think what that was?”

Estel’s head moved once in negation. He hunched his shoulders in and stared at the ground.

Elrohir let him contemplate. Color had definitely crept back into Estel’s face, but he still looked distressed.

Standing up, Elrohir examined the apples on the tree. Though it was early for harvest, a few shone red, ripe enough to eat. Bracing a foot on the trunk, Elrohir grabbed a hold and levered himself up into the branches. He twisted off a ripe fruit and, giving a piercing whistle to get Estel’s attention, he tossed several down. The boy fielded them one-handed, still firmly holding the last of the bread, and placed them on the cloth. Elrohir dropped back onto the ground and settled himself against the tree trunk. He broke off a chunk from his loaf of bread, stripped the last of the chicken breast from the bone, folded them together and took a large bite. By the time he finished, Estel still had not offered any further explanations.

Elrohir picked up an apple, polished it on his sleeve and tossed it across into Estel’s lap. “We were supposed to work together, to be a team. You tried to do it alone. If you had asked me if I knew a way to bridge the stream, I would have told you, and saved much time. That is not all. What other mistakes did you make?”

Estel swallowed, seemed to shrink even more into himself and shrugged his shoulders.

Elrohir wished he could stop, but knew that Estel needed to hear all the errors he had made at once. “You made the same mistake as before,” Elrohir continued, ignoring the hurt flicker as Estel’s glance met his eyes and quickly looked away. “It should not have been I, with a sword, left with no cover in the middle of a field to hold off the orcs. Wounded as I was, I could not have pulled a bow, but working together we could have constructed the bridge quickly enough that the orcs would not have arrived before it was finished, or your bow could have stopped or deterred them at a distance, giving me the time to finish the bridge. There is still another thing. What else could you have done otherwise?”

Estel looked up with moist eyes that had not yet spilled over. “More?” he cried out. “I don’t know.”

Elrohir shook his head slowly. “There will be times in the Wild when you must strain past all the limits you thought restrained you, when you must push yourself to fight longer, run farther, or carry more than you thought possible. But you are young still and have not the stamina to hunt for many hours on end. This morning when you slipped, through tiredness, and twice made enough noise to give us away, that was not a time to test your limits. We were not pursued nor were we keeping a deadline. Nothing would have been lost if we had taken a break and you had eaten your raisins to keep up your strength.” He gentled his voice and laid a comforting hand on the boy’s arm. “Even the greatest of heroes have weaknesses. It is as important to know and accept your limitations, as it is to know your strengths. It is part of working together, to know what you can contribute and also to know what is better done by others.”

The boy flinched away from his hand and mumbled, “Did I do anything right?”

“Many things.” Elrohir breathed out a snort of relief. “You are good at hunting and tracking. I am sure the rabbits fear you, and that you are very successful at stalking small game. You knew immediately what to do for a wound, so I see you have been paying attention to father’s lectures. It is a good idea to carry some remedies in your pack, but I had none either. Even I can make mistakes, Estel.” He caught Estel’s eye and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I think we must have foolishly cached them with the rest of our supplies. I have no doubt I would have survived your ministrations, had they been truly needed.”

Estel shot him a grateful look and took a drink from his flask. Elrohir crunched into an apple and pointed with it for emphasis, saying “But the trail we left… the orcs would have known where we were and which way we were headed. I know it could not be helped. When I took the arrow, Elladan carried me to safety, but you will need to grow for a while before you attempt that. You helped me to the best of your abilities, and bore my weight much farther than I thought you could. And at the stream, I was impressed with your determination. Though you were thwarted time and again, still you never gave up, and were ready to fight to the last. It is enough.”

The boy tilted his head and heaved a breath. “But not enough to let me come with you and Elladan?”

Elrohir saw the distress in Estel’s face and hurried to reassure him. “I believe you will be formidable when you are grown.”

“Truly?”

“I would not mislead you in this. I see a potential, Estel, though you still have much to learn. “

“I know.” He hung his head, but raised it again almost immediately. “But you think I will be good enough someday?”

“Yes. If you train to build up your strength and learn everything you can.”

Estel sat straighter, eagerness back in his face. “I will practice with my bow and sword every day. And I will never forget what you told me. I swear it.”

They crunched apples for a few minutes. Elrohir licked the juice off his fingers and asked, “What was the most interesting thing you learned today?”

“Knowing how to measure,” Estel waggled a hand up and down over his eyes. “That is a wonderful trick. It’s not magic is it? It will work every time? Even for me?”

Pitching his apple core to a waiting squirrel, Elrohir smoothed a patch of dirt at his side and picked up a stick. Using the point, he drew two joined right triangles and carefully labeled the sides and angles. Estel watched him with a puzzled expression, then stood up and leaned over, peering at the figures in the dirt. Elrohir wrote out the equation that solved the problem of the length of the bridge.

“You can also calculate how long this side is. ” He pointed to the hypotenuse and quickly scratched a different equation in the dirt. “You can use that to…” He became aware that Estel had moved away. He looked for him and saw the boy halfway up the tree. “Estel? Don’t you want to know this?”

Estel snagged an apple, jumped down and turned a puzzled expression towards Elrohir. “Why? It’s just the same sort of chicken scratches Erestor wants to show me. It’s not useful to know that. I can remember how to measure using my hand and pacing it off a lot easier than I can understand that.” He shoved his chin in a scornful thrust towards the equations. He twitched a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, and gave a sunny grin. “I’ll know it later, when I’m grown, or you’ll show me when I need it, won’t you?”

Frustration welled up in Elrohir. This was not the conclusion he had expected Estel to come to. He strode to the clearing in the center of the trees and stood, arms akimbo.

“Come here,” he ordered Estel.

The boy came uncertainly and stood in front of Elrohir. Elrohir pulled his sword out of its scabbard and held it single-handed in a high Hawk position, then swept it rapidly through a series of complex maneuvers.

“Do you know those?” he demanded, putting a hard edge in his voice.

“Ye… yes,” Estel stammered. “I think so.”

“Here.” Elrohir handed Estel his sword, pommel first. “Take it.”

The sword had been custom made for Elrohir when he had reached his full growth and was more than half as tall as the boy was. Estel gripped the pommel with both hands and lifted the point off the ground.

“Wield it one handed,” Elrohir commanded.

Estel tried, dropping one hand from the pommel. The weight of the sword dragged his arm down, and he struggled to hold it over his head for longer than a second. He shook his head, eyes wide and scared as Elrohir continued to bark out orders. “Two hands then. Start in the Hawk position. Begin.”

Grimacing, Estel raised the sword and fumbled it through the series of maneuvers. He winced at his own clumsy and awkward movements as the sword swung nearly uncontrolled. He finished the series and stood with the sword back over his head, his arms trembling from fatigue.

Elrohir shook his head. “Not good enough. Again. Make your swings smooth and clean this time.”

Gritting his teeth, Estel started the moves again. One uncontrolled swing dragged his body sideways, and he stumbled, nearly dropping the sword.

“You will never be able to do this.” Elrohir tried to keep his voice cold and hard. “Why do you bother to try?”

Estel’s mouth dropped open and the sword drooped in his hands until the point touched the ground. He drew himself up to his full height and radiated outrage. “You told me to! And I will do it! It’s too heavy for me now, but I’ll practice every day until I’ve grown big enough to do it right. I will!”

Looking over him with skepticism, Elrohir pointed to Estel’s arms. “They will still be your arms, why should they ever grow stronger or be more skilled than they are now?”

Estel gave a startled rolling-eyed look between his arms and Elrohir’s face and back to his arms. “Of course they will,” he spluttered. “I said I’d practice EVERY DAY and I have not stopped growing.” Enunciating every word very carefully, he glared at Elrohir and stamped his foot. “I’ll be as good a swordsman as you are when I’m grown! Better!”

“If you will be a good swordsman when you are grown, why practice now? Stick your sword hand in your pocket and leave it there. It will make no difference.” Elrohir raised one lip in a sneer.

The boy’s defiant stance was giving way to bewilderment. “Why are you saying this? I can’t stop practicing. You told me it was important to practice all the time, so the moves would just be there when I needed them.”

“But I know all the moves and tricks; you do not need to.” Elrohir gave an elaborate shrug and a dismissive wave of his hand. “I will just tell you how you should strike next.”

Estel’s fist clenched and his knuckles showed white against the hilt. His voice rang far louder than it had, as he took a step forward. “That’s stupid! You can’t coach me in the middle of a fight! That is the most stupid thing I ever heard. I need to know! You can’t always be telling me step by step what I have to do!”

He drew a deep breath, ready to continue the diatribe, gasped his lungs full and paused. A stricken look spread over his face, and the breath trickled out in a near wheeze. His mouth gaped open and then closed soundlessly several times, giving his face the look of a beached fish.

Elrohir suppressed a smile and raised one brow. “You are right. That would be a very foolish way to fight.” He walked over to Estel and took his sword from Estel’s lax hands. “You are not stupid, nor weak,” he said. “If you use both your mind and your sword arm every day, they will be strong and practiced when you need them. You will be very good in a fight and no one will have to tell you what to do nor how to do it.”

“Oh.” The toe of Estel’s shoe ground the dirt at his feet. He dropped his eyes and frowned. The embarrassed silence dragged on. “But…” Estel shifted his weight and scuffed his feet. “It’s so boring. Aren’t there other things I could learn? Why do I have to know about what every old king did?”

“No knowledge is wasted and you never know what will be most useful.” Elrohir thought back to Estel’s example. “It is not important that in eight hundred… something, Rhudaur was founded. Eärendur’s sons tore apart a kingdom. If you were Eärendur, what could you have done differently so that did not happen? What would you have told Amlaith, if he came to you for advice? He did not heed Father, and he never liked me. Perhaps he would have listened to you and much evil could have been avoided.”

“Me?” Estel took a step backwards.

Seeing the confusion on Estel’s face, Elrohir pressed his advantage. “You are descended from the kings of Men,” at Estel’s startled look, he added with a smile tugging at his lips, “on your mother’s side. You can be anything you want but you have to decide what is it you want to be. Do you wish to only take orders or to give them? If you set your mind against learning new things, then you may grow to be a good soldier, but not a leader of Men, and you will ever be in the background. Is that enough for you?”

“A leader of Men? I don’t know any Men. You and Elladan mostly hunt orcs alone. I thought I could help you,” Estel said very softly. He looked away. “That’s all I want to do.”

I don’t know any Men. The statement rocked Elrohir. He knew that it was not strictly true. Halbeleg, Gilraen’s uncle, who was acting as Chieftain of the Dúnedain, came to Rivendell every year for a short time and made a point of spending time with the boy to assess his progress. Still, Estel was lured away from the public areas whenever anyone came to Rivendell, and visitors were few and far between in these perilous times anyway. He was also not encouraged to mingle with the Dúnedain who came with Halbeleg, lest some begin to suspect he was indeed Aragorn.

His father was set on secrecy and isolation, but there had to be a way to convince him that Estel would do better with more companions. The types of mistakes he had made today were proof enough for Elrohir. It was obvious Estel needed at least one friend to grow up with. Ideally, Estel could be sent to foster in Halbeleg’s stronghold for a year or two and learn what it was like to live a Man’s life. Gilraen did her best, but the boy had only Eldar to emulate. Estel - Aragorn – would have to lead Men. Elrohir had always had Elladan to confide in, to challenge him. Estel had no one.

Elrohir would have gladly filled the role of confidant, but he also spent more time away from Rivendell than in it. Perhaps Estel’s performance today would be enough to convince his father to relax Estel’s restrictions.

“You really want to spend all your time hunting orcs with us?”

“Yes.” Estel still looked worried.

Elrohir took his sword and slid it back into its scabbard. He hugged the boy. “Then you had best learn everything. We are as likely to discuss philosophy as tactics around our fires, and Elladan has been known to say disparaging things about those who cannot keep up with the conversation. And Father asks us to do the most diverse things, from negotiating with Dwarves to building redoubts and watch stations, bridging rivers and destroying bridges, or deciphering the political implications of the movements of the men in Eriador.”

Estel bit his lip. “That is a lot. You think I can do it?”

Laughing, Elrohir gave him a shake. “Of course. If you work hard at it.”

Estel gave a decisive nod. “I will then.”

Still chuckling, Elrohir turned them back towards their packs under the trees. “Come. I think there is still a treat in the bottom of my pack.”

Estel came to an abrupt stop. “Lembas?” he smiled hopefully.

“Lembas! For a picnic lunch inside the boundaries of Rivendell? Even I have not that much influence in the kitchens. Honey cakes.”

“Honey cakes are almost as good,” Estel assured him, bounding ahead.

Reaching the tree, Elrohir dug into his pack again and removed a package wrapped in oiled cloth. He took out a honey cake, broke it in two and handed the larger piece to the boy. Estel’s eyes lit with pleasure and he took a bite, honey oozing out of the nut filling and running down his fingers. The business of eating occupied them for a minute.

“Siege ladders?” Estel asked, licking a drip of honey from his fingers.

“What?”

Estel pointed to the triangles Elrohir had sketched in the dirt. “You said there was another thing they were good for. Is it ladders?”

Elrohir felt both astonished and delighted. “Yes! It would be very awkward if your ladders were too short and did not reach the top of the wall.”

Estel smiled and inched his way over to snuggle up to Elrohir’s side.

“And we’ll fight together always?” Estel asked.

Elrohir gave him a squeeze with one arm and a light punch in the shoulder with his other hand. “Yes. If you wish. But it is far more likely that once you have your kingdom, you will have no time for mere brothers.”

Estel sat up and skewered Elrohir with a skeptical look. “Why would I have a kingdom?”

Because you are a worthy son of your father and the kingdom is already yours, hovered on Elrohir’s lips, but he shrugged instead and said lightly, “Why should you not be a king? You will be out upon errantry and come across a small dragon…” He indicated a size about waist high, and Estel let out a delighted laugh. “Or no more than a dozen hill trolls menacing some fair country. Using both your wisdom and your skills, you will cleverly vanquish the threat. The king will be so grateful, and so weary of his rule, that he will give you the hand of the princess, his daughter, in marriage and pass into the West, leaving you his kingdom. And all your people will call you, oh, Estel the Clever.”

He pounced, tickling Estel until they both fell back exhausted with laughter. Estel picked the crumbs of the honey cake from off the wrapper. After it was clean to his satisfaction, he licked the pieces from his fingers. Finally he swallowed and nodded as if he had come to a decision.

“I can see that I would do a better job as a king than someone who had to wait for a stranger to come along and remove a threat to his people. He could not have been a very good king,” he said. “But, would I have to marry the princess?” Estel finished with a plaintive expression.

Elrohir did not quite succeed in keeping a straight face. “She would no doubt be very beautiful.”

“So? She’d still be a girl and want me to write poetry in praise of her eyes or something.” He put as much disgust into the statement as a young boy could.

“You may change your mind about girls by that time.”

“I doubt it. Besides, you are much older than me and you aren’t wed,” Estel pointed out.

Elrohir had a kaleidoscopic flash of the reasons, from his bond with his twin, the darkening of the Age, to the terrible choice of heritage he had yet to make. He tried to sort out an explanation that would make sense to the boy looking at him. “You are right. I am not married, but it is not because I do not like girls. I have not yet slain the right dragon.”

“Oh.”

Estel seemed to accept the incomplete explanation at face value. He licked the last of the honey off his fingers and lay back on the grass with a replete smile on his face. Elrohir lay beside him, and they let the dappled sunlight wash across them through the leaves on the apple trees.

“There’s still a lot of the afternoon left, isn’t there?” Estel asked.

“There is,” Elrohir confirmed. He wondered what adventures Estel would ask to do for the remainder of the afternoon. He had promised Estel the whole day, after all.

The boy sat up and looked around. Spying his bow, he gave a ‘tchaa’ of dismay. He picked it up and carefully unstrung it, fastening it properly into its carrying position. He neatened the arrows in the quiver, and retrieved the wrappings from his lunch, stowing them back into his wallet at his side. Slinging the quiver onto his back, he gave Elrohir a sketchy salute.

“I’m off.” He started to walk away.

Elrohir sat up. “Where are you going?”

“To find Erestor.” Estel sounded puzzled that Elrohir had had to ask. “He said he would be in his study all day and I could come any time.”

“You are going to lessons this afternoon?” Elrohir wished he hadn’t sounded quite so incredulous.

“Well, yes. I missed a lot of them lately,” Estel confessed.

“Then I still owe you an afternoon of doing what you want. Work out with Erestor, Father, and your sword-master what day you can come with me and think about what you want to do.” Estel’s face split into a huge grin. “And, Estel, I think you were right. You showed me it is time you began to get some practical experience in scouting and fighting. I will speak to Father.”

“You will? I am?” Estel threw himself against Elrohir and hugged him. “You are the best brother ever.” Turning, he ran off, back towards the house, jumping randomly for the sheer joy of it. His whoops echoed back long after he was out of sight.

I’ve been told that people have questions and I should add these notes to clarify things.

How old is Estel here?

The ‘eleventh year’, of course, is between the 10th and 11th birthdays. Estel thinks he’s ten, but he’s really eleven. If the ‘in my eleventh year’ comment misled you to the conclusion that he is the age he really is and not the age he thinks he is, well, I hoped it would. For the reasons why this is the case in Gwynnyd!verse, see the arguments in Not Without Hope. They are really too complicated to get into here and not necessary for this story.

Why does Estel never get lembas?

In the essay “On Lembas” in HoMe 12, The Peoples of Middle Earth, Tolkien says:

“The Eldar did not give it (lembas) to Men, save only to a few whom they loved, if they were in great need.*

(* This was not done out of greed or jealousy, although at no time in Middle-earth was there great store of this food; but because the Eldar had been commanded to keep this gift in their own power, and not to make it common to the dwellers in mortal lands. For it is said that, if mortals eat often of this bread, they become weary of their mortality, desiring to abide among the Elves, and longing for the fields of Aman, to which they cannot come.)”

If this is true, it seems to me that they would be rather careful to keep Estel away from lembas, and also that Estel probably managed to filch some anyway once in awhile. Lure of the forbidden and all that.

How old are the elf kids?

The boys he wants to hang around with appear to be only slightly older than Estel. Tolkien says elves reach maturity around age fifty. Taking that as equivalent to age twenty-one for a man gives us… 12/21 as x/50 = 28.5. Imros and Edracar are between 25 and 30 years old. They’ve had fifteen to twenty years more experience. The younger elves he’s outgrown appear to be no older than seven, making them between ten and seventeen years old.

Does that trick with the hand really work to measure distance?

It’s supposed to! I first heard of it as something Julius Caesar used to estimate the width of a river he wanted to bridge. As far as I can tell, the math works. I have not actually gone out and tried it. I’m a city girl.