Title: Apostate’s Ruse

Author: Calenlass Greenleaf

Disclaimer: Estel and everyone else known belong to Tolkien. I own only the plot.

Rating: PG-13 for now.

Genre: Angst/Drama/Mystery/Family/Hurt/Comfort

Spoilers: None.

Timeframe: Estel is sixteen.

Estel sat on the Western balcony. The boy was holding a piece of wood in his left hand. In his other hand, he held a knife. His head was bent low, silver-gray eyes fixed on his task. A strand of hair fell into his face, and he impatiently pushed it away with the back of his right hand. With a sigh, he leaned back against the wall to stare out at the brilliant sunset.

Two months. His father had been away for two months in Lothlórien. Glorfindel and Erestor had also gone with him, leaving Estel alone with the servants. He had wanted to go with his brothers to Mirkwood, but Elrond had insisted that he stay home. For the umpteenth time, he wondered why his father had made him stay. “Because he thinks I am too young,” Estel muttered to himself, “that I could not take care of myself.” His fingers turned the carving over and over, feeling each crevice. He knew his father would not come home until late spring, and it disappointed him that his sixteenth birthday had come and gone without any notice having been taken of it. “I never knew life could be so tedious.” He mumbled under his breath.

Estel’s thoughts turned to the ways of warfare. During the past few months, he had become dissatisfied with his archery. No matter how hard he tried, he could not hit the direct center, save on some random day. Even though Elladan and Elrohir had assured him that he was already good, Estel still felt his archery was…imperfect. He had remembered what his brothers and Glorfindel had taught him, yet this goal seemed impossible. It was the same with his swordplay. He had sparred with Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, and even Erestor until he knew how to defeat them. But there was a feeling that told him he could still learn more. Absently, he began twisting a strand of hair between his thumb and forefinger. "Perhaps what I need is a new challenge," he thought. "I know, maybe when Ada comes back, I can ask him to spar with me. Besides, Glorfindel is always telling me how good my father was in the war of the Last Alliance." He stood up and began to pace. "Maybe..."

He suddenly stopped and leaned over the balcony. He could see a figure on a horse, and his heart pounded. Without another thought, Estel ran to the front the Last Homely House. As he hurried toward the person, he called out a greeting, “Mae govannen!”

“Mae govannen,” a well-known voice replied.

Estel’s face showed his surprise. “Ada?”

The Elf smiled down at him. “Estel.”

“Ada , I did not expect you this early.” He placed one hand on his father’s horse. “And where are the others?”

Elrond replied, “My business was finished in Lórien, and therefore I had no reason to stay.” He dismounted. “But the others -their work is not done.”

“Oh.” Estel was slightly disappointed, but nonetheless happy to see his father.

Elrond handed his horse to a servant, and walked with his son into their home. “How have you been during my absence?”

Estel shrugged. “Well enough. But I missed having you around.”

His father’s mouth tipped. “Ah, so you did miss me.”

“Of course I did!” the boy laughed. “Ada, do you want anything do eat?”

The Elf-lord shook his head. “I feel like resting.” He gently pushed the boy toward the dining room. “Go on. If you need me, I will be in my room.”

Estel nodded, and watched his father go up the stairs, pleased that he was back.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A week slipped by. Estel was sprawled on his bed, engrossed in a scroll, when Elrond knocked sharply on the door. “Estel, open the door this instant.” His voice sounded tight.

The boy hastened to comply, unlocking the door. Estel was confused by the angry look on Elrond’s face. What had he done wrong?

“Did you go into my study yesterday?” The Elf-lord asked, his voice cold.

Estel nodded slowly, “I did…”

“What did you do with the scrolls that had the blue string tied around them?”

“The scrolls?” Estel thought for a moment. “You said I could go into your study and borrow whatever I needed for my studies.” He backed slightly away from the irate Elf. “I need those scrolls for a pap-”

“Give them back to me,” Elrond interrupted him,

“But I-”

“Now, Estel.” Elrond was not shouting, but the tone of his voice permitted no excuses.

Without another word, the boy picked up the scrolls from his bed and desk, rolled them up, and tied them with the string. He handed them to his father.

Elrond took the bundle from him and turned to leave. Estel hesitantly asked, “Ada?”

The Elf turned around. “What?!” he asked impatiently.

“I still need more information for my assignment on the end of the Second Age and the start of the Third Age. When may I borrow your scrolls?”

“When I say you can.” The Elf left the room, leaving a confused Estel in his wake.

The boy stood there, dumb, his thoughts jumbled. "That was…odd," he thought. "Very odd." He sighed. "Great. Now I’ll have to find what I need from some other source." He slowly made his way to the library. "I wonder why Ada needs those scrolls. I thought he knew that information already because he lived during those times." He shrugged. "But who am I to question him?"

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

That night, in the Hall of Fire, Estel was sitting in front of the fire, reading a book. Elrond was seated on the couch, also reading. The boy looked up. “Ada?”

Elrond made a soft sound. “Hmm?”

“Have you heard anything from Elladan and Elrohir?”

The Elf turned a page in his book. “A message arrived today. Your brothers say they’re fine.”

“Did they say when they were coming back?”

“Nay.”

Estel was growing slightly impatient with Elrond’s short answers. “Was there a letter for me?”

“Aye. It’s in my study.” The Elf finally looked up from his book. “But don’t bother to get it now. It’s late.”

Estel frowned. “Ada, how come you never let me go in your study anymore?”

“I don’t want anything in my study to be…out of order,” came the reply.

The boy raised an eyebrow at that. “I’m sixteen, Ada. The last time I ruined one of your things, I was ten,” he stated deliberately, wishing his father would pay attention to what he was saying.

“I know…just keep out of my study, do you understand?”

“Very well,” the boy muttered, “good night.” He got up and left the room, somewhat baffled by Elrond’s strange comportment. This was the first time his father had forbidden him entry to his study room, and Estel found it strange because Elrond had never done so, even when he was a young child. It was unsettling.

TBC…

Translations:

Mae govannen - Well met

Ada - daddy

Apostate’s Ruse

Chapter Two: Confused Without a Doubt

Estel flattened himself against the walls, shrouded in the darkness. It was early morning, and he was sure no-one was up yet. After two days of pestering his father for the letter, he had had enough. "If Ada’s not going to give it to me, I suppose I will have to get it myself," he thought, as he descended the stairs with the greatest caution, his sweaty hands tightly grasping the banister. Estel’s eyes darted around him; he was so nervous he hardly dared to breathe for fear of being heard. Somehow, Estel reached his father’s study. He stood there for a moment, his confidence wavering. As soon as he opened the door, there would be no turning back for him. With great trepidation his fingers sought the knob. "It’s now or never," he told himself, biting his lip. Grasping the handle, he turned it as slowly as he could, all the while straining his ears for any audible noises. He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.

The room was quite dark; none of the candles were lit and any natural light had been kept out by the heavy velvet curtains that obscured the windows. Estel peered anxiously around the room until he found Elrond’s desk. His feet barely made any sound as he walked over to it. Ever so often he would turn back to stare at the door, as if expecting someone to open it. Thankfully, no-one did. He stared at the desk, which was, strangely enough, in disorder. Letters, documents, scrolls, and books were strewn about. Estel sighed, knowing his task would be a difficult one. He quickly lit a candle, and waited until his eyes accustomed to the light. Holding it away from the papers with one hand, he used the other hand to sort through the items. He quickly found what he wanted, and, after stuffing the letter into a pocket, tried to put everything back as he remembered.

As he hastily went through them, he was becoming confused. Why was Elrond keeping these things on his desk? Most of the letters, scrolls, and documents dated back to the time of the Last Alliance, and were written in an ancient script that Estel vaguely remembered was an old form of Elvish. Curiosity piqued, he opened one of the dusty books, fighting the urge to sneeze as a musty smell drifted to his nose. Much to his dismay, the language was in Adûnaic, of which he had only learned a few phrases. Estel tried to read the title, but he could only make out the last four letters of the first word, “khôr”, which he knew meant “lord.”

He opened another book, even though his mind was screaming at him to leave before anyone found him. This one was in Quenya, but it seemed to have suffered greatly; the cover and some of the pages had been partially burned. The boy squinted at the spidery, thin Tengwar. "Why must some people write in such small letters?" he thought in exasperation as he held the book close to his face. "Someone could go blind from reading this!" One word caught his attention: palantír. This was after all, forbidden history. Elrond and Erestor had avoided telling him anything of the palantíri - or about the Rings of Power, for that matter. Estel had always wondered why. Now, as he stared at the pages, he thought, just one more look. He bent closer, his lips moving as he read silently to himself. “…making of…stone-seeing-no, Seeing Stones, was…creation of…” Estel decided to give up after a few lines. He carefully closed it, and reached for a scroll.

The words “I Ringorn Min Pennas” made him stop short. He looked at the bottom, and saw in his father’s handwriting “This is a copy of the original that is kept in the archives of Minas Tirith, copied by the High King himself.” He began to read, but sounds at the door made him freeze. He frantically dropped the scroll onto the table and blew out the candle, desperately seeking for a place to hide.

It was too late; the door opened to reveal Elrond. Estel shrank back against the desk, his face whitening. He was going to be in a lot of trouble…

“What are you doing in here?” the Elf-lord asked, stepping forward with a candle in his hand. The light made his face look menacing.

The boy racked his mind for an answer. “I-I, um, forgot something here,” he finally said, knowing it was a lame excuse.

“Did I not tell you to stay out of my study?”

Estel wordlessly nodded, his grip tightening on the desk.

Elrond walked forward and grasped Estel by the shoulder. “To your room, Estel. And do not go out unless I give you permission.” He pushed the boy forward. “We will talk later today.” He emphasized the word “later.”

Estel bowed his head, mumbled, “Yes, Ada,” and practically fled from the room. He darted up the stairs and into his quarters, locking the door behind him. Leaning against the wall, he sighed.

If only he hadn’t stopped to look at those papers! But the little bit of history he had managed to read was worth it, he supposed. He stuck his hand into to pocket, and drew out the letter. As he turned it over in his hands, he noticed that it had already been opened. He scowled. “Ada…did you have to?” he said aloud as he pulled the sheet of paper out and began eagerly reading.

When he at last finished, he leaned back in his chair, somewhat disappointed. Elladan and Elrohir wrote that they would not be home until late summer, meaning four tedious months. The boy sighed, wishing they would not stay so long. As he stood up and began to pace, he suddenly realized that Elrond did not know he had taken the letter. Slapping himself on his forehead, he groaned. “Great,” he mumbled angrily. “Now I have to find a way to put the letter back before he finds out.”

He did not look forward to that task.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Sometime in the afternoon, someone knocked on the door of his room. Estel opened it, somewhat nervous. Elrond motioned for him to sit. He did so, absently fingering the edge of his shirtsleeve and staring down at the carpet, as if fascinated by what he saw there.

“Look at me.” Estel’s head jerked up. Elrond leaned forward. “Tell me, why did you go in my study?”

“I was looking for something,” he mumbled, digging his fingernails into his palms.

“Looking for what?”

“Information that I needed.”

Elrond shook his head. “You deliberately disobeyed me.”

“S-sorry,” Estel muttered, wishing that he had never gone in the first place.

“You also tampered with my books.”

“I was looking for my letter!” Estel tried to defend himself, then realized he had given everything away.

The Elf replied in weary tones, “I thought told you not to.”

“Then why did you not give it to me in the first place? Would that not have made everything easi-”

“Silence!”

The boy jerked in shock. Elrond rarely showed his anger, and he had certainly never shouted at his children.

“Do not speak unless I tell you to.” The Elf-lord gave him a stern look. “And stop lying. Why did you look in my things?”

Estel’s throat felt dry. If he told the truth, he had a feeling things were going to get worse. But neither could-

“I am waiting for an answer, Estel.”

“Because they looked interesting," the boy replied, after a while. “I have never seen them before.”

“But you forgot that you were not, and still not, allowed to go into my study,” Elrond interjected. Estel looked down, guilt eating away at him. A firm hand jerked his chin back up. “Did I give you permission to look away?”

The angry look in his father’s eyes nearly made his heart stop. “N-n-no, my Lord," he stuttered, after gathering his courage. My Lord. When had he ever called his father “my Lord”? As far as Estel could remember, not once.

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Elrond released his chin and stood up. The teenager hesitantly glanced at him, and also stood up.

Elrond turned away. “You will not be allowed outside for two weeks. You can stay inside and help the servants.”

Estel could only nod, relieved that Elrond was no longer glaring at him.

Just before Elrond closed the door, he said, “Do not ever go in my study, ever, again. Do you understand?” His voice was harsh and cold.

“Yes, Ada.”

The Elf-lord walked out of the room. Estel collapsed on his bed, feeling quite drained. “That was…unexpected," he murmured softly, still shaken by Elrond’s unexpected show of anger. He pulled the letter out once again, and stared morosely down at it. “What am I going to do with you?”

He stuffed it into a book that was on his desk. Maybe his father would not notice it was gone, but he doubted it. Estel grimaced. There really was no point in hiding it, but he was desperate to stay out of more trouble. He sighed, and prepared to endure two weeks of tedious work. "I hate helping the servants," he thought idly as he turned his dagger over and over in his hands. Ada probably knew that. He stabbed the dagger forcefully into his desk and yanked it back out. "But I wonder why he no longer trusts me."

TBC…

Translations:

Khôr - Adûnaic for “lord”

Palantír - Sindarin for Seeing Stone, literally, “One that sees from afar.”

I Ringorn Min Pennas - loosely means, “Account of the One Ring” in Sindarin.

I don't know how accurate my last translated phrase is--if anyone has anything better, let me know.

This is where I issue a last warning--If you are not comfortable with reading angst, then turn back. After there will be no more warnings like this one.

This is also the chapter in which things become strange, and where I fear I will lose readers...

Apostate’s Ruse

Chapter Three: Undeserved Punishments

A week had passed since Estel had been caught in his father’s study. There was not much to say about that week, except that Estel was getting tired of staying indoors. He had seen enough dirty dishes to last a lifetime, in his opinion. He looked forward to the end of his punishment. “Never again,” he muttered to himself as he furiously dusted a vase that stood in the hallway. “Never again will I go into his stupid study.” He flung the rag on the ground, fighting the urge to kick it and curse his misfortune. “It’s not worth it.”

“Estel?”

The boy groaned. “What is it, Idhrenion?” he asked, sighing loudly.

“Could you please take these to the kitchen?” The elf handed him an armload of silverware. Estel leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and made a face.

The elf chuckled. “I promise this is the last thing you have to do today.”

“Very well,” the boy agreed, “the last.”

As he slowly descended the stairs, the edge of his sleeve caught on a splinter on the banister. Mumbling under his breath, he tried to free himself. When he finally succeeded in disengaging himself, he could hear two people arguing somewhere nearby. “I cannot!” someone said stubbornly.

“You will because I tell you to.”

Estel stopped short. Ada? What was he doing, yelling at someone? He inched down the stairs, somewhat hesitant after his last encounter with his father. His curiosity overcame him, and as he peeked around the corner, he could see Elrond standing in front of Aaerion, Rivendell’s second military advisor. Both were talking loudly and angrily.

Aaerion was trying to reason with Elrond. “My Lord,” he began. “I do not understand. What do you hope to accomplish by this act?”

“It is not your concern.” An edge had crept into Elrond’s voice. Estel was beginning to feel sympathy for the elf. He shifted his burden in his arms and crept closer.

The advisor shook his head. “Lord Elrond, had your request been reasonable, I would have followed it. But it is not.” He stepped away. “I cannot.”

Estel held his breath. What would Elrond do now? He pressed himself against the wall, trying to get nearer without being seen.

The two elves stared at each other. For the longest time, they did not move. Estel wished that his father were facing more to the left, since he could only see Aaerion’s face. He stared in confusion as Aaerion’s eyes took on a hazy glaze. Huh? The boy blinked, squinting hard. What on Arda was going on?

Then Elrond began to speak. Estel hardly dared to breathe; the elf’s voice was low and chilling.

“You will not defy me.” Elrond said steadily. “You will obey me.”

“I…” murmured the elf. “Will…”

He was snapped out of his state when the two elves heard loud clattering behind them. Both turned to see a shocked Estel. Aaerion, seeing the angry look on Elrond’s face, immediately fled.

Estel suddenly felt the urge to run, but could not. He stood rooted to the spot, eyes wide with shock.

Elrond strode over to him. “You,” he hissed. “How much did you hear?”

“I,” Estel stuttered, clenching his hands into fist. “I—”

“Shut up!” Elrond sharply interrupted him, gripping his shoulder tightly and turning him around. “Outside. The gardens. Now.” He gave the boy a rough shove. Estel stumbled, but managed to keep his balance as Elrond pushed him outside. He tried to get his father to loosen his grip on his shoulder.

“ Ada,” he hesitantly began. “You’re-you’re hurting me.”

Elrond ignored him. “Did I not tell you to shut up?” he snapped.

Estel bit his lip. He had a sick feeling in his stomach about all of this. "I’m in for it now," he thought.

They finally reached the gardens. The sun was just beginning to set, bathing all in a red-orange glow. Elrond finally released his son, who rubbed his shoulder.

“Look at me.” Elrond commanded him tersely.

Immediately Estel jerked his head up. There was no kindness, no mercy to be seen Elrond’s eyes. Estel could feel his heart beating faster.

“What have I told you about listening to other people’s conversations?”

“That-that it’s not right.” The boy responded, stumbling over his words. His mouth was dry with fear and trepidation.

“And what have I told you about minding your own business?”

“But what you did was wrong!” he protested. “You’ve told me mind control was wrong, and now you’re—”

Elrond slapped the side of his head, making Estel’s ears ring. “Don’t you tell me what’s right and what’s wrong, Estel,” he angrily interjected.

Estel’s eyes flashed. “And what of it? Am I not old enough to judge for myself what I think is best? I know you’re wrong, because you once told me that such actions were that of a coward.” As soon as he had said those words, he wished could take them back.

Elrond seized him by his tunic, and pulled the boy toward him. The elf’s eyes were hard as he spoke. “Are you calling me a coward now?”

Despite the fear clinging to his throat, Estel answered, “I am.”

The elf’s eyes darkened. “You will apologize for those words.”

The teen shook his head defiantly. “No,” he said firmly, awaiting the inevitable.

Elrond flung the boy away from him, disgust in his dark eyes. Estel tried to scramble to his feet, but Elrond roughly backhanded him across his face, drawing blood. Estel fell backwards, one hand pressed against the cut on his mouth. “What was—?” he began.

The elf roughly kicked him in the chest. The boy hissed in pain, and tried to curl up on himself. But the half-elf forcefully shoved him against a tree. Estel’s head collided painfully with the trunk. He tried to shove away his father, but the elf was too strong for him. As Elrond slammed a fist against his jaw, he sagged against the tree, nearly blacking out. Through a haze of pain, he could still see the rage on Elrond’s face.

“Ada?” he tried to say.

The elf ignored him, twisting his arm excruciatingly as he hit him again on the side of his head. Estel cried out. “ Ada, please!” he tearfully whispered. “You’re hurting me.”

Elrond suddenly let go, and Estel fell awkwardly beside the tree, clutching his aching ribs.

The elf looked scornfully at him. “Edain. Always so weak.”

Estel looked at him in disbelief. Did his father just...?

“You will stay out here for the night.” He turned to leave. “And don’t even thinking about moving from that position.”

The boy mutely nodded, watching as Elrond disappeared back inside the house. He gingerly pressed the edge of his sleeve against a cut that was bleeding freely on the side of his head. He lightly touched his ribs, knowing they were not broken, because Elladan had once told him that broken ribs would feel like knives stabbing him.

As he wrapped his arms around his knees, he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Had Elrond just hit him? Did he just call him weak? He fiercely tried to push the thoughts away. "No!" he screamed silently, his hands tightly clenched. "This cannot be happening to me!" He gritted his teeth and willed the tears not to fall. "Is my life over as Elrond’s son?" Estel miserably huddled against the tree. "I desperately hope not. Ada, why?"

A tear found its way down his cheek.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Someone prodded to his side. “Get up,” Elrond ordered him.

Stiffly, Estel slowly stood, leaning against the tree for support. He did not remember falling asleep.

The elf lord scrutinized him. “In the future, you will not contradict me. Ever. Do you understand?”

Estel nodded.

“If you do, your punishment will be greater then this. I will not be so lenient next time.”

The boy nodded. Elrond jerked his head in the direction of the house. “Go now.”

Estel pushed himself away from the tree, and found the sky spinning and exchanging places with the ground. He fell to the ground, and looked pleadingly at his father.

“What is it now?” Elrond asked, exasperation in his voice.

The boy hesitated. “I don’t feel very well.” It was true; he was feeling weak and dizzy.

Elrond scornfully looked at him. “And what do you want me to do about it? It is your problem, Estel. You brought this upon yourself.” With these words, he walked away, leaving a shocked and hurt Estel in his wake.

The sixteen-year-old did not move for a moment. He felt betrayed. Had Elrond not told him to would gladly help him at any time? Estel slowly pushed himself to his knees, and he gradually stood up, swaying. He supported himself with the wall, pushing himself forward until he finally reached the door. The boy wearily rested his head against the door for a moment before making his way to the stairs. "Just a little further," he thought. "Just a little further…"

Halfway up the stairs, he tripped. He managed to catch himself before his face hit the steps in front of him. With one hand holding his aching head, he used the other to push himself up the rest of the stairs. At last he reached his room, and he blearily crawled to his bed. Not bothering to change his clothes, Estel jerked the blankets over himself, and let sleep wash over him. Hot tears burned his eyes whenever he thought of his father.

His last conscious thought was, "You have changed, Ada, ever since you came back. Why? What did I ever do to deserve this?"

TBC…

Translations:

Edain — humans. “Adan” is “man.”

http://tolkien.slimy.com/essays/MagicEssay.html

http://tolkien.cro.net/mearth/magic.html

http://www.darkshire.net/jhkim/rpg/lordoftherings/magic/principles.html

http:// fin.yserve.net/layers/html/magic.htm

http://www.flark.org/TolkienStuff/magicintolkien.html

Information will apply in later chapters. I will refer back to this chapter if neccessary.

Apostate’s Ruse

Chapter Four: Elrondion No More

He awoke to the sound of rain pattering against his window. With a groan, Estel rolled over and propped his aching head up with his arm. His ribs still throbbed, but not as badly as before. As he stared into the darkness of his room, he realized that he had slept the day away. The boy slowly sat up, grimacing as he remembered yesterday’s events. Pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, he tried to sort out his thoughts.

"What was wrong with Ada?" He traced the pattern of his bedspread with one finger. "Why is he like this?" Estel thought of the recent events that transpired. None of this seemed to be right.

First, Elrond had forbidden him to touch several books. Then, he had banned him from his study. Finally, Elrond had punished him harshly for an apparently minor wrongdoing. Frustrated and despondent, he kicked a pillow on to the ground with one foot, watching it spin and hit a chair leg. “I’m missing something to this whole thing,” he muttered under his breath, “think, Estel!”

The boy stood up and began to pace. If his guesses were true, it would be only a matter of time before his father turned on him, though not purposefully. Estel pressed his hands and his forehead against the glass of his window, and exhaled slowly. He watched as the rainwater streamed down the windowpane, making the view blurry. Though he was reluctant, he knew he would have to leave if he were to seek help.

But where would he go? Estel thought of Mirkwood, where his brothers were. Maybe he could borrow a map from Erestor-the elf always kept a number of maps in his room.

“Elladan and Elrohir say giant spiders live in Mirkwood - it wouldn’t do me any good if I ran into any,” He mused aloud. “But where else could I go?” He suddenly remembered where Glorfindel and Erestor still were.

Lothlórien. It would have to be Lothlórien.

With a determined light in his eyes, he strode over to his closet and rummaged in it until he found a pack. After hastily stuffing in a few articles of clothing and personal belongings, Estel pulled on his boots and grabbed his cloak. Last of all, he slid a dagger into his boot and strapped a knife to his belt. He wished he had his own sword, but he had yet to earn such a weapon. Shouldering his pack, he quickly made a stop in Erestor’s room to retrieve a map before he cautiously made his way down the stairs. It seemed that recently, that was all he had been doing, with disastrous results each time. Thankfully, all of Rivendell was quiet and still. The boy found the kitchens easily enough, and he filched some food and a water bottle for his journey. As he bent down to adjust the straps on his pack, he heard a rustling sound. A rustling made by silk brushing against the ground…

He froze, one word forming on his lips. “Adar.”

Frantically, Estel seized his pack, stepped behind the kitchen door, and closed his eyes, desperately trying to quell the fear that threatened to overtake his senses. It was his father. Estel flattened himself against the wall, trying hard not to breathe. "Pretend it’s a game," he told himself. "You’re playing hide-and-seek with Elladan and Elrohir, Estel. It’s only a game…"

As he looked through the small opening the hinges of the door made with the wall, he could see Elrond nearing his hiding place. "He probably went into my room," Estel realized, scolding himself for being so careless. "And saw that I was gone. Valar help me…"

The elf drew closer to him. Estel forced himself to keep still, his hands pressed tightly against the wall. "Please, please go on," he pleaded silently. "Please don’t see me." He held his breath, clenching his teeth until his jaw hurt.

Elrond paused in mid-step. Estel thought his heart would stop when the Elf-lord turned towards the place where he was hiding. He could see his father’s eyes, and he fought his fear. Elrond’s eyes seemed so…cold and lifeless, which was odd for an elf. The seconds ticked agonizingly by. A drop of sweat trickled down the side of Estel’s forehead, but he barely noticed it. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed on Elrond, knowing that if he even blinked, the small motion might be noticed.

At last, Elrond turned away. The boy still did not move. The elf walked toward the stairs, and then suddenly turned around. “I know you are out there, Estel," he said in a low and frightening tone of voice. “And when I find you, the outcome will not be pleasant, I assure you.” He slowly ascended the stairs without another word.

For a moment, Estel simply stood there, slowly breathing until he was sure Elrond was upstairs and in his own room. At last, he slumped against the door. Standing on shaky feet, he slowly exhaled and inhaled, trying to stop his hear from beating so loudly. Estel stepped out of the kitchens, eyes nervously darting around. His near meeting with his father had left his nerves on the edge. Every small noise made him jump. Just before Estel headed for the door, he suddenly had an idea, and headed in the direction of Elrond’s study. Hurriedly lighting a candle, he rifled through the articles on the desk until he found the scroll about the Rings of power. Carefully rolling it, he pushed it into his pack until it rested at the bottom. Hopefully, the leather of his bag would be watertight,in case of heavy rain.

As he reached over to blow out a candle, a piece of paper caught his eye. It was written in an unfamiliar script that did not seem to be his father’s.

"Strange," he thought. He tried to read the letter but found it was in a language foreign to him. As he ran his fingers down the parchment, tracing the letters, he frowned. He knew that his father knew many languages and often shared his knowledge with his youngest son, but this one was unknown. What was Elrond up to? He decided to take the letter with him. Wrapping it in a handkerchief, he tucked it into a pocket in the inside of his tunic. Snuffing the candle, Estel quickly walked out into the hallway, his eyes on the stairs. When he could not detect anything, he quickly dashed to the door and ran out into the rain. In a matter of minutes, he was soaked, but he did not care. Almost blindly, he ran toward the direction of the Brunien, trying to find the bridge in the dark. He stepped forward, only to find water touching the toes of his boots. He sighed. Where was the bridge? He squinted through the rain, brushing his damp bangs away from his face. He could hear the sound of something rumbling, but as he looked up, there was no thunder, only torrential rain. He then realized he was near the waterfall, and had traveled too far. Slowly he turned away, and came face to face with Elrond.

The boy could actually feel the color drain from his face as he slowly backed away, his hands slick with rainwater and sweat. He stammered out something incoherent before Elrond snapped at him to hold his tongue before he cut it out. Estel’s eyes widened at this, but he wisely did not say anything as Elrond’s hand gripped his arm tightly.

“Just where do you think you are going?” The Elf-lord calmly asked. His anger was thinly veiled, his voice tinged with annoyance.

“Out. For a walk.” Estel was amazed that his voice was still steady.

"You should not be so afraid," he scolded himself, "for what wrong have you done? None." This thought gave him some courage, and he spoke on. “I simply wanted to take a walk, my Lord.” He had said “my Lord” again.

Elrond laughed, though his voice held no trace of humor. “Do not think to fool me, Estel.” He fingers gripped the boy’s arm a little more tightly. “Where are going?” he shouted.

Estel flinched. “It is none of your business!” he replied, his breath coming out a little shorter.

“As Lord of Rivendell, I make it my business.” The elf gestured to Estel’s pack. “Empty it.”

"NO!" Estel’s mind screamed at him. He stared at his father. “But I...” he began, his throat suddenly dry. “I...”

Elrond sharply cuffed his ear. “Now, Estel.”

Slowly, Estel shrugged it off his back and let it drop to the ground. He quickly unfastened it, and opened it to show Elrond its contents. He chewed on the inside of his lip, silently hoping that nothing would happen. But his hopes were dashed when Elrond snatched the bag from him and began looking through it. Estel closed his eyes, his heart wildly beating. He knew his punishment would be far worse than he had received the day before. He desperately hoped Elrond would not find the letter in his clothing.

Elrond pulled out the scroll. The ferocity of the rain paled in comparison to the rage that showed on his face. Estel involuntarily took a step backwards, but Elrond stopped him. “Why did you take this?” The half-elf demanded. “What did you hope to accomplish, Estel?”

Estel decided to make his real reasons known. “You’re not yourself, Ada,” he blurted out. “Ever since you came back, you have not been yourself. You refused to let me read books that I have been allowed to read prior to your departure; you refused to let me into your study, and you’ve been reading strange things.” His voice dropped down to a whisper; he was near tears. “And I’m worried about you.”

“And you have come close to upsetting all my plans.” He answered coldly.

"Plans?" Estel thought. "What plans do you have? I barely know anything these days!"

Elrond stepped forward, and suddenly grabbed Estel. Forcefully, he flung him on the muddy ground, knocking the breath out of him. The boy tried to back away, but the Elf-lord firmly held him down. “Don’t ever, ever try to run from me. Understand?”

At the boy’s terrified nod, he smiled an odd smile that made Estel’s heart flutter. “Get up.”

Slowly, he stood, breathing slowly.

“Turn around and take your tunic off.”

For a moment, Estel stopped breathing. Surely, his father wasn’t going to… Then he noticed what was in his father’s hand.

“Now.”

With trembling fingers, he slowly complied. Unclasping his cloak, he let it fall to the wet ground. Careful to wrap his tunic in order to conceal the letter, he uneasily removed his shirt and dropped both articles of clothing. Turning away from his father, he shut his eyes and tried to quell his fear.

He could not hold back his cries when the first strokes fell.

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

By the time Elrond was through chastising the boy, Estel was in tears, sobbing as he lay on the ground. Though the punishment had stung, the betrayal and shock had hurt the most. Elrond was not one given easily into anger. Never before had he struck the boy, or shouted insults at him. But today - it must have been Estel’s worst day of his life - the elf had done so, crushing the heart of the young boy. Now, as Estel looked up at him through tears of pain, The elf spoke contemptuously. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked roughly.

“I have nothing to say,” came the soft, plaintive answer. “For I have done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong?” Elrond pulled him up, ignoring the whimper of pain. “You have disobeyed me! Don’t say that you did not, Adan.” He spat out the last word as if it were a curse. “Will you apologize for your wrongdoing?”

Estel shook his head. “It is better to do right than wrong, even if I am defying my own father,” he answered, knowing what would come next. “I won’t apologize for something I haven’t done.”

The elf slapped him in the face. “You were never my son, nor was I ever your father,” he replied harshly. “I simply took you on out of pity, Adan, nothing more.” Without warning, he dropped the boy and began walking away. “You are no longer welcome here.”

The look on Estel’s face was one of pure shock, hurt, and anguish. “Y-you don’t mean it!” he cried out. “You made a promise! You once promised that I would always be...” he found he could not finish the sentence; his throat had suddenly closed.

“Promises were made to be broken,” Elrond answered him, his voice devoid of emotion. “This is one of them.” He turned his head to glare at the boy. “Go. Before I drive you out.” With these words, he walked away, ignoring his adopted son’s pleas.

Estel stared at him, too distressed to speak. Standing on weary feet, he watched the Elf-lord walk away, leaving him alone in the storm. Mutely, he pulled on his clothing, barely noticing the sting of the whip marks on his back. Shoving his things back into his pack, he slowly began his walk. As he reached the bridge, he turned back one last time to gaze upon the place he once had called his home.

“Navaer, Imladris nîn,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from weeping as he walked onto the road with a heavy heart. A tear trickled down his cheek, but he did not even bother to wipe it away - what was the use? He would only shed more for the days to come.

Abandoned and bereft, for the first time Estel was without hope.

TBC…

Translations:

Adar - father

Adan - human

Navaer, Imladris nîn - Farewell, my Rivendell

Apostate’s Ruse by Calenlass Greenleaf

See the previous chapters for the disclaimer and the like.

A/N: I don’t know when Aragorn received the name “Strider,” therefore I am taking some liberties here.

Chapter Five: Delays

He had traveled alone for nearly two weeks - long and exhausting days of walking, foraging for food, and isolation. The rains continued to fall in torrents, the ground had become slick and soft. Mud frequently splashed onto his clothes; even the continual rains could not wash the stains out. But he did not care. He was determined to reach Lothlórien, even if it took him many months.

When night finally came, he stopped to rest under a tree. As it was too wet, he could not even start a fire. Estel leaned against the tree, closing his eyes and sighing. He fingered the bruise on his cheek, wincing at its soreness. Opening his eyes, he stared out miserably into the rain. Can it get any worse? he thought, weary with the cares of the sorrows he endured. "It must be fate that I cannot seem to find any luck at this moment." He raked his fingers through his soaked hair. How he hated this rain! He refused to think about the day he had left his home. It hurt too much. The recurring nightmares of Elrond slapping him in his face did not help. Ever since leaving, he had not had a decent night of sleep. Estel pressed his hands over his eyes, willing the tears not to fall and prove his childishness. By the Valar, he was sixteen! He should have better control over his emotions. Squeezing his eyelids tightly shut until they hurt, he turned and let his head fall against the trunk of the tree. As much as he wished it would, the dull thud it made did not drive out his dark thoughts.

On foot, there were still fifteen or more days before he would reach the Golden Wood, as he followed the course of the Silverlode River. He still had some provisions he had taken from Rivendell, but they were dwindling fast. He had forgotten to bring his bow in his haste, and he was left with only his dagger and knife. Now he held his knife in his hands, turning over and over in his hands as he mused. He could always make himself another bow, and also a few arrows. But it would take time. Time he did not have. Sighing once more Estel slumped down, fatigue overcoming him. As he pulled his cloak tightly around himself, his eyes began to close. He hoped there would be no more nightmares to disturb his sleep.

---------------

Two days went by. Estel continued to trek through the lands at a steady pace despite the fact he had a headache. It was not severe, just annoying. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand when he stopped to rest at night, but the rains had ceased, making the traveling less arduous. He found a tree suited to him and nimbly climbed up. Resting his arms on a branch, he laid his head on his arms and closed his eyes, intending to sleep. He was awakened a few hours later by a number of voices. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he peered through the branches. A group of men had gathered below him; apparently they were also resting for the night. The boy observed them quietly, his eyes missing little. He tightened his hold the branch and leaned slightly forward, straining his ears in hopes of overhearing the conversation.

Their talk was mainly of the weather and their travels—naught of importance to a boy fostered among the Elves. He guessed they were hunters by their speech and mannerisms. At last Estel judged them to be of no danger, and he carefully slipped down the tree. Immediately, he was surrounded by the men. Holding his hands away from his knife, he spoke softly. “Good evening,”

“Good evening?" one man laughed loudly. "What speak of you?"

Estel shrugged. “What else would I say?” he quietly asked, "if not 'good evening'?” He crossed his arms and stood a bit straighter.

“You got a name?”

The boy hesitated. He was no longer Estel, son of Elrondion, but he could not remember his blood father’s name, so he replied, “I call myself…Strider.”

“Strider? That’s not any name.”

He shrugged as casually as he could. “I never knew my father, and I was thrown out of my home. I have no horse or friend to help me. Therefore I walk.” He smiled to hide his real feelings.

Much to his surprise the men laughed. “So you call yourself Strider, eh? How much have you traveled?”

“Not much. I am headed south at this moment,” Estel replied. “Which way are you headed?”

“Down to one of villages near this place.” he lied easily, glad that the dark hid his flush cheeks.

One human who had been sitting unobtrusively stood up.

“So we are headed the same way,” he stated.

The boy nodded. “You would not mind if I joined with your company, would you?”

“Why would I not?” The man surveyed him. “You’re like someone’s who’s been well-brought up.” He stuck out his hand. “Hadrel,” he said.

Estel hesitantly shook the hand.

They made room for him by the fire. The boy did not talk much during their meal. Afterwards, Hadrel asked him where he was from.

“Up north,” he replied.

“Why did you leave?” The man ran one hand though his light brown hair.

“I was forced to.” Estel absently tossed some twigs into the fire. “My family no longer wanted me - I was adopted,” he added.

“I see,” Hadrel replied, taking the hint. The boy was clearly unwilling to elaborate.

Later that night, Estel had curled up beside the fire and fallen asleep, along with most of the men. But Hadrel had pulled another man, Kedirn, aside. “You believe what he says?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“Not a word.” Kedirn shook his head. “Those clothes are a nobleman’s, and his speech is much too refined.” He lowered his voice. “Did you see that dagger of his? Looks as if it’s made of the best metal-I swear it’s better than any of our weapons! I think he’s just some rich person’s boy who found that life was dull and ran away for an adventure.” He quietly chuckled. “If so, we could-”

“You don’t know yet. Maybe you’re right and maybe you’re wrong. Time’ll tell.” Hadrel looked across the fire at the sleeping boy. “We’ll watch him for a few more days. After that I’ll decide what to do with the likes of him.” For a moment his eyes glittered in the light of hte fire before he turned his head away.

---------------

During the next few days, Estel stayed with the group of men. He still did not speak much, preferring to listen to their conversation. He walked behind everyone else when they traveled, keeping a distance and quietly observing them with sharp eyes. Unknown to him, Hadrel and Kedirn also had their eyes on him, noting all his mannerisms. They felt surer that their guesses were right. One night, they decided to act upon their speculations. They had stopped at an abandoned cave for the night. Estel was sleeping when someone shook his shoulder. “Hadrel wants to speak to you. He’s just outside the cave.”

Groggily, Estel rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and walked with the man out into the open. As his eyes adjusted to the dimmer light of the evening, he could make out Hadrel’s and Kedirn’s forms. “You wished to speak with me?” he asked, leaning against the wall of the cave.

“Aye.” Hadrel had a knife in his hands, and was spinning it between his fingers in a rather clumsy way.

'I could do better,' Estel idly thought as he folded his arms and unconsciously touched his own knife with his right hand.

“Where did you say you lived again?”

“I lived many miles north of here,” the boy replied, wary of these men and their possible motives. “In a relatively quiet…settlement.”

“Your father?”

“I do not remember him well. He died when I was only two.” Estel answered, as cautious as a treed cat.

“Then who did you stay with?”

“Another person who took me in. Then he threw me out.” Estel bit back a chuckle when Hadrel accidentally cut his finger on the knife. Blood had welled up in the small cut; it looked more like black ink in the night.

The man cursed under his breath and shoved the knife into his belt. He ignored his bloody fingers. “Why did you leave?”

“Because he told me to leave; he said I was no longer welcome.” As the subject was still sore, Estel’s voice sounded defensive. “Why are you asking me all this?”

Hadrel gave a nod to Kedirn, who moved to stand beside Estel. The movement did not escape Estel’s notice. “Why?” he asked again.

“To put it simply, I don’t believe anything you said.” Hadrel also began walking closer to him. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“What?” The boy had a hand on his knife; his knuckles white.

Hadrel’s voice dropped a notch. “You’re a brat of some wealthy man who you think you hate,” he laughed. “And you’ve run away from your home in the hope of escaping him.”

Estel shook his head. “Nay, I speak the truth!” he protested. “My family no longer wants me, I tell you.” He unsheathed his knife and held it out in front of him. “I swear by the Valar.”

“For me, the gods don’t exist,” the brown-haired man told him, “so why should I believe you?”

The teenager set his face, trying not to show his apprehension. “What do you want with me, Hadrel?”

“Money,” Hadrel chuckled, “I imagine your family is looking everywhere for you, so if I show up with you in tow, demanding things from them, they’ll give it to me gladly.”

Dismayed, Estel pressed against the hard rock, gripping his weapon tighter. “Don’t you understand that they hate me?” he nearly shouted. “I left about three week ago. My foster father’s last words to me were, ‘Go. Before I drive you out.’ He longer wanted me to stay.” His eyes began to sting. “Don’t do this.”

Hadrel shrugged. “Sorry, boy. Money is money.” With that, he lunged at Estel.

Instinct taking over, Estel crouched low and threw himself to the left, the other human nearly crashing headfirst into the side of the cave. He began running away. Hadrel picked himself up and glared at Kedirn. “You idiot, get him!” The man caught on and ran after Estel.

The boy saw a small copse ahead of him and blindly ran towards it. Unseen things snagged at his clothes and branches scratched his face. He could hear Kedirn stumbling behind him, swearing all the while. “Come back, you little whelp!” he panted as he chased him.

Estel tripped over a hidden tree root. Pain shot up his ankle, but he limped on nonetheless. When he was finally out of the copse, the man was close behind him. He looked back, then forward, and gasped. He was standing on a cliff, with no way of escaping the man, who by this time had caught up with the terrified boy.

“You can’t get away, boy!” Kedirn’s voice taunted him. “Turn around.”

Estel did as he was told. He swallowed hard as the man stalked toward him with sure steps. Backing away slowly, he decided to try a tactic Elladan had taught him. “You have me where you want me,” he said softly, in a vain attempt to hide the tremor in his voice, “but I amm not going back without a fight.” Reaching down, he pulled his dagger from his boot and held it in his left hand. He knew he was not as efficient when it came to fighting with two weapons in his hands, but neither did he do poorly at this. Taking a few deep breaths, he straightened his stance, though favoring one foot as he waited for Kedirn to move. As he had expected, Kedirn began by lunging at him with his knife.

Metal clanged against metal as Estel easily blocked the blow that had been aimed for his side. With a shove, he loosened Kedirn’s grip on his blade. They circled each other until Estel saw that Kedirn was facing away from the cliff. The man took a step backward before he swung his knife again, trying to overpower his opponent. This time, he aimed for Estel’s head. The boy crossed his knife and dagger together just as the Kedirn’s blade hurled towards him, catching it forcefully between the two weapons. Nimbly, with one foot, he sent the man sprawling on his back. Arm flailing, Kedirn let go of his knife. The weapon sailed through the air and over the edge of the cliff. Estel placed the point of his dagger at the man’s neck, breathing hard. “Let me go, and I will not kill you,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Kedirn glared at him, but did not answer. Instead, he grabbed Estel by the ankle, and pulled them both over the edge of the cliff. The boy gasped at the pain as his injured ankle was yanked. He scrambled desperately, but Kedirn was much too heavy. Though hen had lost his knife, he still had a grasp on his dagger. For an instant it felt as though they were suspended in midair. Then, as Estel slammed onto the ground, his last conscious thought was, “So this is what it is like to fall from a cliff,” before he blacked out, his hand still gripping his dagger.

---------------

He could taste the salty tang of blood. He heard voices above him.

“Kedirn…broken neck….”

“Boy’s out cold…wake him up.”

He opened his eyes, feeling disorientated. Sunlight streamed in and he shut them. It must be morning, he thought, grimacing. His head ached, as did his right arm and ankle. Someone prodded his side. “I know you’re awake. Get up, boy.”

Hadrel. Estel bit back a sigh.

“Open your eyes.” More prodding. Slowly, he opened his eyes, squinting up at the form of the man. Hadrel stood looking down at him, grinning.

With an effort the boy pointed his dagger at him. “Stay…away…from me,” he rasped.

Hadrel knelt down. “You’re in no position to talk. Now let go of the dagger.”

“N-no.”

He looked scornfully down at the boy. “You’re outnumbered, Strider,” he said flatly. His men moved in, blocking more of the sun from his view.

Estel’s hand trembled, and his control slipped. Before he knew it, Hadrel had grabbed his arm and wrenched the weapon out of his hand. Defeated, Estel let his head drop onto the ground and closed his eyes. But not for long. Someone kicked his side. “On your feet!” He heard Hadrel shout at him.

Slowly, he rolled over onto his side, and saw Kedirn. The man’s eyes were still open, but flies buzzed around him.

“You caused him to fall to his death, boy. Broke his neck.” One man spat on the ground. “Look at you; you’ve already become a murderer at such a young age!”

“I didn’t!” Estel protested, “I defeated him fairly but he pulled me down with him!”

“A likely story,” Hadrel snorted, “just like the fact you were thrown out?” He seized Estel by the collar of his shirt and shoved him towards another man. “Take him back to the cave where we stayed last night. We aren’t going anywhere today.”

Estel struggled until someone slapped on the side of his head. “Stop moving!” a man hissed into his ear as he roughly tied his hands. “Now move.” He gave the boy a shove.

He allowed himself to be led. Hobbling, he tried to ignore the pounding of his head and the tightness of the ropes, to no avail. When they reached the cave and dragged him in, he was wavering on his feet, clearly exhausted. He was pushed unceremoniously onto the grass by Hadrel. He did not look up, as he was caught up in his thoughts. Hadrel jerked his chin up with the edge of his blade, drawing blood. A flash of pain could be seen in Estel’s eyes as he looked up at the man.

“I’ll say you’re scared to death,” The man told him. “That you wish you were anywhere but here.”

The boy’s grey eyes flickered toward the right, breaking his gaze on Hadrel. A slap to his face brought him back to reality. “Tell me, Strider,” Hadrel ground out, holding Estel by the hair, “where did you live? Who took you in?”

The boy closed his eyes, feeling sick. Valar help him; what should he say? Even though Rivendell was no longer his home, he would not betray its people to a man who lived on greed. At last, he answered, “I choose not to tell.” He readied himself for what he knew would come.

Hadrel let his knife draw a thin line of red down the boy’s pale cheek. “So you say.” He nodded toward his men. “It’ll go better for you if you tell me now,” he threatened him.

Estel glared at him. “Make me,” he challenged him. His fingers dug tightly into the palm of his hand. He hope that there was no fear on his face, even though he felt it inside.

“Very well. If that’s how you want it,” he sheathed his knife, “that’s the way you’ll get it.” He turned around with something familiar in his hands. With one hand he pushed him down so that his forehead was pressed against the wall of the cave.

The boy sucked in his breath sharply, his face white, but he managed to calm himself. “Nothing you do will make me say anything, Hadrel. You are wasting your time.”

His answer was sound of leather belt falling across his shoulders.

Estel hissed in pain and pressed his forehead hard into the rock, his fingers clenched on his arm. The wounds that Elrond had given himself were still healing, and this assault on them stung more than if the skin was not already marred. For some moments there was nothing, only the sound of Hadrel sounding beating the boy. Estel held out as long as he could, biting his lips until they were stained with blood.

Abruptly the man stopped. Estel sat up, his breath coming in gasps.

“Will you tell me now?” the man asked.

He repeated his answer. “I choose…not to tell.”

The belt struck him again. And again. Finally he could no longer hold his emotions in. Tears ran from his eyes and down his face, falling to the ground. Hadrel only laughed at this. “Tears so soon?” he asked scornfully, jerking the boy around to face him. “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?”

He shook his head, vision blurring from both his tears and from fatigue. “Avon…” he mumbled.

“What? Speak up?”

“I won’t.” Estel sucked the blood from his bottom lip and spat it out at Hadrel’s feet. “Find out for yourself.”

Hadrel’s eyes darkened, but he only said, “We continue this tomorrow. And you’d better have something good to say by then.” He shoved a man out of his way, “See that he doesn’t escape,” he snapped to him before stalking away.

The boy could not help the sigh of relief that escaped from him as he gingerly eased his bloody body so it was almost, but not quite against the wall. He let his chin drop to his chest. His looked the picture of one that was overcome. And perhaps he was. With some difficulty Estel tried to wipe the red stains on his face by rubbing it against his shoulder. His head still ached, and his thoughts ran aimlessly. Unbidden, scenes of the past crept into his mind.

…Elrond teaching him…

…His father caring for him when he was injured…

…The peredhil comforting him when he had nightmares…

“Ada,” he whispered softly. He wanted nothing more than for his father to hold him and comfort him…to soothe the pain that was both physical and emotional. But there was no one there to help him. Completely worn out, he soon fell asleep despite his pain.

---------------

He awoke, feeling somewhat dizzy. His lips were dry and his eyelids were stuck. Blinking to clear the sensation Estel peered around the cave. It was quite dark; night had fallen. He glanced at the men. They seemed to be sleeping soundly. One man was snoring rather loudly, and another was talking something about rabbits and how good they were to eat. Estel allowed himself a smile at that. He tested the ropes that were wound around his wrists. As tight as ever. Reaching blindly behind he tried to find something to help him escape. His nail suddenly scraped against something pointy. A sharp rock protruded from the wall. Wincing as he moved, he began rubbing his bonds against the rock.

One man mumbled in his sleep. Estel gave him a glance before he continued with his task. A drop of sweat rolled down the side of his face and down his neck. He gritted his teeth, straining. The rope finally gave away. As the last few strands fell free he rubbed his arms, feeling the abrasions in the dark. Sitting there, he tried to think of a plan. Where was his pack? All his belongings, along with the strange letter, were still in it. Curse this darkness! Supporting himself with his hand he slowly got to his feet. The world around suddenly tipped, and he found himself leaning the rock for support. He shook his head and moved away. As quietly as he could, Estel began picking his way through the men sprawled all along the floor until he reached Hadrel. The man lay in his side, his arm curled around Estel’s pack. The boy bit back a sigh, knowing he would only be able to retrieve the most important of his belongings. Bending down on one knee he stretched a hand out, grey eyes fixed on Hadrel’s eyes. He carefully lifted the clasp on the bag and reached his hand in. His fingers picked their way through, and he soon found the letter. Pulling it out he quickly stuffed his down his boot, and began looking for his weapons. He found his dagger lying beside Hadrel, and he quickly slid it into his other boot. As he tried to stand, he suddenly froze.

Hadrel’s eyes were open.

TBC…

Avon - I won’t

Ada - Daddy

Before he could react, Hadrel’s hand grasped his injured ankle and he pulled him down, hard. “Did you think to leave?” The man asked in a low voice.

Biting his lip as he fell, Estel swung his free hand into the man’s face, knocking him backwards. Clumsily getting to his feet, the boy pulled out his dagger and pointed it at him. “Let me go, and I will let you live,” he said, his voice wavering only slightly. Slowly he began backing out of the cave. If he could just get to the entrance…

Hadrel got to his feet, his eyes glittering with anger. “I would put that down if I were you,” he warned the boy.

“No.” Out of the corner of his eye Estel could see it was becoming faintly brighter outside. Only a few more steps! “I do not have what you seek; I’m not what you think I am.” He nearly twisted his good ankle on a rock, but kept his balance. “And I refuse to tell you anything, Hadrel.” He suddenly turned and half-ran, half-hopped, sparing a quick glance backwards. Hadrel was shouting orders to the rest of the men.

“Get up! All of you!” He kicked one in the stomach. “Up, you lazy dog! That damn boy—” a series of oaths followed. “—has gone and run off again!” Hadrel stalked out of the cave and pointed in the direction the boy had gone. “Go!”

Estel spat out a strand of hair that gotten stuck in his mouth. ‘If I ever get home, I plan to cut this all off’, he thought as he stumbled on. The recent events and lack of sleep made him tire easily; he could feel weariness creeping upon him already. Shaking his head, he went on. He was now able to hear the voices and movements of the hunters crashing through the thicket. Fear of being found spurred him on as he continued to wearily pick his way through the forest. ‘If only I didn’t have this stupid ankle to worry about.’

---------------

He crouched low behind a bush, breathing slowly. The men had gotten too close for comfort so he decided to let them pass him. He would walk behind them in hopes of evading them. Pushing himself up with wobbly hands, he looked about him. The woods were quiet, save for the distant sounds of his pursuers far ahead of him. He slowly got to his feet, grey eyes darting nervously around. He had not seen Hadrel and assumed the leader had stayed behind. He quietly snorted. Of course; the leaders never bothered to do anything except sit around and order other people around. Estel had observed Hadrel long enough to know that the man was not the best when it came to handling weapons. But the lack was made up by his quick instincts, the boy had to admit. He had been so sure Hadrel was asleep…but he had been wrong.

It was safe now, he decided, and moved on. He sucked in his breath when a sharp twig lashed his face, coming dangerously close to one eye. The cut stung and he was forced to blink back the tear that came into his eye. Other branches snagged his torn tunic. Pressing a finger to the cut, he tried to ignore the pain and continue.

“There he is!” he heard someone shout behind him. “I see you now! You can’t escape us!”

Startled, he nearly crashed into a tree as he turned around to catch sight of a man. At least this one did not have a bow. Were there any others? He glanced back again. Only two, thank Eru. He licked his dry lips, forcing himself to calm down. He could do this; his brother had taught him how to evade. After another glance behind him he began a series of ducking and weaving through the trees and leaving a meandering trail. The boy easily crisscrossed the grounds, hoping to lose his pursuers this way. If only he were an elf; he would have left no trail a mortal could follow. He would also have been able to ignore the pain shooting up his foot. Spotting a tree that had plenty of branches he ran toward it. With a last effort, Estel pulled himself up on to the lowest branch. He did not stop climbing until he was hidden away in the branches and leaves of the tree. Resting his head against the trunk, the boy looked down below. He felt his boot to make sure the letter was still safe.

The two men ran past his tree. He caught a bit of their conversation.

“…just disappeared.”

“Naw, ‘less he be one of them elves, he can’t…” The voices grew distant and he could no longer hear them.

He allowed himself a small smile. Living with Elves gave him some advantage. He pondered his predicament at this moment. Estel didn’t want to spend anymore time in this forest, but he had no choice. What else could he do? He looked in frustration across the trees.

The trees…

His brothers had told him of another way of traveling. Carefully he stood up, leaning against the trunk. He remembered how Elladan had told him they had avoided a large number of orcs by jumping from tree to tree and thus escaping. They had also mentioned the fact a human should not try it. “That is, unless you have a death wish, gwador,” Elrohir had said.

But there was no other way for him. Pushing aside his doubts, Estel tightly gripped a tree branch that hung above his head and swung off. He landed on another tree, nearly losing his balance as his bad ankle gave way. He hurriedly grabbed hold of a bough and caught his breath. Maybe his brothers were right. With a groan the boy slowly climbed down the tree and once again took up running. “I hope this is south,” he muttered to himself. “Lothlórien is still weeks away on foot, and I still need to cross the mountains.” he sighed. “More climbing.”

---------------

Two hours later, he finally emerged from the forest, albeit very worn out. He gave his surroundings a cursory glance; no sign of the men. Estel tiredly leaned against a tree and let his aching frame slide down. He hurt all over; yesterday’s events still fresh in his mind. He was sick of being out here on his own, tired of running. Rubbing his forehead with the back his hand, the boy stood to his feet. He glanced up at the sky; it was nearly morning. He would have to find shelter should the men still be pursuing him.

Estel walked slowly across the plain. A few lone trees dotted the area. To his left were the mountains, so he knew he was going in the right direction. But he had no way of knowing where the Redhorn Pass was, or what it even looked like. His belongings were all still in the cave. He wished he still had his cloak; the air was cool, and now that his adrenaline had worn off, it left him feeling weak and light-headed. He stumbled over a rock and softly cursed his own clumsiness. The second time he stumbled he tripped and fell flat on his face. Frustrated with himself he banged his head hard on the ground. “What is wrong with you? Can’t you even walk properly?” he chastised himself as continued his actions. “Surely you can do better…”

Finally, he sat up and brushed the dirt and grime from his face. He was tired, hurt, hungry, and thirsty. He had no provisions, nothing. Just a stupid letter and his dagger. Hopelessness tugged at his heart, and without meaning to, he violently kicked at huge rock with his bad foot. Pain flared up anew and he cried out, screwing his eyes shut until the sensation dulled away. He unlaced his boot and pulled it off to check the sprain. His ankle was swollen and red. He gently touched it, and winced. If only he had some water. With a sigh he pulled his boot back on. Tired grey eyes stared into nothingness; he felt no inclination to move at the moment. But he wanted something, something he could not have. He wanted to return home. He wanted his life to be normal, for the ache in his heart to go away.

He wanted to be able to laugh again and simply enjoy his carefree moments at Imladris.

He wanted to see his brothers again.

Most of all, he wanted his father back.

Drawing a ragged breath, he closed his eyes. This was why he had left, why he was heading to Lothlórien. He may have been delayed, and he may have been hurt, but he willing to do it because the one he loved needed to be saved. Could he abandon him now? Even if Elrond hated him, Estel did not—he clung to the desperate hope that he could still change what had happened. With determination sparking anew, he got to his feet. He didn’t care how far he still had go; even if it took him several more weeks, not even the Valar could stop him.

Pulling out his dagger, he made his way over to a small tree and found a root. He set to work making a snare in hopes of catching any food. His going was slow; the last he had made such a trap, he had been thirteen, and he had had the help of his brothers. When he was finally done, the thing looked lopsided and clumsy, but it would hold.

Now, for the problem of water… He looked balefully at the trees. Too bad there was no such thing as a tree that contained water inside it. A thought occurred to him: the grass was wet. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he soaked it and squeezed the water into his mouth, sucking away at it to get the last drops of moisture out. He repeated the exercise several times, and thus slaked his thirst.

Life had not been made easy for mortals by Yavanna, but at least he was less likely now to perish from hunger and thirst.

---------------

One week later...

“…Canad, leben, eneg…” He had decided two days before to count his steps to keep from getting bored. So far, the most steps he had taken were two thousand seven hundred and thirty-three. In his opinion, it was not a lot for one day. He idly pulled out the berries he had found on a bush two days ago, shoving the entire handful into his mouth. He tried his best to ignore the tartness of the berries as he hastily chewed them. What bothered him than more his hunger was the lack of water; he had no way of bringing water along with him, so thirst was a constant companion. He tried not to think about miruvor, Imladris’ cordial. Though he himself had only been allowed to drink it two times because Elrond had deemed him old enough, he could remember the taste very well. The sweet, warm savour of the clear liquid running down his throat—

‘Nae!’ he thought, swallowing hard. ‘My thoughts are betraying my weakness.’ He tried to go on counting.

“…Minig, rast, minchaer…” Estel looked up at the sun, wishing it was overcast. It was so warm… But only a week ago, he had been complaining about the cold. He smiled ruefully to himself.

“…Odogchaer, tolothchaer, nederchaer—”

The boy suddenly slipped; he had been so intent that he had not seen the sharp drop. Estel went head over heels down the side of hill, He landed, half-stunned while rocks and small pebbles showered and fell about him. With a groan he sat up, gingerly touching the side of his head. Closing his eyes for a moment to adjust his equilibrium, he opened them again to find an arrow pointed in his face. Somewhat shocked, he glanced at the figure that held the arrow. An elf stood in front of him, unsmiling. He wore dark brown boots, grey leggings and tunic, and an odd cloak that appeared to change in color at different angles. The boy supposed he was of Silvan descent. But unlike most elves he knew, this one had golden hair and piercing eyes the color of the sky. Estel raised his hands and spoke quickly. “Le na vellon,” he said breathlessly in the grey tongue. “Sîdh.”

To his relief, the bow was lowered slightly.

The elf responded in the same language. “Pedich i lam edhellen, adan?”

The boy nodded. “Im Dúnadan a vellon na Imladris,” he replied.

Slowly, the elf let his arrow point to the ground. “A child, even one of the Dúnedain, should not be wandering alone,” he commented.

Estel crossed his arm and looked defiant. “I am sixteen years of age and am not considered a child in the eyes of Men," he interjected.

“That is still young, even for the edain.” He ran his fingers up and down his bow in a casual fashion. Estel eyed it, knowing at any moment it could be pointed at him again. “Do you mind putting your bow away?”

For a moment, the elf studied him. At last, he slung the weapon over his shoulder. “Now, tell me why you are here.”

The boy looked down. He was not planning to tell a stranger what his plans were because he had no idea of knowing whether this one could be trusted or not. He heard a sigh.

“What is your name?”

Estel’s head came up. “Do you think I would tell you my name if you do not tell me yours?” he asked. He tapped his arm with his fingers.

The other being smiled, as if amused. “No,” he looked over Estel. “I do not.”

He hesitated. How was he to know if he could trust an elf? For one moment he searched the eyes that were scrutinizing him. Being raised among elves, he was one of the few mortals that could stare long and steadily into the gaze of any immortal. The dark-haired boy slowly let out his breath. “I am called Estel,” he replied at last.

“Estel?” The elf seemed surprised. “You were the child Elrond took in?”

He started. “Yes, I was.” He fidgeted with a strand of hair, ignoring the dust and dirt that coated his fingers. “But now you must give me your name.”

“Haldir,” the elf answered. “Of Lórien.”

At this, recognition dawned. "My brothers told me a little about you.”

“Really.” The elf drawled out the word. “Do they speak of well or poorly of me?”

“It depends how you look at it.” Estel grinned despite himself. He was not planning to tell this elf what his brothers had told him. “Tell me, is Lórien far from here?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could. He stirred up the loose gravel that at his feet and overturned a rock.

“And why would Elrond’s son want to know? If you are looking for your brothers, they are not there.”

“I do not seek them. My business is with—” he halted, unsure as to how to proceed “—with the Lady of Light.” Even as he said it, he felt as foolish as the words sounded. “It’s a matter of importance.” He continued turn the rock over.

Haldir arched an eyebrow. “Indeed. And how important is it?”

“Very,” the boy retorted. “And I shan’t tell anyone but the Lady or the Lord of the Golden Wood. Not even the best of Lórien’s marchwardens can know.”

“But if I press the matter, and force you to tell me?” He took a step forward.

Estel didn’t move. “You would not if you had any honor. And if you do not tell, someday I will find it myself, without your help.” He dropped his arms to his side and clenched his fists. His patience was wearing thin with Haldir. Must all elves be so stubborn?

“Being a son of Elrond does not give you any privileges. You are a mortal, and mortals are not allowed into the Golden Wood.” He smiled, a bit smug. “That is, unless you are accompanied by an elf.”

Estel swore softly. “Manwë confound it all,” he muttered, giving the rock a vicious kick and sending it rolling away. The elf watched him as he sat down and looked up at him. “Will you help me…please?” he added the last word reluctantly.

“At least tell me if Elrond gave you permission to leave.” Haldir responded.

The boy avoided his eyes. “Yes, he did.” An expression flickered across quickly across his face before he quickly masked it.

“But surely he would not send you alone.” the elf quietly interjected.

“He did. He-he threw me out,” Estel finally mumbled.

“I see…” Haldir sat down. “Tell me Estel,” his eyes bore into the boy’s. “Just how would Elrond be able throw you out if he is in Lothlórien at this moment?”

“What?” Shock ran through Estel, and he stood to his feet. “But it cannot be!” he exclaimed. He was thoroughly confused. What did this elf mean when he said his father was in Lothlórien? “You are lying.”

Haldir shook his head. “I speak the truth.” He reached for his pack. “In fact, I am headed to Rivendell this moment to bring a letter addressed to you.”

Again, the boy shook his head. “But-but he came back weeks ago.” Raking his hand through his hair, he leaned forward. “Show me the letter, if all you say is true.”

The fair-haired elf looked at him with an incomprehensible look in his eyes. “It is you who are lying.” Slowly, he took out a letter from his pack. Breaking the seal, he handed it to the boy. “Is this not Elrond’s sign?”

Snatching it, Estel stared at the two pieces of wax. It was his father’s all right. His mind whirled with his tangled thoughts as he numbly thrust the item away from him. “I do not understand,” he hoarsely answered. The past weeks’ events were still very vivid in his mind. He distractedly tugged at his hair, looking like a bewildered child.

Haldir’s expression softened a bit. “Sit, Estel.” The boy obeyed, and the elf handed him a canteen. Without a word the youth took it and gulped the water. As he handed it back, his companion quietly placed his at his side. “Now tell me, young one, by what you mean that Lord Elrond returned.” He looked into the grey eyes seemed so lost. “Whatever you say to me will not be held or used against you.”

Slowly, Estel began to speak. “He came back about four to five weeks ago, alone. He said that his work was finished in Lórien, that the others would come back soon. I paid no attention to that.” He let out a sigh. “Until the week after that. I had borrowed a number of scrolls from his personal room without asking, and usually he does not mind. But this time, he was quite angry, and he forbade me from going into his study ever again. Perhaps I should have been more cautious after that.” He fingered the torn collar of his tunic. “But I was not. My brothers, who where in Mirkwood, sent me a letter. Lord Elrond refused to give it to me, making up a number of excuses. So I decided early one morning to retrieve it myself, and was caught.” He laughed bleakly. “He confined me to my room.”

“Then what?”

“I was punished for disobeying him.” Estel went on to speak of Elrond’s strange behavior with Aaerion. “It was almost as though he, he—” he paused, trying to find the right word.

“As though he tried to control him through his mind?” Haldir supplied.

“Something of the sort. I’m unsure what really happened. But he discovered that I had been listening, and he dragged me outside.” The boy blinked and took a deeper breath. “He made me stay out there for an entire night. Never before had he treated me so-so callously.” He drew his legs up to his chest, resting his chin on his knees.

“That was not the end of it, was it?”

“No,” he spoke very quietly now. “It was not. I began to fear that something or someone had taken over his mind. So I decided to find anyone who could help.” Reaching into his boot, he pulled out the letter. It was slightly wrinkled and dirty. “I found this on his desk, and decided to take it with me.”

Haldir studied it closely. “I cannot read it,” he admitted. “The script and the language are unknown to me.”

“Do you think the Lady can?”

“It is possible.” He shrugged and gave it back to the boy. “You said earlier he threw you out.”

“He did.” The boy closed his eyes, remembering that terrible night and the elf lord’s words. “And he, he—” He swallowed with some difficulty. Clumsily, he unbuttoned his worn shirt and pulled it off, revealing the old welts and still-healing marks. “After that, he told me he took me out of pity and nothing more.” His eyes beseeched those of the elf’s. “I speak the truth, Haldir, and if you do not believe me, then no one else will.” he whispered, dropping his gaze to stare at the ground. The tired, defeated eyes made him seem older.

The Silvan elf gently touched his shoulder. “You speak with too much heartache in your voice to be lying. But you are mistaken of the whereabouts of you father.” He sat back. “When I left, Lord Elrond gave me a letter. He told me to give it to you. He also told me to tell you that he would return soon, and that he loved you.” He released his hold on the youth. “Upon my word as a warrior, Estel.”

The boy raised his head with an effort. “Then how would you explain the presence of—” he gestured.

Haldir’s jaw tightened. “He is an imposter and an evil one at that if he trying to take over Imladris and turning you against your father, Estel. Can you believe me?”

For a moment the boy didn’t speak. At last he replied, “Aye,” and nodded. He felt somewhat relived at this. “I can believe you, Haldir.”

The elf held out his hand. “Then I will take you to Lothlórien tomorrow. Agreed?”

He clasped the proffered hand. “Agreed.” He even managed a small grin. Sitting a little straighter, he made move to pull his tunic back on, but Haldir stopped him.

“I would see to that, if you would allow me.” At the boy's nod, he uncapped his canteen and poured out some water onto a cloth he had taken from his pack. Estel pulled his unkempt hair to the front, sucking his breath in as the elf began cleaning his wounds.

“Some of these look recent,” the elf commented.

“I ran into some trouble about a week ago. Some hunters assumed I was the son of some wealthy man, and attempted to pry information from me. They did not succeed.” He paused to catch his breath. “Another reason they were angry was because I had caused a death of one of their men. I did not mean to, though; we were fighting at the edge of the cliff, and I managed to disarm him. He, however, pulled me down the cliff with him and he fell to his death.” He tentatively looked over his shoulder. “I’m not a murderer, am I?”

Haldir went on washing the cuts. What was he to say to a child who had never killed before? He knew what to say to a fully fledged warrior, but not a youth of sixteen years who was already in so much turmoil, but still had many more things to learn. “I think not,” he finally replied, choosing his words carefully. “Did you have hatred in your heart for him?”

“Nay, not once. I felt rather sorry for him.”

“Did you push him off the cliff?”

“Of course not! I thought I told you—”

“Peace, Estel. I know you did not,” he chuckled softly. “Whoever this man was, he caused his own death for his love of petty coin.” Slowly, he spread a simple ointment onto Estel’s skin. “The demise of most people is usually due to greed of one sort or another.”

“I do not doubt that.” Estel replied, tensing in pain. “What are you putting on?”

“It is something we elves in Lórien use to prevent infection on cuts like these.” He finished his work and put his things away. “But it cannot counteract poison, if there is any.”

“Oh.” Estel reached for his shirt, but once again Haldir stopped him. “You are not going to wear that. It is filthy and in tatters.” He held it up, disgust on his face.

“I have nothing else to wear,” Estel protested. “You cannot expect me to go without a shirt!”

“You can borrow one from me.” Haldir walked over to a small copse of trees where his horse was grazing. He picked up his pack from the ground, where he had left it, retrieved a grey-colored shirt from it and tossed it to the boy. “It would actually be warmer than your old one.”

He reluctantly took it. After all, he did have his pride. “Hannad,” he said as he did up the catches on the tunic.

The elf merely nodded and reached into his pack once more. “Are you hungry?” he asked. When the boy inclined his head, he pressed into Estel’s hand something concealed in a large leaf. He took one for himself.

Cautiously, the youth sniffed it before unwrapping it and breaking off a piece. Haldir hid a smile as he unwrapped his own piece and took a bite.

“Eat it, young one. It is not dangerous.”

Estel looked dubiously at it as he chewed on it. Suddenly, his eyes lighted up. “This is lembas, is it not?” Without even waiting for Haldir’s answer he very quickly tore into it. The elf watched with amusement dancing in his eyes; never before had he seen anyone eat so rapidly. ‘I suppose it has been some time since he last ate a decent meal,’ he thought. ‘Poor child.’

“Why did you not tell me it was lembas?” the boy asked between bites.

“Because you did not ask.”

The youth snorted at his answer, but he quickly finished his piece and wiped his hands on the leaf before casting it away from him. “I have always wanted to try the waybread of the Elves, but no one would over let me. I even begged Ada to let me try it for my fifteenth birthday. He told me I had to wait longer.” He licked his lips, not realizing he had slipped back to calling Elrond his father. “It is very good.”

The elf smiled at him. “That is one reason we hide it from mortals; we greatly fear the amounts they would consume.”

Estel rolled his eyes. His spirits had lifted, and now he could smile more easily. “I think you immortals have too many secrets, but at least I can say I know a few of them, and I also have some of my own.”

“Such as—?”

He shrugged and grinned in a cheeky manner. “If I tell you, it would no longer be a secret,” he answered impishly.

Haldir answered with a laugh. “Very well, keep your secrets to yourself.” He lay down on the ground and crossed his arms underneath his head. “You should take some time to rest.”

“I will,” The boy replied. “But I first want to get this stuff out of my hair.” He pulled a twig and a small leaf from the strands. Dust and dirt sprinkled down onto his shoulders, and he sighed.

His companion eyed him. “I do not think you’ll be able to get that out today. I know of a spring that is right over the mountains. You can wash your hair there.”

“The mountains?” Estel inquired. “Do you mean the Redhorn Pass?”

“Yes, it is the pass closest to Lothlórien that goes over the mountains, as far as I am aware.”

“Is there anyway through the mountains?”

Haldir shrugged. “If you were a dwarf, you would go through Moria.” He sat up to pull a rock from under his back. “And we will not go through there because the place is mostly likely filled with Orcs and other fell beings.” The elf looked towards the mountains, a troubled look in his eyes. “But the Redhorn Pass can also be evil,” he added in a low voice. “I pray we will find no trouble tomorrow.”

---------------

They set out early next morning. The sun had barely risen when Haldir shook the boy awake from a deep sleep. He rubbed his eyes as he yawned. “Do we go over Caradhras today, Haldir?”

“Aye.” Haldir fastened his pack onto his horse and mounted. He held out a hand to Estel.

The boy grasped his hand and allowed himself to be pulled up behind the elf. “She is a fine one,” he observed. “What do you call her?”

“Sirdal,” he replied. “For she can be fast when she wishes to be.” He leaned forward and spoke quietly. The mare responded easily to the elf’s words, and they went off in the direction of the Redhorn Pass.

Estel held on to Haldir's waist. His hair whipped around his face, and he impatiently pushed it back as he gazed around. He smiled, knowing that in this fashion of traveling, reaching his destination would only be a matter of days.

He had no idea how terribly wrong the day would go for him and Haldir.

TBC…

Nae! – Alas! Minig – elven

Rast – twelve
Minchaer – thirteen
Odogchaer – nineteen
Tolothchaer – twenty
Nederchaer – twenty-one
Le na vellon. – You are with a friend.
Sîdh – Peace
Pedich i lam edhellen, adan? – You speak the language of the Elves, mortal man?
Im Dúnadan a vellon na Imladris – I am a Dúnadan and a friend of Imladris
Edain – Men
Hannad – Thanks
Ada – Dad or daddy
Sirdal – Sindarin “River foot” (Taken from Merin Essi ar Quenteli)

The Redhorn Pass always had a bad reputation. It was there that Elrond’s wife, Celebrían, was captured by some the Enemy’s minions. A year later, she left Arda and her family because she no longer found any joy in Middle Earth. Elladan and Elrohir never forgot what happened; during the years afterward they always spent much time hunting down orcs. The pass was also attempted by the Fellowship before they were forced to turn back and go by way of Moria (Which was actually abandoned at this moment. Balin and his Dwarves didn’t come along until T.A. 2989. Aragorn was 58 when this happened). I had originally planned to make Estel and Haldir go through the mines, because Aragorn had been there before. But then I remembered he said the Dimrill Gate, not the Doors of Durin, and decided against it.

I have no idea if Haldir had blue eyes. Most likely his eyes were grey, but then in description I feel he would be too similar to Legolas (I write that Legolas had blue-grey eyes). I feel he's a Silvan elf...I may be wrong. And the thing about him being a marchwarden is actually a fanon conception. There was nothing in Tolkien’s writings concerning his heritage. At least we know who Legolas’ father was. :)

So now you know the truth about Elrond—he’s still at the Golden Wood, unaware of what happened to Estel. Then who’s at Rivendell? He’s not an OC; he was created by Tolkien but mentioned only in passing in one of the HoME—though I cannot remember which book at this moment.

Next chapter will be titled “Wrath of Caradhras.”

During the hours of the morning, the two traveled without speaking much. As they went higher, the air grew cooler, and Estel pulled the sleeves of his shirt down so that they covered more of his hands and fingers. The quiver on the elf’s back banged into him rather often. It was also windier, and Haldir’s long tresses often tickled the boy’s nose, making him sneeze.

“Cold?” the elf questioned him.

Estel shook his head. “Your hair gets in the way,” he explained. “I do not know why, but you elves always seem so fond of long hair.” He shoved away several strands away. He suddenly had a wicked urge to tug on the locks as his fingers brushed against them.

“Do not even think about doing that, Estel Elrondion.” Haldir lightly scolded him, using the youth’s entire name, “Unless you want to get down and walk.”

“Could you please move it, then?” he eyed the three braids the elf wore. His brothers often did this with their own hair.

Much to his surprise the elf complied with his request, pulling it up and over his shoulder. “Better?”

“Much.” Now he could enjoy watching his surrounding without being hindered. The boy looked across the mountains, eying some of the higher ones. Some them were actually covered in snow, even though it was no longer winter. He looked ahead of them. “Is this part of the Redhorn Pass?”

“It is.” Haldir glanced up the sky; they were making good progress for the morning. He hoped he could reach a particular cave in the mountains because it was good shelter for the night. Taking out his canteen, he tipped it and let the water trickle into his mouth. He passed it to the boy sitting behind him and told him to hold onto it for now.

“I do not see why it has been called ‘the Cruel,’ Haldir.” Estel gestured, indicating it. “It seems rather peaceful.”

“It is because it is only the beginning of the pass; as we travel more tomorrow it will turn treacherous,” The elf replied, “The way will be steep, and the rocks are loose and obstructing.” Estel felt him sigh. “Long have I wished to find some other road to cross the mountains, but there is none. Moria is not safe, and the Gap of Rohan takes us among mortals.”

“Why not Moria? Surely you can overpower a few Orcs,” The youth interjected.

A muscle moved in Haldir’s neck. “You speak boldly about things you do not understand. I would not dare venture into Moria, even if there were no yrch.” He spat out the word. “The Dwarves delved too greedily and too deep. Who knows what they awoke in the darkness at the roots of the mountain?” The elf sighed. “Many of the Enemy’s allies abide in that place; using it as refuge. It should have been destroyed long ago.” He spoke with so much bitterness and resentment that Estel had another question.

“Haldir, why does it seem the Eldar and the Naugrim never get along?”

‘Are children always this curious?’ Haldir shook his head and answered. “That is a question you should ask your father—or one of his advisors. There was one particular one, but I cannot recall his name. He always dresses in dark colors.”

“You speak of Erestor?”

“Aye, that was who. You could ask him.”

Estel groaned. “If I ask him, not only would he answer the question, but he would make me research more on the subject and also make me look for big, heavy books in the library. I dare not ask him,” he chuckled, “But as scholarly as he is, Erestor is a dear friend. He was my tutor when I was child.” He grew silent, thinking back to those days.

The Lórien elf looked back over his shoulder. “Who taught you how use weapons?” Though he had not seen the child actually in action, he naturally assumed that any son of Elrond would be trained.

Estel shrugged. “Many. Elladan and Elrohir, a few other elves, Erestor, and also Glorfindel. They taught me how to use a variety of weapons.” Combing his fingers through his hair, he continued to talk. “I had wanted a sword of my own for my sixteenth birthday, but Ada said I must wait until he deemed the time was right.” He reached down toward his boot, sliding out the only blade he carried. “But he did not object to my receiving this when I was fifteen.” He thought wistfully to the knife he had lost while fighting with Kedirn. “There was also a knife. Both were given to me by Glorfindel.”

Haldir took the dagger and turned it over in his free hand. He tested its balance, and even though he was riding a horse, he was able to spin the blade between his fingers. “It is a good weapon, even though it is small.”

The youth sitting behind him grinned and tucked the dagger away. “What I want to do someday is to see my father fight. I’ve heard so many people tell me how good a warrior he is, but never before have I seen him even pick up a sword.” He drank from the canteen he still held. “I wish for a chance to spar with him someday.”

The golden-haired elf smiled to himself, wondering if he should tell Estel that he had participated in the Last Alliance. Of course, he would never reveal that to the boy that he also knew his forefathers. Shifting on his seat, he simply replied, “I would take their word, for I have seen him before. He was greatly feared by his enemies.”

The youth frowned. “Do you think that whoever is at Imladris could actually be one of his enemies?” he suddenly inquired.

“It may be possible.” Haldir replied carefully. “Tell me, Estel, are you very sure that this imposter looked exactly like your father?”

“Aye, he had the same stature, same height, same—” he broke off, as if remembering something.

Elrond’s blue eyes that had glared frostily at him…

“Ai Elbereth, how could I have been so blind?” he exclaimed. “Ada’s eyes are supposed to be grey, not blue. At first, I only thought it a trick of the light, but I see now that I was wrong.” He felt highly frustrated with himself.

“Do not be so hard on yourself—sometimes it is hard to distinguish between grey and blue,” he assured the boy. “My brother Orophin has grey eyes, and my other brother, Rúmil, has eyes a shade lighter then mine. When we were young, I always assumed they both had eyes the color of the morning mist.”

Estel still looked unhappy. “If only I had been more wary,” he quietly murmured.

“Well, do not start to blame yourself,” Haldir hurriedly said. Guilt complexes were hard to deal with; he had his own share of them. “It will not help at all.”

“I suppose you are right, but, still…” he looked away and sighed.

For a moment, there was awkward silence. Finally, Estel brought up another question. “You have two brothers?” “You have two brothers?”

“Aye. Both are younger than me.”

The boy was immediately curious. “Do you have any other family?”

He shook his head. “Long ago, our parents left for the Undying Lands,” he replied.

“Oh.”

More silence, and this one lasted for much longer. Estel contented himself by trying to count the number of embroidered silver leaves on the back of Haldir’s tunic. It was not easy; the elf’s quiver partially hid his tunic, and the constant motion of the horse made it difficult to focus on the small, intertwining leaves.

Haldir heard him sigh. “What is it?” he asked.

“Nothing,” the boy hurriedly answered. “Just passing time by counting.”

“I see.” Haldir eyed the boy. He hadn’t really observed the boy’s appearance yet, and despite himself, he was curious because he rarely came into contact with any mortal.

If one did not look closely, Estel could simply pass for an elf that was nearing his maturity. The pale skin, bright eyes, and slim frame were clearly inherited from his elvish blood. Truly, he did look like one of Elrond’s sons. The only things that betrayed this were his rounded ears and the strands of hair that did not lie straight, but were unruly and wavy. The boy swiped at his face with the back of his hand, leaving a track of dirt across his face. He had one long cut running from the middle of his forehead down his left cheek, narrowing missing his eye. A bruise decorated the other cheek, and smaller cuts adorned the rest of his face. Really, he looked as if he had just come back from a fight.

Estel caught him staring. “Why are you staring at me like that? Is there something on my face?” He swiped it again, the streak becoming longer.

Haldir chuckled. “You are only making it worse.” He turned his gaze back to the front.

“And you are not helping me,” the youth shot back, exasperated. This only made Haldir laugh harder.

Had he not been on a horse, Estel would have crossed his arms. He closed his eyes and sighed.

Truly, he hated traveling. Traveling either by foot or horse was dull, especially if you were with someone you only met a day ago. Conversation was difficult; both did not know exactly what to talk about. He opened one eye to brush a wayward strand of hair from his face.

He wondered if Haldir would kill him if he cut it off, and grinned to himself. Mostly likely the answer would be yes.

---------------

When the sun was well up in sky, they stopped for a short break. Haldir easily dismounted and reached up to Estel. The boy took his hand, sliding off the horse and balancing on one foot. “Is it any better?” The elf questioned.

Estel shrugged. “I suppose. It’s healing, but it will take time.” he looked down. “Running did not help it.” He limped over to large rock and sat down, peering about the surrounding rocks and boulders. “How much longer will it take to get over the mountains?”

“Three days,” Haldir replied, taking his pack from his horse. He also sat down on a rock. “Because tomorrow we can no longer ride, but must walk. It would be perilous to ride a horse on such ground.”

The boy bit back a groan at the mere thought of walking. Bored, he watched as his companion took out more lembas and tossed a packet to him. He easily caught it, and quickly tugged the wrapping off. He held the leaf in his hand. “Is this a mallorn leaf?” he inquired of Haldir.

“Aye, for it is our way of keeping it fresh.”

Estel bit down on the piece of food. “Do you not ever tire of this? I think I would if I had to survive on this for more than a month.”

“I highly doubt you would even have the chance to do that, young one.”

The boy cocked his head. “And just how would you know?” he responded. “I do not think you have ever gone beyond the Elven realms, have you?”

“Perhaps.” The elf was being ambiguous about his past. “I would not divulge any of that to you.”

“Why not?”

“Simply because I feel it is a private matter.” Haldir eyed the boy. “Are you going to finish that or not?”

“What?” the elf pointed to his hand. “Oh.” Stuffing the last of the waybread into his mouth, Estel quickly chewed it and swallowed.

Haldir shook his head, smiling to himself. He had never met such a child, and he did not think he would another one who was like Estel. Anyone who knew the boy would know he was meant for great things…

“Haldir?” the youthful voice broke into his thoughts. When he looked at the boy, Estel was watching him. “May I see your sword?”

“For what reason?” the elf was surprised.

The boy shrugged. “I fear I will always have a fascination with swords until I get my own,” he admitted.

The Lórien elf smiled. Unsheathing his weapon, he handed it, hilt first, to Estel. The boy it, running his hand carefully over the flat of the blade. He gripped the hilt, letting his fingers run over the engraved letters on it, slightly in awe of it. Carefully, he swung it a few times, testing its balance. With reluctance in his face, he handed it back to its owner. “I wish Ada would let me have one.” he sighed. “It is not as if I do not know how to take care of one.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “In Imladris, there is a room filled with artifacts, and in the middle of the room, a statue of a lady stands, holding out a broken sword.” The boy did not notice when Haldir stiffened. “Once as a child, I picked it up, curious. Unfortunately, Erestor happened to come in that moment. He immediately made me put it back and then told my father what I did.”

Estel smiled ruefully. “And he would tell me nothing of the sword. Only that it belong to Isildur. I was disappointed with his answer.” With a shrug of his shoulders, the boy continued. “I told him, ‘if it is broken, then does not anyone fix it?’ He said the time was not right.” He stirred the pebbles on the ground with a finger. “Sometimes I grow weary of that answer. The time is not right; you must wait. How am I to know it is the right time? Does Irmo visit me and knock me on the head?” The last phrase was said with sarcasm.

His companion chuckled. “Of course not!” he replied, “Whatever made you think that?”

“It was only a suggestion.”

The elf shook his head, smiling gently. “The matter of timing depends on many things - you, others, and the situation. Sometimes the situation call for you to bide your time. Others will caution you, telling you that you must wait. And sometimes, you yourself will sense when the fruit is ready to be gathered.” He sat back, watching Estel’s reactions.

For moment, the youth did not say anything, but merely continued to finger the small stones at his feet. Finally, he looked up and gave a slow nod, signifying he understood. “Now if Ada could come up with different ways of saying that—then I will not have a problem with waiting.”

“Estel!”

They both laughed.

---------------

The next two days were uneventful. The good weather held, and Haldir and Estel made good progress on the road, despite that (the) fact that Estel’s ankle was still healing. He continued to walk without saying a word about it, and when Haldir questioned him, he would always reply that he was fine. But on the third day, the elf decided that it would not continue. After a small amount of arguing, he had the boy remove his boot so that he could see his foot.

“You fuss over it as much as my family does!” Estel protested.

“For your own good, young one,” Haldir lightly scolded him. His sensitive fingers examined the sprained area. “Or else it may never heal properly.”

The boy started to reply, but when Haldir’s fingers found a particularly painful area, he gritted his teeth and tightly clenched his hands. “Daro,” he said through his teeth. “Ta naegra.”

“And no wonder,” The elf answered shortly, brushing a strand of his hair from his face and tucking it behind his ear. “I think your father will have a few words with you when he sees this.”

“I only hope he does not see the rest of my injuries.” He grimaced at the thought as he pulled his shoe back on and stood, testing it. “It is nearly better,” he commented.

“You will not be able to hide them from him; Elrond is too good a healer—and father—to not suspect something.”

“I know, I know.” The boy hung his head. “When this is all over, I do not think he will never let me out of his sight ever again.”

Haldir laughed at this. “Perhaps, but eventually he will grant you more freedom. Parents are always like that; when something bad happens to those that they love, they often cannot let go of them.”

“So says Haldir the Wise,” Estel muttered. It earned him a light shove from the elf. “Well, you continue to come up with these witty sayings!” His grey eyes sparkled.

“And I have another saying for you –‘If thou shalt tease the elf, then it shall be thy ruin.’”

Estel snorted. “Aye, it will be my ruin.” He doubled over, shoulders shaking with laughter. “For I always tease my brothers!”

The sounds of their mirth echoed though the desolate rocks, and did not go unheard. For a few had been spying upon them from afar, and as they drew nearer, their eyes began to glitter with the prospect of easy prey.

---------------

When they began their slow descent down the Dimrill Stair, there was nothing to hinder them. No enemies were to be seen, and the sky was clear and blue.

Estel yanked hard at his hair, forcefully shoving it back from his face. He was frustrated with the long strands that tickled his face whenever he moved. Softly, he cursed in Dwarvish under his breath.

Haldir glanced at him, somewhat surprised. “And where did you learn that, Estel?

“My brothers— where else?” The boy curtly replied as he struggled with his footing on the narrow path. The rocks were dangerously loose; one misstep could send him down the rest of the mountain in a tumble. He was forced to hold on to the rock walls and cliffs for balance.

Unlike him, the elf easily descended the rock, one hand on his bow and the other leading his mare down the jagged road. He went ahead of his companion in hopes of finding the least strenuous route. Glancing back, he held up his hand, signaling for them to stop.

The boy gladly dropped down, breathing hard from the exertion. He lighted rubbed his ankle with one hand.

A thin leather strap dropped into his lap. He looked up in question at Haldir. The elf merely gestured to his head, and turned to retrieve something from his pack.

Nodding with understanding, the dark-haired youth quickly braided his hair away from his face, securing the long plait with the leather band. Grasped the edge of a rock that jutted out from the side of the cliff, he pulled himself up. “So you hope we can be at the foot of these mountains by the end of today?”

The elf inclined his head. “We will be.” He straightened his cloak and dusted it off. “After that, the going will be easier, for the lands are plains and effortless to cross. At most, it will be half a day’s travel.”

Estel sighed with relief. “That it good,” he replied. “I have had enough of these mountains,” he muttered. He hoped Haldir would not hear that last part.

But Haldir did, and the elf gave him a grim smile. “I do not like them either, my young friend. But we had no choice.”

They trudged on for another three hours, saying little and stopping occasionally. As the sun began its own descent, Estel noticed that the Lórien elf grew more uneasy. The blue eyes darted all around them, piercing their surroundings. The boy knew better than to speak at the moment, but not contain himself.

“Haldir,” he almost whispered. “What worries you so?”

“It is what I sense, but cannot see or hear,” the elf returned in the same tone of voice. “I fear we are being followed.”

“By whom?” Alarm flooded through his entire being, and he laid a hand on his dagger.

“Yrch.” Was the elf’s reply.

“Oh Valar.” Estel swallowed hard. In his lifetime, he had only encountered the foul creatures twice; once as a two-year-old, the other time when he was thirteen and out with his brothers. During both meetings, he had not fought with them - merely hid and stayed out of the way. But this time, there was no hiding - the crevices and holes closest to them were too small, Haldir would need his help if they were to survive this.

Sounds arose from behind them, making the boy tense with fear. He remembered it well from his nightmares…

“Do you prefer the bow or the sword?” Haldir’s urgent voice broke his thoughts.

“”What? He looked at the elf.

“Which one?” he held out the two weapons. “Which one are you more sufficient in?”

“Sword.”

The elf shoved his weapon into Estel’s hands. “Do not drop it.”

“I hope I will not.” His palms were sweaty as he gripped the sword with two hands. He breathed hard, both from fear and from the situation. The first of the orcs descended from above, shouting in Black Speech. The boy guessed there were about thirty of them. ‘And only two of us,’ he thought, a sick feeling settling in his stomach.

He was breathing so hard that he was nearly hyperventilating. A hand gripped his shoulder; he felt ashamed as his eyes betrayed his fear.

“It is all right, Estel,” The elf whispered to him, “Just do not let your fear paralyze you.” He released the boy and nocked an arrow. “Stay behind that rock over there with Sirdal. Use the rock as a shield.”

The boy could only nod as he stumbled behind a large boulder. ‘I must be making a fool of myself,’ he thought as his fingers tightened so hard on the hilt that his knuckles were white. He briefly closed his eyes, trying to remember everything his brother and Glorfindel had told him about orcs and their fighting tactics.

A guttural cry made him open in his eyes. He saw that one of the creatures had fallen with an arrow through his throat. Glancing sharply at Haldir, he saw the elf was rapidly shooting arrows, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“Estel, look in front of you!”

As he first, he narrowly dodged an orc arrow.

“Stay alert!”

“I am trying!”

This time the elf didn’t answer. An orc had come too close and he hurriedly stabbed it with his arrow. As Estel watched, an orc lumbered towards him, blade raised above his head. Time seemed to slow at that moment, and he could faintly hear Haldir shout his name.

Without thinking he ducked, parried the blow, and stabbed the orc through the chest. The creature gaped at him for a moment, and then fell backwards.

The boy fought the urge to retch as he stepped over the dead being and block another blow aimed at him. As he and Haldir were gradually surrounded, he felt a sudden surge of anger, of…hate, oddly enough. He began shouting in Elvish, hacking ruthlessly. His grey eyes were as steel, hardening and glittering with ferocity. And it felt good to release his wrath.

But the moment only lasted for an instant. He was still young, and his stamina was not that of either a fully-grown man or elf, for that matter. The youth felt his arms beginning to ache as he battled on. He held on to the sword the best he could; his fingers were stiff. The ankle began throbbing again as he put his weight on it.

Someone or something slammed into his back, making him stumble forward. He banged his chin on the ground, and bit his lip by accident. Blood formed around his mouth and he licked it away the best he could and tried to regain his footing. He yelped in pain and a heavy foot stepped on his right wrist and hand. Pain flared through his senses as a hand roughly wrenched his weapon away. He went for his dagger, but the point of a blade pressed to the back of his neck stopped him. The boy looked up into the dark eyes of an orc.

“What a fine little thing I’ve caught meself,” The orc laughed. “One that is not even an elf, but a child of Men.” He shoved Estel over onto his back, the tip of the sword against his throat now.

Fear and shock was evident in the youth’s eyes, though he tried to hide it. He struggled fruitlessly.

“Now that I’ve got you, what am I supposed to do with you?” the orc mused aloud. “Oh yes.” Stopping, he took an arrow in his hand. “See this, you little human?” He held it close to Estel’s face. “There’s poison on this, and if I stab it just here—” he forcefully pierced the boy’s shoulder, “You’ll die in a matter of days!”

A choked cry came from the boy’s lips, his eyes closing with the pain.

The orc laughed; the sound was unpleasant to ears used to the soft laugh of the Firstborn. “Wriggle all you like, your life’s over.”

Haldir heard Estel’s shout, and seeing the boy’s plight, he turned and threw the knife he always kept at his side at the orc. The Elven blade neatly cut a huge gash across the orc’s head, and he fell without another word.

Estel clumsily sat up, one hand gripping the arrow. Valar, it hurt so much! The wound, surprisingly, did not bleed much. The pain, however, was excruciating. He shut his eyes and forced himself to continue breathing. The words of the orc echoed in his mind, and he tried to push them away as he slowly sank against the rock.

Gradually, the sounds of the orcs died away as Haldir cut them down. The last of them ran off, seeing the elf had killed so many of their kind. As soon as the elf was sure they were gone, he ran to Estel’s side.

“Estel?” The boy did not look up, but hoarsely replied. “Just get it out. Please…it hurts!”

Gently removing the boy’s hand, Haldir inspected the wound. The arrow tip had gone deep, nearly piercing the shoulder through all the way. He sighed knowing what he had to do. “I cannot pull it out; I have to push it through the rest of the way. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded. “Do it quickly,” he managed to say.

The elf took hold of the shaft in his right hand, and with his left he braced the boy. “On the count of three.” he said. “Min,” he tightened his fingers. “Tâd…” Estel held his breath. “Neled.” Carefully, he eased the arrow forward. Estel gasped before he bit down on his lip, trying to mask his cries of pain. A tear made his way down his face, and he blinked. He hated appearing so weak before an elf, even with a friend.

Haldir inwardly winced as he finally was able to push the head through and cut it off. Estel slumped against the rock, blood slowly staining his shirt a bright red. “Haldir…he said it was poisoned,” he said through swollen lips. “I-I don’t know…”

The elf turned the arrow over in his fingers, ignoring the crimson stain. Estel was right; black liquid still stained the arrowhead and the shaft of the arrow. Gingerly, he wrapped the tip in a piece of cloth and stuffed it into his pack. He found more cloth and tore it into strips. “Could you unbutton your shirt?”

The boy tried. “My fingers feel numb,” he said haltingly.

Reaching over, the elf caught the limp fingers and eased them to the boy’s lap. He undid the button, and pulled the tunic away to see the wound.

Blood still flowed, though it was already slowing. Black tinged the sides of the wound. Haldir bandaged it the best he could and helped the boy to his feet. “We must keep moving; it is not safe here.”

“Magol lîn...” the boy mumbled, trying to keep his eyes from closing.

The elf retrieved his blade, grimacing at the black blood that coated it. Reluctantly he slid it back into its scabbard and turned his attention back on Estel. “Can you walk?”

“I think so,” He took a few steps and faltered. Haldir caught and easily carried the boy in his arms. “You cannot,”

“No…”

“It is all right—you are not a burden to me, young one.” He whistled to Sirdal. The mare docilely followed her master. She gently nudged his arm, but Haldir ignored her for the moment.

“Estel? Estel, look at me.”

Slowly, the youth turned unfocused eyes on him.

“You must not fall asleep. Do you hear me, Estel?” His voice went up a pitch when Estel did not respond right away.

“Aye...who could not? You are as loud as a múmak.” He weakly grinned. “I will…try…” He closed his eyes and concentrated on simply inhaling and exhaling, trying to disregard the hot flame of pain in his shoulder.

Haldir could not help but smile that that. Even near Mandos’ Halls, the child was still as endearing as ever. What would Elrond and his sons say to him if they found that out Estel had passed from this earth? Unconsciously, he tightened his arms around the limp frame in a protective embrace.

He could not let Námo have this one yet.

TBC…

Translations

Yrch – Orcs

Daro – stop

Ta naegra – that hurts

Min – one

Tâd – two

Neled – three

Magol lîn – your sword

Haldir’s age is unknown. I think most people assume he’s older than Legolas, but even that doesn’t give us much (The movie-makers said Legolas was 2,931—which was actually the year Aragorn was born in—but it’s doubtful he was actually was that old). I’ve decided place his age at around 3,000 some years of age.

“His hair was as dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon it was set a circlet of silver; his eyes were grey as a clear evening, and in them was a light like the light of stars. Venerable he seemed as a king crowned with many winters, and yet hale as a tried warrior in the fulness of his strength. He was the Lord of Rivendell and mighty among both Elves and Men.” Many Meetings, FotR. So there you have it - grey eyes. I find it odd that so many other writers put it as blue and even brown.

Thanks goes to Fiondil for pointing out a few errors.

The sun had already disappeared by the time Haldir descended the Dimrill stair down into Nanduhirion. He did not stop, however, for fear there was no time for that. He did not have much farther; half a day at the most. The elf, still holding Estel, mounted his mare, and with a light click of heels they were off, heading for the Golden Wood.

On the way down, neither had said much. Estel had remained oddly quiet, only crying out if his wound was jostled sharply. His answers to Haldir’s inquiries were short and curt. He seemed half-conscious now, his eyes cloud and partially lidded. Whatever poison in that arrow was working fast, yet not fast enough to kill him instantly. The boy closed his eyes for a moment, until his companion gently prodded his good shoulder. He opened them again, glaring weakly.

“Haldir…” he mumbled.

“What did I tell you about sleeping?”

“Not sleeping…resting my eyes,” Estel protested, blinking slowly to clear his vision. A sharp pain lanced his temples, and he bit down on his tongue to stifle a groan of pain. His fingers clumsily tightened on Haldir’s cloak and he tried to pull himself up into a better sitting position.

“Do not do that either,” the elf said, a bit sternly, “Keep them open until I say you can close them.”

“And what will happen if I do?”

“I will—” The elf thought for a moment. “I will tell your brothers how you nearly fell on me when first met. I should think they would like to know that.”

A faint grin crossed his face. “Very well. I will try.” He grimaced and reached one hand up to his shoulder. Haldir pushed it down. “Does it hurt?” he questioned.

“Is it nighttime?” the boy replied, “Of course.” He blinked again, letting his head fall back to rest on Haldir’s shoulder. Focusing on anything was impossible at the moment. Sparks and flashes of light danced before his eyes as he stared up at the sky. “There is nothing you can do at the moment.”

“I know. Yet, I wish there was.” The elf’s voice was soft.

----------------

The night wore on, in more ways that one. Conversation died down as Estel fought against exhaustion and pain. He tried everything he knew, but it was a losing battle. Time and time again he closed his eyes, only to be prodded by Haldir. At last, he could stand it no more.

“Stop it!” he said, his tone sharp. Haldir had once again poked him, and his patience was wearing thin.

“No,” the elf said simply.

He tiredly pushed himself up on the horse and slightly turned his head in order to see Haldir’s face. “Please, just one minute.” Tears formed in his eyes, even though he did not know why. “One minute…”

Haldir shook his head. “It would not go well,” he replied, avoiding the boy’s gaze. “Understand, Estel, you might not regain consciousness again.”

Much to his surprise, Estel only turned his head away, and leaned forward. “Could we stop for a bit?”

At first, he hesitated. But seeing the dejected slumped form of the youth, he nodded. “For a few minutes. Then we must go on.” He allowed Sirdal to walk a bit before he stopped.

Estel pushed himself off, landing on his feet. His legs buckled under him and he would have fallen if not for Haldir’s hand that kept him upright. The elf helped him sit down on the grassy, and he gratefully leaned against a rock and sighed. He did not move when Haldir placed a hand on his forehead. “I know,” he said before the elf could speak. “I knew it for some time, and there is nothing you can do.”

His companion dropped his hand, and reached out to see the boy’s wound. Gently undoing the buttons on the shirt and removing the bandage, he hid a grimace. The deep puncture was no longer bleeding, which was a relief. But the edges of the jagged hole were dark, and when he gently laid a hand over the wound, it was hot to the touch, as hot was Estel’s fever. The boy flinched back. “There is nothing you can do,” he dully repeated.

For once, Haldir wished he had some training in the healing arts. Frustration welled up in him, and he sighed heavily as replaced the bandage and shirt and helped Estel stand. “I am sorry I could not do more,” he quietly said.

“But you have already done much.” Stumbling on his feet, Estel looked up at him. “You believed me, and you were willing to take me to Lórien.” With some difficulty, he got up on the horse.

“Perhaps,” The elf answered, also mounting. “But do you think I would leave you, Elrond’s son, out in the wild?”

“I thought so when you pointed your arrow at me.”

He smiled. “You startled me. For I did not expect a young boy to come tumbling down a hill and into my camp. ’Twas a good thing you did not roll into my fire.”

At this, Estel could not hold back a chuckle. “Well, it was a good thing you did not shoot me.” He bit his lip when they were suddenly jolted. Haldir’s arm tightened around his waist. “Else I do not think I would have made it this far,” he managed to finish.

The elf did not reply. He merely bent forward and pressed his heels firmly into Sirdal’s sides, increasing their speed. He disliked pushing her to the limit, but if they did not hurry…

He shoved the thought away. No, it would not come to that. He had seen before what grief looked like on the face of Elrond and his children; it had been painful the first time. The second time would be heart-wrenching.

They were silent for some time before Estel finally asked another question. “How long have you been a warrior?” Talking helped him keep his mind off his injury, and to stave off his weariness.

Haldir was forced to think hard. “Too many years,” He finally replied. “At least a thousand years, and maybe more than that.”

“Did you ever…get used to it?” the boy asked. “The killing, I mean.” He swallowed thickly.

He did not reply at first. Estel thought the elf was ignoring the question until Haldir softly answered, “Nay, not ever.” He paused. “You did well against the orcs, Estel. You have been taught well.”

The boy smiled at this, though self-consciously. Never did he except to hear such high praise coming from an elf he had only know for a few days. “Thank you.”

---------------

They were only hours away from their destination when Estel could not longer resist unconsciousness. The past few weeks were taking their toll on his body and spirit, and he felt he could no longer endure it. His glazed eyes met Haldir’s eyes. “Goheno nin…” he managed to whisper before they closed, and his grip on Sirdal’s mane slipped, fingers limply dropping on his lap.

“No!” The words broke from his lips, and Haldir leaned forward and spoke directly into Estel’s ears. “Elrondion, now is not the time!” he tapped the side of his head. “Wake up!”

But Estel did not awaken. Haldir’s breathe caught in his throat as he urged his horse even faster. With one hand he held the boy. “Stay with me, young one,” he murmured to the comatose boy. “Your family will never forgive me if you do not. Elrond—he will have my head.”

At the name of his father, the boy stirred. “Ada,” he mumbled under his breath. “Mas le, Ada?” The softly spoken Elven words carried a note of pleading and anguish.

“You will see him soon, Estel,” the elf was quick to assure him. “Very soon.”

But Estel did not seem to find comfort in these words. He began moving restlessly. “No…” He flung out an arm, nearly smacking Haldir in the face. “Please…” Tears began making their way down his face. “You promised! You promised!” His breathing hitched. “A-ada?” The last word was little more than a whisper, but the hurt in the voice of the youth was plain.

Haldir place his hand on the boy’s head and guided it to his shoulder. “Hush, Estel,” he said softly. “He is in Lórien, not Rivendell.”

“L-lórien?”

“Remember what I told you—it was not your father who hurt you.” He swallowed hard. “It was someone else, Estel, someone else.”

“He…broke his promise…” A distressed look was on the boy’s face.

“What promise?”

A sob broke free. “I w-would always be known as his s-son.”

Haldir soothingly stilled the boy’s frantic movements. “You are, Estel. He loves you still.” He spoke with as much conviction he could muster into his voice. “You were ever his son. This I swear to you.”

To his relief, his words seemed to penetrate the nightmare of Estel, and he ceased to move. His dark hair fell in waves across his face as his head lolled to the side.

Haldir drew his lips together into a thin line and bent forward, hunching over the boy and his horse. Only a few more hours—he was close, so close to home. He sped on, spurred as he saw the sun rising; a new day was dawning.

---------------

He was crouching low on one of the trees of Cerin Amroth, one hand on his bow, and the other on an overhanging branch. He appeared to be listening. “Pen anglenna,” he said softly to one beside him.

“I cerir?”

“Galadhel.” Eyes widened. “Ha muindor mîn!” The elf sprang from the branch and leapt down, barely making any sound as his feet touched the ground. As they stood waiting, a lone elf on a horse came riding in their midst. His clothes were stained from travel, and more alarming, black orc blood along with the blood that was crimson. Though his pace was fast, he immediately slowed when he saw the two other elves.

“Haldir? We did not expect you to be back so soon.” Orophin called out. “Did you not reach Imladris?”

“I will explain later, brother.” Haldir hurriedly answered as he slowed his mount, and they saw he was holding a person in his arms. “Rúmil, seek out Lord Elrond. Tell him I have his son, and that he is in need of care.” He dismounted Sirdal and nodded to his youngest brother. “Take her there. Also tell the Lady that there is something amiss in Rivendell.”

“Son? Is this not a—”

“Not now, Orophin,” Haldir cut him short, his words edged with tension. “I need you to find a healer. Now.”

Wisely his brothers obeyed him, swiftly disappearing among the mallorn trees. Haldir hardly gave them a glance; he was practically running. He hoped there would still be time.

---------------

The doors of the meeting room are roughly shoved open. Rúmil ran into the room, half-breathless. He bowed briefly to his Lord and Lady before giving his message to Elrond. The peredhel immediately stood, alarm in his eyes.

“Do you know why he is here?”

The Lórien elf shook his head. “I am not sure. But he did say the there was something amiss in Imladris,” he replied, “You should find them with the healers, I think, judging by the—” before he could finish his sentence the elf lord was already out the door, followed closely by Glorfindel and Erestor. He blinked, looking towards Celeborn, unsure of what to do next.

“Haldir said it was the son of Elrond? I thought both of them were in Mirkwood at this time.”

Again, Rúmil shook his head. “My lady, he was not Elfkind, oddly enough, but a child of Men. And even stranger is the fact that he bears a great resemblance to Elrond.” He straightened his cloak as he finished speaking. A silence hung over the room.

“So he lives,” Celeborn said, “I thought him gone from this world, along with those he was born to.”

“The last time I saw him, he was only ten years of age—a mere child,” Gandalf told him, “He should be sixteen now.”

“You may go, Rúmil,” Galadriel dismissed the elf as she stood from her seat.

“Where do you go?”

“To the healers. If something is truly wrong at the Last Homely House, then it concerns me, too,” she replied as she left.

---------------

Elrond walked rapidly among the trees, a worried look in his face. What on Arda had happened when he was gone? A touch on his sleeve made him turn his head.

“You have any—?”

“No.” The peredhel shook his head. “I do not know.” Distractedly he climbed a winding staircase and pushed the door open, only to collide with another elf. Placing his hand on the banister he steadied himself. “Haldir?”

The Lórien elf’s eyes shone with relief. “Thank the Valar you are here.”

“What has happened?”

“There is much that needs saying, but for now, all you need to know is that your son has been injured by a poisoned arrow.” He pulled Elrond inside the chamber. “The healers have treated his wound, but he refuses to wake up.”

The elf lord brushed him aside, finally seeing Estel for the first time. Scratches and bruises marred the youthful face, the dark brown, almost black locks of hair were caked with dirt and dried blood. But it was the paleness of his face that shocked him the most. Sitting down beside the bed, he gently reached out toward him with a hand. “Estel?” he said.

The boy stirred, but his eyes remained closed. He muttered something inaudible.

Elrond rested his hand on the youth’s forehead. “Iôn?”

Suddenly Estel pulled away from him. His eyes flew open and fastened on the face of his father. “No,” he said hoarsely, shrinking away. Elrond was surprised to see terror and hurt in those eyes. He sat back.

“No, what?”

“I’m sorry, my lord—I never meant to…never meant to.” The tears began to fall, unchecked. “I’m sorry. Please.”

“What are you sorry for?” The dark-haired peredhel asked. Something was wrong here, yet he did not know what. He tried to take one of Estel’s hands, but the boy jerked away from him.

“You broke your word, Ada.” The softly spoken Elvish words were broken. “Why?”

Elrond was at a loss. “I do not understand—” he began before Haldir suddenly interrupted him.

“Allow me, my lord,” he said, looking in question. When Elrond nodded he crossed over to the bed. Clasping Estel’s hand in his, he spoke quietly.

“You are not in Rivendell, young one,” he rubbed the back of the youth’s hand. “We are in the Golden Wood.”

“Lothlórien?” Estel had somewhat relaxed under his friend’s ministrations. His fingers tightened around Haldir’s, gripping them so hard that his own hand trembled.

“Aye.” The elf continued to talk in the same tone of voice. “Remember what I told you? You are safe now, Estel.”

As his breathing slowed, Estel was able to focus more, and he now saw the worried looks of the elves about him. The grey eyes sought for Haldir, then lighted upon that of his father. Unconsciously, he stiffened. The golden-haired elf pressed him down. “It is only your father, Estel.”

The boy merely nodded, avoiding his father gaze. His entire body hurt, and he all he wanted to do was sleep. “I wish to rest.”

“Then we will leave.” Haldir rose, but estel stopped him. “Could you stay?” he questioned, softly.

The elf glanced at Elrond, who only nodded. “But later I expect a full account of what is going on, Haldir.” He said.

“Wait—Haldir, the letter…” With some difficulty, the youth pulled the back from his pocket and handed it to his companion. He pulled the covers up and closed his eyes.

Haldir gave the letter to Elrond. “Do whatever you wish with it. I will come and speak with you.”

The half elf gave his son one last glance before he left to seek out the others. As he unfolded the paper and glanced at it, his gaze darkened. Though he could only read a few words, he knew what this language was, and he feared the message behind it.

---------------

“What does it say, Gandalf?” Elrond asked. They were once again the large room, but the only occupants were he, Gandalf, and Galadriel. “Ill tidings?”

The wizard furrowed his brows. “It speaks of something grave indeed,” he replied, “Someone seeks for Vilya.”

“Who?”

“I do not know. It is unsigned. Nor does this say who it is addressed to.” He sighed. “But the language is Valarin, and there are few who know this tongue.”

“You think it may be one of the Istari who is behind this,” Galadriel softly interjected.

“Perhaps.” Gandalf absently replied.

Elrond wearily rubbed his forehead. “But who, Gandalf, and how did this one come by such knowledge? Or did all the Ainur know who the bearers of the Elven Rings of Power were?” He gave the wizard a meaningful look.

Gandalf pretended not to notice the look. “We were not given the knowledge, Elrond. In fact, I do not think any save I myself know.”

“That does not answer the question.” The half elf leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “How would this one know?”

“Have you talked with your son yet about this matter?” The Lady of the Golden Wood questioned.

“No,” the voice behind the single word was filled with pain. “Something troubles him,” He sighed. “There was fear and distrust when he looked at me, and I do not know why.”

---------------

Later that day, once he was sure Estel was resting, Haldir sought out Elrond to recount what Estel had told him. When the Lórien elf finished, Elrond was silent for a moment before speaking. “It is small wonder he feared me,” he said, “Who could blame him?”

“Yet he still loves you, my lord. Even when he thought you had sent him away, I was able to see he still believed in you.” Haldir replied. “Estel was rightfully named.”

The elf lord nodded, only partially paying attention to the other. “Tell Galadriel and Gandalf what you have just revealed to me.”

“Would it not be better if you yourself spoke to them?”

“Perhaps, but—” he glanced at the enclosed room. “I want to talk to him.”

“As you wish.” With a bow of his head, Haldir turned and left, disappearing as only an elf could.

Elrond slowly inhaled and closed his eyes. Haldir’s news had troubled him greatly. His heart ached for what his youngest had just been through, and he glanced down on the ring on his finger.

Vilya, the Ring of Air. The ring that Gil-galad that bestowed upon him the day before he had died. He slowly rubbed the blue jewel with a finger, feeling its smoothness. He had not asked for this, yet this duty had been handed to him. If someone greater than he in power had this in his hands, he would be capable of taking on Sauron himself. The thought was disturbing indeed.

Before he had spoken with Haldir, Gandalf had translated the letter into the high tongue. The letter had been filled with the plans and ideas of someone who longed for power—but it was not all.

It had also mentioned Estel, though not in name. The traitor had said that he once he had brought down Elrond, the heir of Isildur would be next. That is, if he still lives, were the exact words. For the wilderness will not be kind to one who has grown up among the elves, untried and young.

Elrond clenched his fist. He would die before any such thing happened, before any more harm could come to his son, he swore it. Grey eyes hardened like steel as he tightened his mouth.

“You can hide no more,” he said softly. “You have been found out, and there is no place for you to go.”

---------------

Grey eyes opened and slowly blinked, puzzlement showing in them. Where was he? No longer in the wild, for sure. But definitely not home, either. The architecture of the room was different from Rivendell; the wood was whitish, and the ceiling slanting. Graceful curves decorated the bed he was in, and the blankets were thinner and made of a materiel foreign to him. He pulled them closer, frowning as he tried to make sense of his surroundings…Slowly, he began to remember.

Lothlórien…he was in the Golden Wood…but where? Sitting up, Estel shakily propped himself up on his elbows, wincing as his wound protested the movement. The room spun, forcing him to close his eyes until the vertigo ceased. He drew in his breath slowly as he fully sat up. His body still ached, and he felt unnaturally warm. He glanced toward the dresser at the side; one candle burned brightly, and a basin stood next to it. His boots and the shirt he had formerly been wearing lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of his bed, and dagger on top of them.

Soft sounds made him glance at the door. It was slowly being pushed opened, revealing the figure of his father shrouded in the dim light of morning. Estel tensed, his hands gripping the sheets.

Elrond noted the look as he walked soundlessly into the room, his eyes never leaving the wide-eyed gaze of the boy’s. Sitting down on the bed, he crossed his arms and did not speak.

Estel spoke, though haltingly. “You know what has happened?”

“Vaguely,” the peredhel replied, “Only from what Haldir told me.” Pain flickered in his eyes as he bent forward. “I’m sorry.”

“For what happened? It should not be you, but I who is sorry.” The boy wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them, his dark hair tumbling about his flushed face. “If only I had seen through his ploy, I would still be in Rivendell.” The words began tumbling out. “If only I had been wiser, and had not pried.” His breathing hitches. “For nearly a month, I thought it was you. I thought you banished me and—” he paused to roughly swipe away a tear, whispering something around his sobs.

“And what?” Elrond bent lower until he was at eye level with the boy.

“D-dis—o-owned m-me,” Estel shut his eyes, tightly, hating the fact his emotions were displayed and how his voice shook. He was no longer a child, and still the tears came as easily as they had years ago. With a frustrated motion he swiped at them.

A pair of strong arms suddenly enfolded him, and on an instinct, he pressed his face against his father’s shoulder, his hands tightly clutching the sleeves of Elrond’s robes, no longer caring about his tears.

The elf lord ran his fingers through the tousled dark strands, his other arm still wrapped around the form of his adopted son. “You did well, iôn nîn. I blame you for nothing,” he quietly whispered. “None of this was your doing. He would have found some other way to…send you away?”

“W-was it the l-letter?” Estel murmured into the fabric.

“Aye. Whoever this person was, he was no fool. However,” Elrond smiled. “He never expected you to find your way here.”

The youth snorted at this. “Not a f-fool?” he asked, his breathing still hitching. He felt the form of his father move when the elf laughed. “I think he would not have allowed me to leave if he was as wise as you say he is.”

“That only would have made your departure more difficult.”

“Maybe.” Estel looked up, face flushed and eyes red-rimmed. He wiped the traces of wetness from his cheek wit the back of sleeve and moved away from his father, somewhat embarrassed of his previous show of emotion. “What will you do now?”

“For the moment, there is little I can do,” Elrond replied, “Except discuss things with Galadriel and Gandalf about this, and hope that we can do something about this.”

“Gandalf?”

“Do you not remember the Grey Pilgrim when he visited us only six years ago, with the dwarves?”

He frowned in thought. “I think so,” he finally said, “Vaguely.” He rubbed his forehead lightly with the back of his hand.

Elrond reached over and gently took Estel’s hand. “I think it would be good if you rested now,” he quietly commented. “You look ready to fall over.”

“But, Ada, I only just—”

“No.”

With a scowl the boy lay back against the pillows, wincing slightly. “I suppose you will make me stay in bed for a week.”

“That depends on your condition.”

“Condition?” Estel glared at his father.

“Yes,” Elrond replied, “And I want to see that wound of yours before you rest.”

With no small amount of reluctance the boy obeyed him, unbuttoning his shirt. The peredhel removed the bandage gently. Estel closed his eyes and tensed when the fingers probed the puncture. “Does it hurt much?”

“Only some,” The youth answered him. “And only when you poke it.”

“That means it is healing,” Elrond said dryly as he reapplied the bandage and moved over to a basin that sat on the dresser. His son watched him through half-lidded eyes, fingers clumsily closing the clasps on his tunic. He sighed softly when the elf lord ran a cool cloth over his face. Closing his eyes fully, he turned on his side, his arm curled around his pillow.

“Ada?” he said softly when he felt someone pull the blankets over him.

“Will you stay with me?” He clenched his pillow a little more tightly, somewhat hesitant with his request.

“Where would I be if not here?”

Estel smiled at that and said, “What about when I’m a man and on my own? Will you still be around to do this for me?”

“Iôn nîn, I will always be there when you need me. Never forget that.” Elrond sat down in the chair next to the bed, letting his fingers rest on the boy’s head. “Now sleep.” His voice deepened as he spoke the command. “Just sleep.”

Estel’s breath evened out as he obeyed, and he did not feel the gentle kiss his father laid on his forehead.

Elrond leaned back in his chair as he watched the dark-haired child sleep. So young, and yet he had already been through needless pain… The elf sighed deeply as he glanced at the pile of Estel’s belongings on the ground, and he got up to gather them, grimacing at the dust and blood coating the shirt. His fingers found the dagger and grasped it. He frowned. He remembered that there was also a knife. Where was it now?

A soft knock on the door alerted him that someone was at the door. Quickly straightening up Elrond walked over and opened the door. “Lady Galadriel,” he quietly acknowledged her.

“How does he fare?” she asked.

“Well enough for the moment. He sleeps now.” Elrond replied. “I will stay with him for today.”

“That is good.” She laid a hand on Elrond’s shoulder as she looked into the room at the still form. “Shall I send something up for you to eat?”

He nodded. “And something for Estel when he awakens.”

“As you wish.” When Elrond turned, she stopped him. “Eärendilion,”

“My lady?”

“I certainly hope your son is not as bad as your other children when he is in full health. I remember the destruction your sons caused during their stays here.” She smiled at him. “How we greatly feared them.”

“They were only elflings!” Elrond looked indignant. “Barely into adulthood.”

“And what about Arwen?”

Elrond glanced sharply. Was the Lady of Lórien smirking at him? “She was obedient, as far as I am concerned.”

“Indeed?” Galadriel raised any eyebrow. “Perhaps she did not tell you about the incident with my husband’s robes?”

Had Estel not been sleeping, Elrond would have raised his voice. “No, she did not tell me.” he replied, “Is it something I should be aware of?”

The Noldor elf placed a hand over her mouth and coughed. “You should ask Celeborn that.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Oh, Eärendilion.” she smiled again. “It really was nothing. Although Celeborn and Arwen avoided each other for a few days, it ended well. ” Her face clouded for one moment. “But this all took place before my daughter left.”

The half-elf looked away at this. “I know.” he answered quietly. “But much as changed.” His gaze became distracted. “It was Estel. The child brought a joy that Imladris had long forgotten. It is strange he did so much for us, and yet, in a way, he did not.” His eyes rested on the form lying in the bed. “He was simply himself.” Elrond glanced over at Galadriel. “You do not seem surprised.”

“And why would I be?” The lady chided gently him like a mother would. “For I could see for myself the change.” Her grey eyes were full of warmth. “When your sons visited me only a few months ago, I had the opportunity to observe them laughing over some private joke.” She turned to Elrond. “It has been a long, long time since I have seen my grandchildren truly happy. And I could see it also in you.”

“That is why I am thankful he is my son.”

For a moment they looked at Estel, who was unaware he was in the center of their attention. “You never did answer my first question, peredhel.” The Lady of Light commented.

The other heaved sighed, but his eyes twinkled. “He is worse than all three of my children put together. Only Eru knows where the boy finds his energy.”

They shared a laugh before Galadriel bade him a good day and Elrond returned to his place beside the bed. Estel had curled up tightly, arm still wrapped around the pillow. His hair fell about his face, concealing the features of a boy that was really no longer a child, Elrond noted with no small amount of sadness.

“May the Valar watch over you when I cannot,” he whispered as he watched him sleep. “For though I have not yet told you, the issue of an imposter is grave indeed, and will bode nothing good for any of us.”

TBC…

Translations:

Goheno nin – forgive me

Mas le? – Where are you?

Pen anglenna – (Some) one approaches

I cerir? – Who does?

Galadhel – Elf of Lothlórien. Derived from Galadhrim, meaning “elves of Lothlórien” according to Dragon Flame.

Ha muindor mîn – It is our brother

Iôn – son

Eärendilion – “son of Eärendil”