Always The Same

Disclaimer:

The characters, places, and events are creations of J.R.R. Tolkien. No profit was or will be made from this story. It was written solely for entertainment.

A/N: As always many thanks to my beta Erulisse.

 Summary:

Sometimes it isn´t easy to be the son of the King. Three youngsters are forced to realize this bitter experience.

Featuring: Elladan, Elrohir, Legolas, Eldarion   

Rating:

PG-13

Title:

“Always The Same”

 Author:

 Laikwalâssê

Part1: elf

“Very well done, Legolas.“

The young elf glowed at the praise from the archery master. His contentment however vanished from his face, as he looked up and into the scowling face of Thoran. The young prince of Mirkwood had been advanced a level due to his skill with the bow and was now by far the youngest member of this group.

Most of his classmates were very fond of their young comrade but not so Thoran. Before now, he had been the best of his class. He was jealous and angry, believing that Legolas was favoured only because he was the King´s son. He was making the life of the young prince as miserable as possible whenever he could, never missing a chance to harass and mistreat the much younger elf at any opportunity behind the adults’ backs.

After an overenthusiastic start Legolas´ joy in archery lessons had considerably lessened and he now dreaded every day he had to face Thoran and his companions. He had masked his anguish well, not wanting his father or the lesson-master to notice. He felt that they would interfere and make everything worse. Sometimes he had considered making poor shots on purpose only to placate the other youths but that had gone completely against his pride and joy and led to the same result: - questions and actions from both the archery master and his father.

And so he suffered the constant mobbing of the older elf hoping that Thoran would one day leave him alone. Yesterday as Thoran had again followed him after their lessons Legolas had run all the way home wanting nothing more than to be away from his tormentor. He had excused himself before dinner and gone to his chambers to be alone with his shame of not being courageous enough to stand his ground.

Wondering again what had caused his son´s odd behaviour of late the King checked on his child but received the same answer as always these last weeks. “Ada, I’m fine, only tired. Don’t worry.” Having long recognized that his son was troubled by something, the King also knew that he would receive no further answer this evening at least. He kissed his boy goodnight and vowed that he would find out.

……………………………………………..

The next day however was even worse. Thoran watched every move of the young prince like a hawk until Legolas was so nervous that he indeed practiced badly, much to the joy of Thoran. And to make things even worse the archery master wanted to speak with him after they had finished. Legolas sighed knowing that there was no way to ignore the master.

“If you tell him anything, you will regret it,” Thoran hissed as the young prince walked past him leaving the training grounds. Swallowing Legolas entered the little hut, where all the practice items were kept and looked at the archery master already waiting for him. He tried his best to sound casual.

“You wanted to speak with me?" he asked, cringing at the slightly shrill tone of his voice. The archery master nodded and did not indicate if he had heard the slightly panicked tone. “Yes, Legolas, please sit down.” he said with a smile, and gestured the young elf over to a nearby chair.

Legolas sighed, sat down and waited for the unavoidable question. As the master had sat himself down too he looked intently at his young charge. “Legolas, what is it? You are late every morning, you no longer have any interest in what I want to teach you, and your progress has slowed if not come to a still-stand. What has caused all this?”

Swallowing Legolas did not know what to say. The archery master had recognized that something was amiss. He nearly laughed. Had he really thought that he could fool this old elf? He longed to be honest, to tell the master all, but he was too afraid how Thoran would react afterwards. All would become even worse and….

“Legolas...?” Snapping back to attention the young prince looked up. “I do not know what you mean. Maybe I need to pay better attention and practice harder….,” he begun and knew instantly that this lie sounded as hollow as it was.

Letting out a deep sigh the archery master stood up. “Alright, young one, if you are bored and preoccupied then we should think of a change in your schedule.” Knowing that he had disappointed his teacher he directed a pleading look at the eyes still looking intently at him. “I’m sorry,” was all he could mutter and all but ran outside, followed by a frowning and concerned look from his master.

………………………………………………………………….

The next morning Legolas made haste to dress and break his fast to arrive early at the training grounds, in fact much earlier than Thoran. He wanted to calm down, to concentrate and to make up for the previous day’s bad performance. As he rounded a cluster of bushes however he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. Thoran and two of his friends stood there already waiting for him.

“Up so early, princeling?“ Thoran sneered effectively blocking the path with his companions. While Legolas stopped and considered whether to go back or take another path toward the training grounds, the three were on him grabbing his arms. “Let me go!,“Legolas growled and tried to break free. Being the younger and not as tall he had no chance to stand his ground.

Restraining the struggling youngster Thoran brought his mouth near Legolas ear.

“I told you, you would regret it and now I will show you what happens to little princelings that disobey my orders.”

“I told him nothing,” Legolas shouted and tried again to break free.

Before he could blink a piece of cloth was shoved into his mouth effectively blocking any further noise. “Shht, we do not want to attract any attention, do we?” Thoran said, and begun to bind Legolas´ hands behind his back. Now, really afraid of what they wanted to do with him, the young elf struggled wildly but to no avail.

A hard blow to his face brought him to his knees and tears to his eyes. Before he could react he felt another blow and all went black. The first sensation he felt as he awoke was the pain in his head. He slowly opened his eyes and blinked at the twilight that greeted him. Was it already dawn?

Trying to move he recognized that he was sitting against a tree with his hands bound behind him. As the memory rushed back at him his head snapped up and he looked into the grinning face of Thoran. “Look, our princeling is awake again” he grinned gesturing his companions over. Ignoring the three Legolas looked around to determine where they had brought him. He knew this area; a good distance away from the palace in a small clearing surrounded by thick old oaks. Very clever, no one would find them by chance or hear any shouts. As if reading his thoughts Thoran laughed.

“Right, right princeling. No one will hear us here.” Angrily Legolas looked up. “Release me at once. They will miss me and then you will be in serious trouble.” Stepping closer Thoran crouched down and grabbed Legolas´ chin painfully.

“Shut up. No one will miss you before dark and through your early start you have given us plenty of time to teach you some manners. And besides, this Sindarin upstart you call your father needs a lesson too and you are the perfect tool for it.” As Thoran released him Legolas began to shiver. This was no longer simple mobbing.

Thoran was dangerous. He was one of these elves who never tolerated that the majority of Silvan elves were ruled by a Sindar King. Old grudges and quarrels from the time Oropher, Thranduil’s father, took the rule over the wood elves had never died out completely. Thoran wanted to harm him only to show the King his contempt. He closed his eyes. He was really afraid now and he had not long to wait as the first blows rained down on him. Helpless as he was he tried as best as possible to turn away from the blows but was unable to protect any part of his body from the pain. He did not know how much time had passed and as his head was slammed against the tree trunk again he let it fall forward without making the effort to raise it again. Having succeeded so far to not let out a cry he could not stifle the painful moan when a boot connected with his ribs.

As a hand jerked his hair he was forced to look into Thoran´s flushed face. “No longer so proud, are we, princeling?,“ he sneered. Even if he had wanted to, with all the pain coursing through his body, he was not able to utter something. Angrily Thoran released his hair. A real cry was torn from his throat as a boot connected with his bound right arm and all went black, as he felt the bone snap.

……………………………………………….

When he awoke again he felt weak and dizzy. Blood trickled slowly from his nose and mouth and it had started to rain. The cold made him shudder. With a considerable effort he raised his head and paled ever further as he saw his tormentors still standing before him. No, this could not be. He could take no more.

Some sort of argument must have taken place, because Thoran was talking angrily with his two companions. “Thoran, stop this. He has had enough.  We wanted to scare him, but this has gone too far,“ one of Thoran´s companions said. Thoran inhaled sharply and shoved the other elf forcefully.

“You weakling. Do you think we can stop now? And what then? We let him go and then he will run to his father and we can say ‘Oh, this was a misunderstanding?’ We must get rid of him, dispose of him so that no one can find him. That will be a real blow to the King, do you not think? He will never know what happened to his brat.”

“You are insane,” the other elf cried. “The King will find out and then he will kill us!“

Thoran smiled maliciously. “To avoid this you two should help me clear this mess and then shut your mouths. You agreed to this and now you are as guilty as I.” With growing panic in their eyes the two youngsters looked at each other, knowing they were trapped. Thoran only grinned and turned back to his captive.

Legolas closed his eyes. He had heard enough. Thoran would kill him now and he had never the chance to say goodbye to his father. Sitting there and shivering from the blood loss and his many injuries his eyes snapped open however as he heard a deep growl. Unbelieving he blinked at the sight before him. Two wargs were creeping into the clearing unsure at the moment which prey was the easiest.

Thoran and his companions acted instantly with the swiftness and grace of their race. They lept into the trees and scrambled along the branches in three different directions to their safety.

Legolas’ breath came in ragged gasps. Now his tormentors must not worry any longer who would take care of the mess they left behind. The wargs would tear him into pieces and they would get away with their crime. He now tore violently at his bonds uncaring of the pain that raced through his body. He cried on the top of his lungs for help but stopped as a warg was only inches away baring his teeth at him.

……………………………………………………………….

Thranduil walked down the hallway and out of the palace entry addressing one of the door guards. “Has my son returned from the training yet?“ he asked.

The guard saluted. “No my Lord. We haven´t seen him since the early morn.”

Nodding his thanks the King looked across the lawn his brow furrowed. It was already getting dark and Legolas should be home by now. In fact, he hadn’t seen his son today because he had left the palace at a very early hour. What was wrong with the boy? He was so withdrawn of late. If he did not know it better he had the feeling that his son was avoiding him.

Making up his mind he grabbed his cloak and started toward the training grounds looking displeased at the dark clouds now releasing a dazzling rain. Arriving there he looked around seeing that all lessons were closed by now and only a few elves could be seen. He walked to the archery hut and nearly bumped into the archery master, as he emerged from the building. The elf bowed. “I´m sorry, my Lord. I did not hear you approach. How can I be of service?”

“Have you seen my son? He has not arrived home yet the King asked, again looking around. As the archery master paled the King swallowed. “My Lord, I haven’t seen Legolas today. I thought he had skipped his lessons today because of our …conversation yesterday.” The King´s worry grew. “What conversation?” he asked, trying to sort out the puzzle.

The archery master took a deep breath and told the King of the observations he had made over the last weeks. He mentioned Legolas’ lessening enthusiasm, his changing moods and his lack of concentration. The King listened with growing dread. Yes he had noticed similar signs but he had not thought that it was this bad.

“Why did you not tell me?” he asked angrily but knew instantly that his anger was more directed at himself that the other elf.

“In fact I was on my way to you my Lord, since Legolas did not show up today. I talked to him yesterday and he assured me that all was well.” Thranduil smiled wryly. Yes that was the same as his son had told him again and again.

He swallowed again. Where was Legolas now? No one had seen him since the morning? Fear and guilt began to choke him. Legolas had not run off, had he? Shaking the lethargy from his mind he faced the archery master. “I must fetch a search party,“ he said far too calmly and turned. “I will assist you, my Lord,” the archery master assured and hastened alongside his King.

……………………………………………

Thalan reined in his mount sharply, as he heard a heart-piercing scream. Glancing at his companion, he saw by the frown crossing the ellon’s face that the sound was not imaginary. He held up his hand to stop the rest of his patrol.

The elves listened intently trying to determine where the scream had come from and who was in need of help. As they heard the typical growls of wargs their faces darkened. Now Thalan knew that someone was in dire need indeed. The six elves dismounted and instructed their mounts to hide and wait. They would be of no help anyway.

Silently but quickly they moved through the undergrowth. As they reached a clearing they swarmed out and made their bows ready. Wargs must be felled at once. Wounded they were unpredictable and even more dangerous.

Thalan took a deep intake of breath, as he saw an elf crouched beneath a tree feebly trying to avoid the attacking wargs. Fortunately for the victim the two beasts seemed in some sort of dispute over their prey, otherwise the elf would be dead by now. Not wanting to wait out the result of the beasts’ quarrel Thalan gave the signal and six arrows found their mark, killing the snarling beasts at once. Seconds after the beasts had fallen to the ground Thalan sprung forward and ran toward the slumped elf under the tree.

As he moved closer he stopped dead in his tracks as he saw that the elf did not crouch there but was bound with his back to the tree and the elf was no more than a child. Not believing his eyes he knelt down and reached out to touch the young elf to determine if he even was alive. Since they had reached the clearing the young elf had not moved or made any sound.

One of his patrol members quickly cut the rope that bound the young elf to the tree and Thalan caught the light body in his arms and laid him carefully on the ground. As the long blond hair fell away from the youngster´s face Thalan got his next shock. Lying there before him was none other than the King´s son. Shaking his head he looked up and into the face of his second-in-command. “What has happened here?” he asked.

Shrugging his shoulders in a helpless gesture the other elf looked as puzzled as his superior. Looking down again at the still figure the captain took in the sight before him. The youngster had a heavily bleeding bite wound on his right leg and many scratches on his tights. These were not surprising after being attacked by two wargs, but the other injuries Thalan could see did not fit that pattern at all.

The youngster had bruises and cuts all over his upper body and his right arm was surely broken. As Thalan felt along the ribs he was fairly sure that a few of then were at least cracked.

“What is the meaning of this?,“ he murmured, knowing that he would again get no answer; his companions were as clueless as he. It almost seemed that someone had tied the young prince to the tree and beaten him. As the wargs came they had fled leaving the young one to his doom. His face darkened. Hopefully this `someone` would never cross his path. Anyway the youngster needed his help now. Thalan looked up.

“Darion, Threlan, please fetch my bags and some water. We need to stop the bleeding and bandage that leg. Then boil water and make a herb-paste. I need to clean the scratches and bind the ribs.” Nodding the two elves hurried back to retrieve their horses and the needed items relieved that they could help in any way. Thalan and his second stayed by the youngster, covered him with a cloak, and spoke soothing words albeit they knew that most likely the boy could not hear them.

The last two warriors built up a fire and took watch. As Thalan with the help of his men had cleaned and bandaged the bite wound on the little one´s leg, washed the many cuts and dressed the bruised ribs he leaned back and took a deep breath. He had covered the youth with his cloak and laid him near the fire to rest. After coaxing some tea into the cold and shivering youngster he sat beside him still not sure what had happened here. What was the King´s young son doing so far from the palace? But more importantly, who had tied him to that tree and beaten him up? And most of all, why? There were too many questions and no answers.

As he looked up he saw the worried faces of his companions. Like him they were not really comfortable with the thought of the King´s son in their company and in such a state. Thalan wanted to wait an hour or two to give the youth some time to rest. He was not really awake during the ministration and was surely afraid and confused. Right now he was resting as comfortably as the situation allowed. Thalan would breathe a sigh of relief when he could give up his charge into more capable hands.

……………………………………………………..

As Thranduil reached the palace after his talk with the archery master his seneschal was awaiting him at the top of the stairs. “My Lord, I’ve someone here you should hear out before….” Interrupting his aide with an impassioned gesture the King did not even stop. “Not yet, Calan, I´m on my way to organize a search party.“

Many years of service had given Calan the confidence to stand firm. “But, my Lord, young Bregan is here. He has something interesting to tell.“ This got the desired reaction from the King. He stopped and retraced his steps. Bregan was Legolas best friend. Maybe he did know something?

“You are right, as always,” the King said with a small smile. “I want to speak with him at once!” Calan smiled back and turned. “Of course, my Lord, I’ve already sent him to your study.” As the King, followed by his advisor, entered his study he strode directly toward Bregan, who was accompanied by his father. Both father and son bowed before the King and Thranduil inclined his head. He had no time for pleasantries.

Looking for permission the King knelt at the child´s eye-level and smiled. “Hello, Bregan. You have something to tell me?” Chewing his lip the youngster looked up at his father and after an encouraging smile he nodded. “My Lord, I think I know where Legolas is,” he begun while shifting a little bit closer toward his father. Thranduil blinked. Until an hour ago he had not even known that his son was missing. What was going on here? Trying to calm down he swallowed not liking the sound of this one bit.

With some effort he smiled again at the child trying not to frighten him anymore. “And where do you think my son is Bregan?,“ he asked with strained patience.

Shifting nervously the boy took a deep breath. “I saw him this morning. He was on his way to the training fields. We wanted to meet there, but it was much too early. As I arrived he was not there. I searched around and saw that Thoran and his companions dragged him into the woods.” The King’s thoughts raced. Who was Thoran and what has this to do with his son?

Caressing the child´s cheek the King stopped the tumbling words. “Bregan slow down. Who is Thoran and what have they done?” With watery eyes the young one looked up again. “Thoran is an older novice and is always mobbing Legolas, but today he wanted to hurt him, I´m sure.”

Sobbing now the child buried his face in his father´s leg. “I´m sorry, my Lord,” he hiccupped, “but I was so afraid. I should have told you earlier.” The King reached out and stroked the boy’s hair. “It´s not your fault, I´m glad you have told me. We will find him.“

Rising, the King thanked the father and dismissed him. Now some things began to make sense. As the two elves left he slowly turned and looked at his seneschal. “Please ready the horses and summon the guards.” I will be off in a few minutes. I think I will have a chat with someone called Thoran.“ Knowing his sire exactly the aide knew that now was not the time for questions.

As his advisor left the King took a deep breath. The fear for his son nearly stole his breath away. What had they done to him? Had they really hurt him? His face darkened. If someone had hurt his son they would answer to him. Somehow the name Thoran did sound familiar, but he could not place the memory at the moment. With growing unease he knew that it was no pleasant memory. Changing his robe to his riding attire he grabbed his bow and his sword and left the room.

……………………………………….

Riding in front of a group of six elves the King´s thoughts were in turmoil. He still could not comprehend what he had learned a few hours ago. Legolas was in some sort of trouble and according to Bregan´s words in serious trouble. And he had not even recognized that his child had problems he could not solve on his own.

Was he so unobservant? Why had he missed seeing the obvious signs? Yes, he had noticed that his son was a bit edgy of late but had dismissed it as unimportant, as a way of growing up. Had he really grown this distant to his child that the boy could not confide in him any more? He shuddered. This would change. In the future he would spend much more time with his child, this he vowed silently to himself.

Lost in thought he jerked his head up, as he heard hoof beats coming their way. The King’s group came to a standstill awaiting the oncoming rider. The relatively relaxed posture of the guards indicated that it could only be an elf nearing them.

As the rider spotted the group he rained his mount sharply slowing his wild dash through the wood. The lone rider’s eyes widened as he saw who rode in front of the group. As he had reached his King he bowed his head and took a deep breath. Thranduil inclined his head as he recognized one of his border guards. “My Lord it’s good to meet you. In fact I was on my way to you.“

Sensing the urgency and uneasiness of the messenger the King stiffened. Instantly he knew that it had something to do with his missing son. “Well met and what news do you bring?” he asked cautiously. Quickly looking at the other elves and easily identifying them as a search party the messenger again took a deep breath. “My Lord, Captain Thalan sent me. We found your son a few hours ago deep in the woods. He was attacked by wargs. We came just in time and dispatched of them. I´m sorry my Lord but your son was wounded.“

Swallowing the King’s confusion grow. Wargs? What was Legolas doing so deep in the woods? “How severe are his injuries?“ the King asked barely able to contain his anxiety any longer. Swallowing the warrior frowned. What should he tell the King right now? That his son was kidnapped, tied to a tree, beaten and on top of all nearly killed by wargs? There would be time for details later. Now it was important to bring father and son together and put the little one quickly into capable hands.

He settled for a compromise. “He has a bite to his leg and a few nasty scratches, but nothing life threatening. My Captain has already taken care of him and is right now on his way to the palace only half an hour behind me.“ Breathing a sigh of relief that the patrol has found his son in time the King nodded at the warrior.

“Thank you, please continue toward the palace and inform the healers. I will meet with your captain.” Dipping his head the warrior again spurred his horse on. Thranduil held up his hand and the party continued. After half an hour the King spotted the announced patrol. This time he did not wait but urged his horse forward until he had reached the captain riding in front. His heart nearly missed a beat, as he saw the pale and unmoving form of his son in the captain’s arms. The eyes of the boy were disturbingly closed. Not really surprised to see his King Thalan stopped his mount. He bowed his head and quickly assured as he saw the King´s worried face.

“My Lord he’s only asleep. I’ve given him something against the pain.” Nodding Thranduil dismounted and gathered his son into his arms. After he had delivered his charge into the King´s hands Thalan dismounted also and knelt beside the King. Thranduil laid his son carefully on the ground and peered beneath the big cloak covering him. He narrowed his eyes as he spotted the numerous injuries his son has sustained. He saw the wrapped bite wound on the leg and the scratches on the right thigh but also the blooming bruises and raw marks on the slim wrists.

He had seen too many wounds in his long life to not know one thing with certainty. The bruises and cuts were surely not inflicted by some wild beasts. Instantly Bregan´s report came back to him. `This time they want to hurt him`. Sharply he looked up and directed a disapproving glance at his captain. Sighing Thalan looked back at his sire. “There’s another story behind this that I haven’t discovered yet,” he answered indicating the many bruises.

Knowing that he was directing his anger at wrong person the King stood, carefully cradling his son to his chest. “I´m sorry, Captain. I know what you did for my son and I´m grateful. The culprit is who caused these injuries is known to me, I did not mean to accuse you.“ “I know,” the warrior answered and helped the King mount with his charge. Feeling Legolas snuggle closed to his chest the King gave the signal to depart.

…………………………………………

Hovering one step behind his Master Healer the King waited anxiously until he had finished his examination. His son was still unconscious and the bruises on his torso contrasted starkly with the pale skin. Now that he had a full view of the injuries his anger rose up another notch. How could someone dare to hurt his child like this? Looking up as the healer covered the boy with a blanket the King´s patience was nearly gone.

Sensing this, the healer sighed. “I have cleaned and re-bandaged the bite wound on his leg and the scratches to his thigh although your captain had done a good job.  There are two cracked ribs, which are, unfortunately, more painful than a clean break. The bruises will fade in time. I have given him herbs against the pain and a sleeping draught. He should wake tomorrow.” Nodding the King kissed his son´s forehead and inclined his head.

“Thank you, I will be back soon and watch over him through the night.“ Knowing that advising against this action with his King would be fruitless, the healer merely nodded”. With one last look the King turned and strode straight away toward his office. His seneschal had informed him that Thoran and his companions had been found and brought into his study. Now the many questions would be answered and most of all they would answer to him.

………………………………………………..

After a quick talk with his captain to exchange their information he entered his study and took a deep breath to compose himself. He would hear their explanations, albeit his decision to punish the youngsters was already guaranteed. Regardless of their reasons they had left his son helpless to defend himself against a warg attack. They had deliberately accepted the boy´s death and this could not go unpunished.

Nodding his thanks at his seneschal the King sat behind his desk and studied the three youngsters closely. It was instantly clear who this Thoran was. He sat there in the middle of the three, his chin held high with an arrogant expression on his face. The other two boys presented a look of misery. Pale and shivering they sat there not able to meet the King´s gaze. “Well”, the King said.  “Would someone enlighten me about what happened today in the woods?  Start with the morning when my son arrived at the training fields for his lessons.” The King´s seneschal cringed. He knew this tone of voice well. Thranduil was one step away from exploding. Thoran however seemed not to notice or ignore the King´s ire.

“I do not know what you mean. What have we to do with your son?,“ he asked with a nearly bored expression. Recognizing the shocked looks the other two boys shot each other the King briefly closed his eyes and stood. “Then let me help your memory. You attacked my son on his way to the training fields, dragged him into the woods, tied him to a tree and beat him. As two wargs appeared you fled and left the injured and helpless boy alone. Have I missed anything?”

Before Thoran could utter something, one of the other boys sprung up. “We did not want this, sire. Thoran said we would scare the boy a bit and then let him go. We never wanted to hurt him.” Turning Thoran glared at the boy. “Shut up, Thregon. This  Sindarin brat needed a lesson!“

Stunned the King stopped in his advance to show the youth his place. Thoran had not only affirmed his guess what had happened today but called his son a Sindarin brat? Now they were getting to the core of all this mess. Thoran was one of these troublemakers which disapproved of a Sindarin King over Silvan elves. And suddenly he knew where he had heard Thoran´s name before. He was one of the agitators always causing trouble.

Seeing that here all rational arguments were wasted he ordered the guards to take the youngsters back to their cells. His heart went out to his son. Now he knew why the youth was so withdrawn of late, if he had to suffer Thoran and his likes. Nonetheless he must act wisely. He could not overdo the punishment of the three boys. Of course their crime could not go unanswered. If not for Captain Thalan his son would be dead by now, but he must ever consider the much larger group of Silvan elves under his role. There were still a few who were not happy with a Sindar King. He could not afford a conflagration.

Anyway this elf must be removed, and with him all the others supporting him. They had tried to kill his son and therefore they must pay. Knowing the two other boys were only followers he decided that Thoran and his family would be banished from Mirkwood, never to return and the other two would never be allowed to join the warrior ranks and would be watched closely. When this was done he returned to his son’s bedside and watched the night over next to his child. In the morning he was delighted to see his son awake.

He gently caressed his son´s cheek. “Legolas, how do you feel?” he whispered still shaken at what could have happened. Blue eyes looked hesitantly back at him. “I´m sorry, Ada, I did not mean……..,“  “Shht, Legolas. I know what happened. Don´t worry all will be well again.“

Seeing the doubt and hurt in his son´s eyes the King carefully bent down and embraced his child. Slowly, much too slowly for his liking the boy relaxed and sobbed quietly into his chest. Only holding the boy the King sat quietly until the sobs had stopped. After a while he raised the boy´s chin with his finger. “Legolas, you are safe now. You must not fear Thoran and the others any longer. I´ve made sure they will never bother you again.” Sighing, a little colour returned into the pale little face.

Not really satisfied with his son´s remote reaction the King looked again into his child´s eyes. “What is it, Legolas? Why have you not told me what has plagued you?“

Looking down the boy chewed on his lower lip. “Your interference would have made it all worse and besides ….”

“Yes…?”

“….you are always busy and….”

Now the King struggled with his composure. It was what he had feared. He was so engaged in his work that he had neglected his child to a point that the boy did not seek him out anymore when troubled. Embracing the shivering boy again, this time a little harder he whispered into the little pointed ear. “I´m sorry, Legolas, you are right, but I will change this immediately. From now on my door will always be open for you, no matter what, do you understand? There is nothing more important to me than you. Can you forgive me?”

Looking momentarily speechless the little elf hugged his father back. “I love you, Ada,” he whispered as he sagged against the older elf relieved to have his Adar back.

To be continued......

Always The Same

Part2: peredhil

Elrohir suddenly ceased the practice movement that Glorfindel was teaching him, sank to his knees and clutched the right side of his face with a pain-filled cry, the sword falling from his limp hands.

Shocked Glorfindel lowered his own sword and quickly stepped toward the younger twin not sure what had happened. He could see no obvious wound or anything else that would explain the odd reaction and was not aware that the twin had injured himself somehow.

Or was it his fault? Was he responsible for the sudden distress? He had not even raised his sword. Quickly he knelt by the moaning youngster and gently pried the hand away from the right side of his face, anxious to see what lay beneath.

Surprised he saw… nothing. No wound, no scratch, nothing. And yet Elrohir’s face was contorted in agony. Just as he wanted to ask what was wrong he knew the answer. With rising dread he squinted across the training field toward the spot where Elladan was practising. As he spotted a crowd gathering around someone lying on the ground he knew the source of Elrohir´s distress. Stretching out a helping hand toward the still kneeling youngster, he pulled Elrohir to his feet. Having regained his wits and also having registered what had happened, Elrohir turned and ran down the field.

As Glorfindel reached the scene shortly after Elrohir he inhaled sharply at the sight presented to him. Elladan was lying on the ground unconscious and bleeding heavily from a large head wound at his right temple. His brother was already kneeling and trying to staunch the blood flow with a ripped piece of his shirt but to no avail.

Before he was able to act or say something he earned another shock, as Elrohir glared at a fellow novice standing in a cycle around them and shouted. “Thirion are you completely mad?” Glorfindel´s head jerked toward the accused and recognized the sword the young elf still held in his hand dripping with blood. Judging by Elrohir´s reaction, it was Elladan’s blood.

Not able to comprehend Elrohir´s anger at first, Glorfindel too addressed the novice. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded with a stern tone, trying not to let his voice tremble with worry. As he received no answer only downcast looks from the other novices he addressed the sword master kneeling beside Elrohir aiding him. “What happened, Celan?” With a sigh the sword master rose and straightened before his captain. “Thirion struck Elladan down.” Glorfindel looked aghast. This should not happen at such an early stage of practice and surely not with a trainer nearby.

Apparently sensing his lord´s thoughts Celan sighed again. “Unfortunately it was no accident.” Now Glorfindel was really confused. “You are saying that he did it on purpose?” Glorfindel asked in a low voice. As the sword master only nodded, Glorfindel whirled around and knocked the sword from the youngster’s hand and pushed him backwards, onto the ground.

“We’ll talk later”, he said with the same low voice and turned to kneel beside Elrohir. “Let me see,” he demanded gently. As Elrohir didn´t react he carefully lifted the younger twin´s hand from the wound on his brother´s face and checked for a pulse with the other. Thankfully it was there. But then he gasped. He had expected something, considering the great amount of blood, and head wounds always bled heavily but the extent of this wound he had not anticipated.

A long and deep gash ran along the older twin´s temple gaping and pulsing with blood. Instantly he knew that this wound was life threatening and that they had no chance to transport Elrond´s eldest without killing him right away. Putting Elrohir´s hand back in place to apply the pressure again he jerked his head up at a novice at random. “You. Fetch Lord Elrond and tell him to hurry,” he demanded.

The dark haired youngster paled at the sharp tone and turned quickly on his heels and ran toward the house. Seeing the tears streaming down the younger twin´s face Glorfindel laid a gentle hand on the youngster’s shoulder. “Your father will be here shortly, don´t give up hope,“ he reassured the dark haired young elf his voice sounding more confident than he felt as he looked at the completely still form of Elrond´s eldest, the puddle of blood growing with every minute.

……………………………………..

Glorfindel´s worry grew with every passing minute. He had seen many wounds in battle and at practice, but head wounds were always difficult. He was by no means a healer, but even he could distinguish a severe wound from an ugly looking but otherwise harmless one and this one did not look harmless.

He was now applying the necessary pressure, after Elrohir had sunken back on his haunches shaking too badly to perform the task properly. Golrfindel knew that Elrohir was in some sort of trance trying to reach his brother and take off some of the pain. What concerned Glorfindel the most was the total lack of response from the older twin irregardless of if he pushed a little harder to finally stop the bleeding or at least reduce it a bit, or if he looked again at the gaping wound to take in the damage done. Growing nervous he looked up across the field. Where was Elrond? How long could he possible need to cross the short distance from the Last Homely House toward the training grounds?

Time seemed frozen, as he took yet another strip of cloth from the sword master to replace the blood soaked one. The pile of blood soaked cloth strips was becoming alarmingly large. Just as he was about to spring up and look for what took his friend so long, he heard a murmur go through the gathered group of young elves. “Lord Elrond is coming, make way,” a few murmured and Glorfindel sighed. Now Elladan would receive the proper care. Not a minute too early.

As the cluster of novices parted, Glorfindel raised his head and saw his friend running toward them. Did he know already what happened? What had the runner told him? Seeing the grave expression on the Elf-Lord´s face it seemed that Elrond was informed already. ‘All for the better’, Glorfindel thought. For the briefest of moments Elrond stopped and took in the sight that greeted him. Swallowing he knelt at the golden warrior’s side.

Quickly he looked at his youngest to reassure himself that at least Elrohir was alright. The younger twin was deadly pale with tears streaming down his face and badly shaking hands. Elrond resisted the urge to embrace his youngest, knowing that the older twin needed him more just now.

Redirecting his gaze at Glorfindel he asked the question Glorfindel had dreaded. “What happened”? Glorfindel sighed. “One of the novices struck him down… on purpose,” he added in a hoarse tone still unable to believe it himself.

The Elf-Lord gasped. His gaze held many emotions; anger, incredulity, and incomprehension. Knowing that they would deal with the perpetrator later the Elf-Lord gently lifted Glorfindel´s bloodied hand from his son´s face.

And then he inhaled sharply. The sword, fortunately a blunted training sword, had nonetheless done great damage. The right side of the ellon’s face from temple to chin was a mess. A gaping gash ran down the right side of his face, with split skin and shattered bone evident. At a minimum the cheekbone and the bone around the temple were broken. Then Elrond checked for a pulse and winced at the much too fast beating he could feel.

For a brief moment Glorfindel saw panic and despair flickering in the healer´s eyes, but as quickly as it had come it had vanished. As always Elrond pushed his emotions back and slipped from his role of a concerned father into the role of a healer. He steadied himself. He wasn’t considered the best healer in Middle Earth without reason. Opening his bag he retrieved a thick wad of linen and laid it gently over the still bleeding wound. Then he began winding a bandage carefully around the young elf´s head careful not to jostle the head too much.

“Was he unconscious at once?” he asked while performing his task. Not knowing, Glorfindel cast a questioning glance towards the sword master. The older elf nodded. “Yes my Lord,” he answered, with downcast eyes guilt evident in his voice. “It was not your fault,” Glorfindel said gently. Not convinced the sword master only nodded. As Elrond had finished wrapping the head he looked up and sighed relieved, as he realized that other healers and helpers of his stuff had already arrived.

“We need a litter to carry him to the healing wing and please prepare everything”, he advised one of his apprentices who had accompanied him. No sooner had he finished speaking than the apprentice had turned on his heels to do his Master’s bidding. Now with no more to do while waiting for the litter Elrond gently laid a hand around the younger twins shoulder and drew him into a tight embrace. Words were not necessary; Elrohir was enough of a healer to recognize the severity of the wound for himself. They sat there drawing comfort from each other. While waiting Glorfindel looked up and searched the crowd of concerned faces for the young novice who had caused this. As expected he was nowhere to be seen.

Glorfindel had known him from the start of his training. He was good at all what he did but he lacked self-confidence. He was always second to the twins in any contest or combat sessions, never pulling off the win in contest or combat sessions. And he was highly aggressive often only kept in check by Glorfindel´s superior skills and unquestioned authority. This day however he had overstepped his boundaries beyond acceptance and he would answer for that.

The oncoming litter bearers interrupted Glorfindel´s thoughts. The warrior rose to assist his Lord in lifting the older twin onto the litter. Elrond had meanwhile released Elrohir and now stood close to the wounded elf´s head, taking it carefully into his hands.

He looked up at the golden warrior. Their eyes locked. “On three. We must act in tandem to reduce the jostling,” Elrond instructed. Glorfindel only nodded. The short instructions and the curt replies clearly indicated the tension the healer felt.

With the help of Elrohir holding the litter in place, Elrond and Glorfindel lifted the unconscious elf carefully onto the litter. Even then Elladan did not flinch or moan in the slightest, which the healer registered with mounting concern. Elrond again checked the bandage and then two young apprentices of his staff lifted the litter and walked toward the house as quickly as possible and as carefully as needed.

Elrond walked alongside, all the while checking his son´s state. Glorfindel and Elrohir retrieved Elladan´s sword and cloak and followed the procession. After another reassuring word from the golden warrior the sword master closed the training lessons for the day and slowly the crowd dispersed.

…………………………

Reaching the healing wing Glorfindel opened the door seconds before the litter bearers rushed past him, Elrond and the younger twin on their heels. The other healers had meanwhile prepared everything so that Elrond could start immediately treating the injury.

Carefully they moved the unconscious young elf onto the examination table and removed the blood stained litter. After quickly washing his hands Elrond threw an apron over his robe and looked up. “Elrohir sit down, before you fall down”, he instructed to no avail, as the younger twin was glued to the table near his brother’s head.

Having expected nothing less, the Elf-Lord sighed and began to work. Glorfindel too was unwilling to leave the room. He knew the older twin´s life was at stake and he wanted to be here if the worst happened. Slowly the Elf-Lord removed the soaked bandage around his son´s head and took a closer look at the ugly gash. With wet towels he carefully wiped blood and dirt away to reveal the extent of the damage.

Now he could clearly see the shattered bone around the temple. As expected, the swelling was now affecting the entire right side of the young elf´s face. With a tweezers he carefully removed tiny shards of bone from the deeper skin layers, praying that no splinter had found its way deeper or, worst of all, into the brain.

Elrohir´s pallor changed from white to green, as he saw the meticulous task his father was performing. Every time his father removed something he checked his brother´s pulse to reassure himself that he still lived. From his appearance alone Elladan looked as if he was already dead.

Elrond was somehow sure that only Elrohir´s presence kept the older twin in this world. After what seemed like an eternity the Elf-Lord straightened, cleaned the gash again and then began to stitch it closed. Glorfindel swallowed and looked away. Now he knew exactly why he was a warrior and not a healer. This was not a task for him. He shuddered every time the needle pierced the flesh.

After this was done Elrond wrapped the head in many layers of linen bandage to protect the wound from further damage. Looking at the younger twin Glorfindel paled. Elladan´s younger brother seemed frozen. He did not react at all to the sight before him. Did Elrohir feel or know something they didn’t? Were Elrond´s actions already fruitless?

Elrond must have felt something too. He was still busy trying to rescue his son´s life. As Elrond said something Glorfindel cringed so absorbed was he in his thoughts. While Elrond´s assistant brought a large pitcher filled with a lukewarm fluid he knew what now must be done. The older twin had lost too much blood which needed to be replenished. The herb that would assist in this effort was usually taken orally. But how could Elrond force the unconscious Elladan to drink this tincture without drowning him? Gently Elrond forced his son´s mouth open and trickled the liquid slowly down his throat. With his other hand he triggered the swallowing reflex.

This was a painstakingly slow task, but after some time it was done. The Elf-Lord straightened his aching back and inhaled deeply. His part was done. The other healers would remove the clothing and soiled linen and then make the older twin as comfortable as possible. Now they could only wait.

Trying again to coax Elrohir into some much needed rest, Elrond failed again. Father and son settled down next to the bed Elladan was laid in and prepared for a long night.

With a nod of thanks from Erond for his having stayed, Glorfindel turned and silently left the room. Now that the immediate danger was over he was going to find a certain novice and have a talk with him. As he looked a last time at Elrond´s face he knew that the worst was not over yet. Elladan was far from stable. Sending a silent prayer the golden warrior left the room and closed the door quietly.

…………………………………………………………..

Reaching the entry hall Glorfindel stopped as he saw Erestor heading toward him. “How is he?” the dark haired councillor asked without preamble. It was instantly clear to whom he referred. Glorfindel took a deep breath and steered his friend toward his study quickly closing the door to listening ears. He wanted to not damage the little hope they had, nor did he want to raise false hopes. The rumours would spread quickly enough.

As Erestor saw the desperation in the golden warrior’s eyes he swallowed. After returning from an errand, he had only heard moments ago what happened but had not anticipated that it was this bad. Laying a hand on his friend´s forearm he looked at him with pleading eyes. “Tell me” he whispered both needing and dreading the answer. Clearing his throat Glorfindel looked up.

“The injury is very severe. A training sword hit Elladan on the side of his head. His cheekbone and the bones around the temple are broken. We do not know if or what damage was done to the brain. He has lost a great amount of blood and is deeply unconscious. Elrond worked the last two hours without rest to save his life.”

While Glorfindel was speaking Erestor had paled. This could not be. Never had anyone been gravely hurt at the training lessons. There were bruises and scratches and sometimes a broken bone at the worst, but never a life-threatening injury. And Elladan was a much too skilled sword fighter for this, even at this early stage of teaching. As Glorfindel saw the incredulous look on his friend´s face he sighed. Obliviously Erestor didn´t know the whole truth by now.

“Unfortunately it was not an accident,” Glorfindel continued before Erestor could utter something. “Thirion, one of the novices struck him down with his training sword. They must have gotten into some quarrel. I have not had the time yet to sort this out.” Now Erestor looked aghast. Yes there were rivalries among the young elves and sometimes some envy, but what in all of Arda justified such a reaction? Remembering Glorfindel´s desperate look at their meeting Erestor dreaded asking his next question.

“Will he recover?” he nearly whispered. Glorfindel sighed. “I do not know. Not even Elrond was sure. He said we must wait the night.”

Again Erestor swallowed audibly. Suddenly a thought crossed his mind. “What of Elrohir? How is he taking this?”

“Need you ask?” Glorfindel answered, again seeing the pale and unmoving face of the younger twin in his mind’s eye. Sighing Erestor let himself heavily fall into an overstuffed chair but in the next second he shot bolt upright again. “What of the culprit of this mess?”

Glorfindel looked up sharply. “I have already sent for him, he must arrive shortly and then he will answer to me, that I can promise you.” Erestor only nodded. He would be present at this conversation as well, since Elrond had other worries at the moment and surely no stomach for this conversation. He wanted to look into the young elf´s eyes and hear his statement. Maybe then he could dredge up some understanding which was failing to come to him at the moment.

As if on cue a knock could be heard and a young elf poked his head around the door. “My Lords,” he addressed Elrond´s aides. “Young Thirion and his father have arrived.” Quickly looking at Erestor Glorfindel straightened. “Send him in,” he answered curtly.

Glorfindel and Erestor straightened and looked grim faced as the door opened again to reveal the young novice Thirion and a dark haired elf, from his appearance clearly the father of the young elf. Calen was his name, Glorfindel remembered in time. Knowing that some things must be done, Glorfindel gestured the two elves into two chairs standing in front of his desk and ordered the aide to close the door.

He kept standing before his desk, as did Erestor. Glorfindel studied the two elves in front of him. Thirion surely he knew from the training sessions, but Calen was another matter. Glorfindel recognized him, but he could not remember from what incident. He only knew that he had Calen in some bad memory. If Glorfindel had expected to see guilt or remorse in the younger elf’s eyes then he was bitterly disappointed.

Thirion had a cool if not arrogant expression on his face looking at Glorfindel with bored anticipation. Quickly looking at the older elf, Glorfindel saw into an expressionless mask.

And before he could open his mouth to speak, Thirion´s father moved to the front of his seat. “I do not know why we are dragged here at this hour. Surely the little incident on the training fields did not justify such orders,” he spat, his words dripping with contempt. Glorfindel blinked. This could not be, could it?

If the golden haired warrior was willing a minute before to hear the statements of the culprit this emotion had now evaporated into thin air. Hearing Erestor beside him inhale sharply, the golden warrior knew that Erestor was as angry as he was. “The incident at the training field was far from little, Calen,” he growled barely able to control his anger any longer. After Calen had chosen to skip any greetings or pleasantries, Glorfindel chose to do the same. “Elladan is fighting for his life. Elrond has done all that he can. What have you to say about this?” Glorfindel asked stepping forward.

With hope Glorfindel saw something like uncertainty into the younger elf´s eyes, but this hope was shattered by the next words. “He is always favoured by the elders and therefore… the younger elf trailed off with a resigned shrug of his shoulders. “And therefore you nearly killed him?” Erestor shouted, no longer able to suffer the arrogance of the two elves before him. “You know without doubt that this is wrong“.

Elrond had always made clear to every one educating his children that they were to be treated the same as all others, i.e. no privileges and no coddling. But if Glorfindel had thought that he had heard the worst for this evening than he was incorrect. “We must finally show these Half-elves where they stand. We are tired of being ruled by them.”

Glorfindel was at a loss. He had expected anything but those words spoken with such hatred. He redirected his gaze in disbelief at Thirion´s father who had uttered the words. And now he begun to understand what was going on here. There had always been elves who had not accepted the rule of the peredhil. They were “only” half-elves and not worthy to ‘order others around’.

Glorfindel nearly laughed out loud. Without Elrond the hidden valley would not exist or still be in existence. Elrond alone made it possible for all the inhabitants to live in relative peace with many personal sacrifices. But these agitators never wanted to hear this. Glorfindel shook his head. These sort of elves reappeared every once in a while and Middle Earth could never be cured of them. Almost pitying the younger elf for such a father Glorfindel briefly closed his eyes. Thirion only repeated what his father preached to him.

Straightening Glorfindel was interrupted again. “I hope this will not…,” Thirion begun but stopped as he saw the dangerous expression on Glorfindel´s face. “You” Glorfindel said with the same contempt, looking at both father and son. “You can only hope, that Lord Elladan will survive and recover from your attack, otherwise there will be no place in Middle Earth where you will find peace again,” Both elves had shot upright at Glorfindel´s words glaring at Elrond´s advisors, but before they could utter another word or do something stupid, the door opened and two guards appeared. “Your orders, my Lords?” one of them asked his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Young Thirion is to be arrested until we know of Lord Elladan´s state. His father is not allowed to leave the valley,” Glorfindel ordered.

“You will regret this,” Calen spat, as he and his son was escorted out of the room.

………………………………………………..

Three weeks had gone by, but Elladan´s condition had not improved. The cut was long healed and the swelling almost none existent, but the damage done to the head went obviously deeper. Elladan did not react, to any stimulation Elrond had tried. He remained pale and unconscious.

Whereas Elrond was desperate, Elrohir was devastated. He looked as pale as his brother and grew thinner every day. He knew enough of the healing arts to know that the longer Elladan was unconscious the less likely was it that he would ever wake again.

This was the paradox of the situation. If he were dead, you could mourn and then go on, but this state was nearly unbearable. Every day Elrohir looked at the beloved face and every day he was disappointed. His friends and family did everything to distract him, but how could he forget for one minute that the other half of his soul was as good as dead? He did not live, he only survived. The anger at Thirion was long gone. It wouldn´t change anything anyway. Nonetheless he must admit that some kind of satisfaction had settled in his heart, when his father had banished the two elves from Rivendell, never to return. But the satisfaction did not last long, in fact it had vanished quickly altogether. What did this serve him? Nothing!

Of course he was glad to never again see the person who had nearly killed his brother, but the fate he was now enduring was far worse. He could still not comprehend that the state his brother was in, was the result of envy and old prejudices against his father.

Again he trudged aimlessly down the corridor from his room to the kitchen or the library or… did not matter. He must only spend another day and another…. And again he found himself standing at his brother’s bed and looking at the closed eyes a hundredth time. He turned and leaned against the window frame and stared outside as so many times before. “Elrohir”? The younger twin whirled around not believing what his ears had just let him hear.

And then he looked into the grey eyes of his brother so much like his own. He sank to his knees before his brother’s bed, tears already running down his cheeks. “Elladan”, he croaked, “you are finally awake!” As his brother smiled at him all restraints broke and the tears long held in check cascaded down his cheeks. Confused at the strong reaction Elladan reached out his hand to wipe the tears away. Elrohir leaned only too happily into the caress.

Overwhelmed with the situation the younger twin rose and said turning. “Don´t move, El. I will fetch Ada.” With one quick look back Elrohir left the room and run down the corridor toward his father´s study. Not bothering to knock, he banged the door open, yelling after his father. The Elf-Lord rose slowly from behind his desk and paled. On the one side he was pleased to see his youngest react to something, but he feared he would not like the reason behind it.

“Ada”, Elrohir repeated, “hurry. You must come with me.” Before the Elf-Lord was able to ask a question the younger twin had stormed out the room and vanished. Elrond directed an anguish stare toward Glorfindel standing at the window. What had happened? But then on Elrohir´s face there was no grief or sorrow, rather…joy? The two Elf-Lords looked at each other and sprinted after the dark haired youth.

As the two elder elves reached the older twin´s room they did not trust their eyes. Elladan was awake! Elrond rushed to his son´s bedside and squeezed a pale hand. “Elladan how do you feel?” Turning his head the older twin looked at his father and tried again a small smile.

“I’m fine, Ada,” Elladan finally said and Elrond could almost hear the rocks tumbling from his youngest heart. As all three elves laughed Elladan looked around confused.

“What have I missed?”

“Nothing”, Elrohir breathed while sitting on the other side of the bed. “You are awake and that’s all that matters.

To be continued……………………..

A/N: As always many thanks to my beta Erulisse.

Always The Same

Part3: men

Faramir walked leisurely down the street of the forth level of the white city and let the sun warm his face. He smiled. The afternoon was at his free disposal- no council meetings, no petitions, and no urgent messages to be read or sent. He would meet with some of his old friends at his favourite tavern and enjoying being only Faramir, not the Steward of this city and the King´s right hand. He loved his job, really, but he would not let pass such an opportunity.

Suddenly however he heard a suppressed cry of pain and voices raised in anger. He quickened his pace and rounded a corner into a hidden backyard and saw a few youngsters kicking another boy, lying on the ground with their boots. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted angrily and loudly to get the youngsters’ attention.” Three heads turned around and for a second Faramir thought that they would attack him, but as they recognized who was standing before them they took flight.

Faramir however had already recognized them and knew them well. This three were well known troublemakers. The Steward shrugged. He would deal with them later.

As Faramir hastened toward the boy already struggling to come up, he froze as he saw the youngster’s face. The boy was none other than Eldarion, son of the King. Faramir quickly knelt and looked worried at the bloody face.

“Valar, Eldarion. Are you hurt?” he asked laying a comforting hand on the young man´s shoulder. “I´m fine,” Eldarion said coolly and shrugged the hand from his shoulder. Faramir sighed. Eldarion was twelve and very difficult to manage at this age. He was disrespectful and disobedient on purpose and often angered his father beyond comprehension.

Supposedly very normal for a boy his age, Faramir thought, but sometimes it really got too far and Aragorn´s patience ran slowly thin. Now the escapades seemed to have risen to another level. “That I see,” he answered, giving the lad a handkerchief to press at his bleeding nose. With an angry glare the boy took it and tried to rise.

“Ah, keep sitting and lean your head back.” Faramir ordered, quickly pressing the youngster down again.

“I’m fine. Stop fretting.” Eldarion hissed and sprung up. If Faramir had not caught him, he would have fallen flat on his face. Lying again on the ground, Eldarion´s face went white and he coughed painfully. Faramir paled. Maybe the boy was more injured than it appeared?

Without further comment he scooped the boy up into his arms and begun walking toward the House of Healing. “Don’t worry, young one, Haleth will have a look at you.” Wriggling the boy wanted to hear none of it. “Faramir, let me down. I’m fine. Please, not the healer.” As the Steward saw into the pleading eyes his heart nearly gave in. He had always loved the boy like his own.

“You are injured Eldarion, and your father would skin me alive, if I did not bring you to a healer.” Sighing in defeat, the boy hung his head. Faramir shook his head. What was wrong with the boy? What had just happened? He would find out - yes, that he would.

As he stepped over the threshold of the house of healing, Haleth, the master-healer looked up sharply, as he saw whom Faramir carried in. Looking at the boy he inhaled sharply. “What happened?” he asked, although he could guess the story behind this. He steered Faramir toward the examination table. However, before Faramir could answer, Eldarion hissed. “Faramir is overreacting, as always.”

Exchanging a quick look with the son of Denethor the healer sighed. “I do not think so, judging by your appearance, young man. And now stop complaining and let me look at you.”

Looking angrily at the healer Eldarion nonetheless laid down on the table and inhaled sharply, as the healer prodded his ribs. After this he inspected the boy´s nose and a gash on his brow. “This time it isn´t harmless, Eldarion. You have two cracked ribs, several bad bruises and a gash that needs stitches.” The boy did not react, only pressed his lips together into a thin line.

“This time?” Faramir asked incredulously, not liking the sound of this one bit. Seeing the slightly guilty look on the healer´s face and the openly angry look on Eldarion´s face Faramir swallowed not sure if he wanted to hear this. “Well?” he asked nonetheless as no answer was forthcoming.

Taking heart the healer looked up. “This is not the first time that I have had him on my table,” the healer said with a meaningful look towards the still scowling boy. However, before he could utter another word Eldarion looked up and glared at the healer.

“You promised me you wouldn’t tell anyone. You’ve betrayed me and are no longer my friend. The boy was sobbing openly now, but if from pain or his hurt feelings Faramir could not tell. With a gentle hand Faramir again stopped the boy from rising clearly seeing the pain on his face.

“Haleth, would you please be so kind to enlighten me?” he asked very calmly, but anyone who knew him would have recognized that he was at the limit of his patience and Haleth and Faramir were long time friends. Seeing that the situation was beyond rescuing the healer took a deep breath.

“Eldarion has been here for healing four previous times after some fight he had and I treated him, after he had pleaded to me to never tell his parents what happened. The injuries were superficial every time and so I agreed, yet not without bidding him to tell his father. But it was never as bad as this time.”

Now Faramir was confused. Eldarion had some kind of trouble and from the look of it some kind of real trouble, but why in all of Arda did he not tell his father or mother who was behind all this? Why did he silently suffer and hide his misery? Aragorn and Arwen loved the boy dearly and would surely do everything in their power to help him. Looking at the boy again Faramir sighed.

“Eldarion, please, I will only help you. What happened today and why have you no faith in your parents or in me?” he asked with a slightly hurt tone in his voice lifting the boy´s chin with his finger. Still refusing to answer his question Faramir straightened. “All right young man, it´s your decision. Haleth you keep him here and I will inform the King.”

This finally got a reaction from the child. Grabbing Faramir´s sleeve the boy directed watery eyes toward the Steward. “No, Faramir, don´t tell him, you will only make it worse,” he pleaded. Faramir was at a loss. Why was the lad so afraid to tell his parents? Aragorn and Arwen would be outraged, when they found out that someone had hurt their boy. But they would stand behind him no matter what happened, so what was the problem?

Focusing on bringing this to an end Faramir shook his head. “I´m sorry, Eldarion but I must. Your father would never forgive me and would never trust me again.” The boy slowly took his hand back and hung his head in defeat. Faramir directed a last look toward the healer with the order not to let the boy go and left the room quickly.

………………………………………………………….

Taking a deep breath Faramir stopped at the King´s study. As he heard several voices he was not so sure anymore to interrupt. “Faramir, please come in, don´t hesitate.” The Steward’s hand froze in mid-motion at hearing Arwen´s voice. Over the years he had almost forgotten the fact of the exceptionally good hearing of the firstborn. He pushed the door handle down and was surprised to see not only Aragorn and Arwen, but also Legolas.

When had he arrived? Over the trouble with Eldarion he must have missed it. With a nod he greeted the prince. Legolas inclined his head and looked at him questioningly. Sighing and knowing that he would start an uproar he directed his gaze toward Aragorn. “May I have a word with you?” he asked, not risking a glance at Arwen who also studied him intensely. Instantly the happy mood in the room changed, as everyone felt that something was amiss.

As Legolas wanted to rise and leave the room, the King quickly hold up his hand. “Please Legolas stay. We have no secrets before you.” With a gracious nod, the wood elf resumed his seat, albeit somewhat stiffly, clearly sensing the sudden tension in the room. Gesturing his Steward into a chair, Aragon tried to smile.

“Well, Faramir, what is it?” As he did not know how to start, Faramir made it blunt. “Aragorn, it’s your son. He´s in the House of Healing at the moment and….” As he had expected he never had a chance to finish his sentence. All three occupants of the room had sprung up from their chairs and began asking him questions at the same time. As the first confusion abated somewhat, Faramir held up his hand in a desperate attempt to be heard and looked into the worried and anxious faces.

“Aragorn, Arwen, it´s not that bad. Two cracked ribs, a few bruises and a split brow. Haleth has already taken care of him and he is undoubtly sleeping by now.” Sighing Aragorn laid a reassuring arm around his wife´s shoulder. “What happened – this time?” Aragorn asked. Faramir swallowed. The irate tone of the King indicated clearly that the boy had stressed his parent’s patience of late. As he looked at the pleading eyes of Arwen he quickly continued.

“I do not know the whole story, but this afternoon I stumbled upon him, as three other boys attacked him. I stopped the fight and asked what happened but he refused to speak to me.” As the scowl on the King´s face deepened Faramir quickly added.

“Aragorn, this time I think there is more behind this then a simple quarrel between youngsters. This fight looked serious and the lad was really distressed.” “And…..” “And?” Aragorn inquired. Looking from one elf to the other and eventually back to his King Faramir swallowed again. “And he begged me not to tell you.”

With a small sound of dismay Arwen looked aghast at her husband. Why would her boy not come to her with his problems? “Could you recognize the other boys?” Legolas asked, trying to distract the royal couple somewhat. Farmair nodded. “Yes and I have already sent for them.” “I want to look after him,” Arwen said in a choked voice and the King only nodded.

“You are right. We can discuss this later. Legolas, would you like to accompany us?” Knowing that the boy would be delighted to see the wood elf again, Arwen smiled a little. “Of course,” the fair haired elf stated quickly and left the room after the parents. Faramir sighed again. That was done.

………………………………………………………….

With quick strides Faramir followed the royal couple and the wood-elf, as they walked through the courtyard toward the House of Healing almost unable to cope with their hurried steps. He was suddenly no longer sure if he had acted rightly to betray the youngster’s trust, but then he shook his head. Of course he had done the right thing. Eldarion was in trouble and he would never knowingly let come harm to the boy he loved so dearly.

All would turn out well once the boy had opened up to them. As the King opened the heavy wooden door and held it open for his three followers they came face to face with the healer already awaiting them. Stopping Aragorn greeted the healer with a curt nod. Haleth inclined his head at the King and his wife and smiled as he saw the prince of Mirkwood, also visiting his halls. Courtesies were not necessary and seeing the urgent longing in the Queen´s eyes, he swallowed.

“Don´t worry my Lord, my Lady,” he begun with a controlled voice, trying to calm the parents somewhat, “it’s nothing serious. He has two cracked ribs, a few bruises and a minor gash at his brow. I´ve already taken care of him and given him something against the pain. I think he is sleeping by now.”

“Very clever,” Faramir thought. The healer had wisely delayed the meeting of the boy with his parents until the first shock and anger had subsided. Bewilderment on both parents’ faces was clearly to see. Aragorn would have loved to exchange a few words with his troublesome offspring and Arwen would have liked to reassure the boy that all would be well.

“Can we see him?” Arwen asked directing a pleading gaze at the healer and a placating look at her husband. Both men were not able to refuse her. The healer smiled and inclined his head. “Of course,” he answered quickly and let the four visitors into a small room occupied only by a bed and a few chairs. Arwen wriggled past her husband and sat on the bed of the sleeping boy. With tears in her eyes she softly brushed her fingertips over the already blooming bruise on her child’s face around the brow.

The King also sat down and his grim features softened instantly, as he looked at the pale face of the youngster. Nonetheless he let a critical eye wander over the boy’s injuries, focusing on the bandage around his torso. He listened quietly to the boy’s breathing until he was reassured that it was not laboured. He squeezed his wife´s shoulder and stood to give Legolas the opportunity to sit down and look at the boy.

Seeing that Arwen was quietly talking with Legolas, he strode over to the healer. “I thank you for your care, but tomorrow I want to have a word with you. I will await you in my study.” After a silent nod from the healer the King straightened. “I would like to leave him here for the night and in the morning we will take him back home.”

Knowing that the King was both displeased with him and a competent healer himself, Haleth nodded again. He would spare his arguments for the morrow when common sense had returned. As expected the royal couple and Legolas refused to leave the boy´s bedside. Haleth dragged pillows and blankets into the room to make the waiting a bit more comfortable, and arranged for hot tea and a light meal to be served at first light. He then excused himself to look after his other patients.

Faramir had left a short while before to arrange the daily business, with a promise to return. Legolas stretched his long legs to banish the stiffness from sitting in a chair all night and smiled at the King. Feeling the gaze upon him Aragorn turned. “What?” he asked irritated, still not knowing if he should scold the boy or embrace him. “Nothing,” the wood elf answered innocently. “Only a memory.”

Knowing that Legolas was referring to his father sitting on his bed while he was a child in Rivendell the King’s scowl deepened but the only effect was that the smiles on Arwen’s and Legolas´ faces widened.

Just as Faramir and the healer returned the boy moaned and struggled to open his eyes. Moving while waking he winced as his ribs protested the movement. “Easy, Eldarion,” Aragorn ordered looking intently at the boy´s face.

As the youngster opened his eyes he looked confused at the four pairs of eyes looking down on him. As memory returned he sighed and looked away. He did not know what was worse; the anxious eyes of his mother, or the disappointed and yet worried look on his father´s face. He only had had a few bruises and was not dying! Could they not let him alone? With a gentle hand the King turned the boy´s head back and forced the young prince to look at him.

“How do you feel?” he asked trying to level his voice in a neutral tone. Sighing the boy wriggled out of the grasp. “I´m fine, Ada, don´t worry,” was the reply. Not fooled in the slightest the King still gazed at his son. “Eldarion, what happened?” he asked still not letting any emotion color his voice. As the boy only pressed his lips together the King looked desperately at his wife.

Arwen took a small hand into hers. “Eldarion, my dear, please we want to help you. What ails you?” the Queen tried but had as little success as her husband. Legolas and Faramir exchanged a quick look, but before they could intervene the King rose.

“All right, young one. Are you able to dress and walk home, or should we help you?” he asked, his face expressionless.

Rising with a grimace the twelve-year old began to put on his trousers. “I can manage,” he said without looking up. Exchanging a quick look with his wife and earning a reassuring nod the King strode toward the door.

With the door handle in hand he turned. “I await you within the hour in my study, Eldarion,” he said with a stern look toward his son. Without another word he was gone. Now Eldarion raised questioning eyes at his mother. “This you have brought upon yourself, my dear,” Arwen answered and stood. “Fine!” the boy answered curtly and walked out the door. “Where is the little boy, who was so eager to snuggle in my arms?” the Queen sighed and hurried after her son. Equally sighing Faramir let himself sink back into the chair. “Are they always like this? I´m no longer sure if I will be able to deal with any future children of mine.”

Legolas only laughed. “And this is only the beginning.” Laughing again at the shocked face of the Steward, the wood-elf turned serious again. “Have you already talked to the culprits of this mess?” Angrily Faramir shook his head.

“I’ve already sent for them, but all three have disappeared. Their parents seemed not to care and we haven´t found them yet, but we will,” Faramir said with determination.

Nodding Legolas followed the Steward out of the room.

……………………………………

As he heard a knock on his study door Aragorn looked up. “Enter!” he called and braced himself for what was to come. As Eldarion entered Aragorn looked at his boy closely. Nothing had changed. He exhibited the same defiant and stubborn look.

“Sit down,” he ordered and waited until the boy had clambered onto one of the big chairs before his desk. As the silence stretched the King sighed. “Well, Eldarion. What have you to tell me?” Not raising his eyes the boy shrugged. “Nothing!”

“Nothing?” the King queried with a raised eyebrow. “I think you have a lot to tell me. For example what this fight was about and why it wasn´t the first time?” As the boy again refused to speak the King tried another approach. He knelt down at eye level with the child and took both hands in his. “Eldarion, please speak with me,” he nearly pleaded. “What is this all about? Why do you not trust us? Have Nana or I said something that has upset you?”

Finally looking up the boy raised his chin. “No! Are we finished?” Quickly shoving back the rising anger inside of him the King rose to his feet. “All right, young man. If you have no trust in us, then so be it. You will go straight to your room and stay there until you decide to answer some of my questions to my satisfaction…” Springing up the prince´eyes went wide. “But, Ada!”

“Eldarion, no!” Aragorn interrupted sharply making the boy wince. “I’m very disappointed with you. I will not tolerate my son fighting on the streets with others. You will stay in your chambers until you have changed your mind and tell me the reason behind all this. I’m very angry with you, especially for the worry you have caused your mother. You may go.” Glaring a last time at his father the boy turned and slammed the door shut.

Aragorn sighed, as the door opened again and his wife entered the room. Undoubtedly she had heard the whole exchange. “What should we do with him?” the King whispered holding his wife close. “Do not be too harsh with him, he´s still injured after all,” the Queen whispered back. “I only want to protect him.”

“I know. I think we should grant him a few hours alone and then I will look in on him. Maybe he will have calmed down by then.” Aragorn nodded. Yes, let him sleep and then see what the new day would bring.

…………………………………………..

Eldarion slammed the door to his chamber shut and flung himself face down and fully clothed onto his bed. He winced as his ribs protested against this. It was so unfair. He had worried his mother, had angered his father, and had pushed a friend back and for what? For these idiots who had been making him miserable for a long time now. He was a coward. He could not stand against their taunts and he did not have the courage to open up to his loved ones. This could not go on. His father had said it clearly. He was a disappointment and they were better off without him. They did not love him anymore. He would leave. Then they would not worry about a son who caused only trouble, and his father would have no reason to feel disappointed any longer.

His decision made he sprang up and clambered over the balcony onto the night-dark street. He would put as much distance as possible between him and his home and would disappear into the grey stones of the city. Yes that was the only option left to him.

………………………………….

In the early hours of the morning Aragorn still sat in his study too agitated to sleep. His thoughts circled around only one question. When had he lost the close contact with his son? When had it happened that the youngster kept all to himself? He was once such an open and trusting little boy, but now? He could not even mark the moment when something had gone wrong. Just as he wanted to rise to open the balcony window, Arwen rushed into the room.

He instantly felt a knot forming in his stomach, as he saw the worried expression on his wife´s face. “What happened?” he asked before she had the chance to utter a word. The Queen strode toward him and nearly choked on her words. “He’s gone.”

The King’s brows drew together. “What do you mean ‘he’s gone’?” he asked more sharply than he had intended. “He’s not in his room. I’ve searched everywhere, in the kitchen, the hallways, even the cellar, but….” Nearly choking on her anguish, the Queen stopped directing watery eyes at her husband. Still not believing what he had heard, Aragorn shook his head. “He has run off? But why…?”

And then an icy hand grabbed his heart. He had made another mistake. The boy´s trouble seemed to be much greater than he had thought. So great indeed, that he saw no other solution than to run off.

Briefly the King closed his eyes. This was his fault. He had let his son down. Although he loved his son more than anything in the world, he had not truly listened to him and had not been there when he needed him the most. He had punished him without trying to out find what was wrong. And now he had run off in the middle of the night and was alone somewhere in the city. His heart constricted with the images what could happen to a little boy alone and distressed. Swallowing he looked into his wife’s fear filled eyes.

“We will find him - this I promise you,” he said determined and called for his aide who was surely awake by now with all the commotion. “Linhir, please summon Lord Faramir and Lord Legolas to my study at once. Further I will speak with the guard of the citadel gate.” The sleepy aide nodded and quickly turned to obey his Lord’s commands, sensing his distress and need for urgency. As Arwen had calmed somewhat, they sat down to discuss their next actions. Only minutes later the door opened again and Faramir and Legolas, still in their night clothes entered the room.

As they saw the tear streaked face of the Queen and the worried face of the King both paled and swallowed. Legolas found his voice first. “Estel, Arwen what happened?” he asked, although he could pretty well guess that something had happened to Eldarion.

The King looked at both and straightened. “Eldarion has run off,” he said simply. More words were not necessary. Faramir swallowed nervously. “Maybe, he’s still in the house, hiding somewhere. I will instantly order a search of the whole building,” Faramir offered, already half-turned on his way to instruct guards. “He’s no longer in the house,” Arwen answered calmly.

The wood-elf did not doubt this statement for one moment. If the Queen said the boy was no longer here than they could spare the search through the house. Legolas looked at the King and saw the emotions on the concerned face. Anger warred with guilt and fear. “Estel, I will dress and then go and search for him. Don´t worry, I will find him.”

Aragorn nodded. “Wait, I will accompany you with a contingent of guards.” Slowly shaking his head Legolas laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “No, Estel. I will go alone. You two should stay here and coordinate the search and be here in case he decides to come back on his own. This way I´m independent and will find him faster.”

Seeing the sense in argument the King nodded. “Maybe you are right. Please make haste.” Without further words the wood elf turned and left the room. Aragorn sighed. He trusted his friend with his life. If someone was able to find the boy before harm could reach him, then it would be Legolas. “And I will organize the search at first light,” Faramir said, also turning and leaving as he received a grateful nod from the royal couple. Heavily the King sank beside his wife onto the cushioned chair and then they waited.

………………………………………

Eldarion ran along the darkened streets not knowing where to go. He only knew that he had to get away – away from his parents and away from his troubles. He stumbled along and at last spied the entrance to the underground system of sewage. Yes, he could hide there for a while. No one would enter there willingly.

With tears streaming down his face he scrambled through the narrow opening, tearing his tunic in the process and dived into the stale and unpleasant atmosphere under the city. He shuddered at the wet air and ever present air draft down here despite the cloak around him.

Not seeing beyond his feet he trudged onward never recognizing the crumbled shelf of the wall he was climbing on. With a startled cry he slipped on the crumbling stone and plunged into some sort of ravine, slithering down the slope with no chance to stop his descent. After endless terrifying minutes he slammed hard up against some obstacle and cried out in pain as his right ankle cracked in the process. When the pain had subsided to more bearable levels he groped around and discovered some sort of fence shutting this side of the tunnel.

He tried to rise but sank back with a cry of pain as his broken ankle protested violently against the movement. Sobbing desperately now, he sat there shivering in his now soaked clothes. What had he gotten himself into? Being at home safe in his father’s arms didn’t seem so bad any more. Suddenly his sobs stopped, as he heard a faint sound. First he could not identify it, but then he did, and his heart froze.

He heard the sound of water – rushing water. These tunnels were regularly flushed to erase the disposal of the city. His father had told him a thousand times to stay out of here because the current of the water was dangerous even to an adult. He had totally forgotten about that. And now he sat there, unable to move and awaiting a great wave of water that would either squeeze him dead against the fence or drown him. With rising panic he screamed at the top of his lungs for help. But this deep down and with the ever increasing noise of the water his chances of being heard were slim to none-existent.

…………………………………………………………

Legolas ran along the dark streets trying to imagine where the little boy might have gone. He checked places he would have hidden, but could not find the boy. His fear and anxiety grew with every passing minute. He was afraid that the boy had already gotten into trouble. ‘Please let him be all right’, he pleaded with the Powers while he tried not to think about what the death of the boy would do to his parents.

Catching his breath he stopped and listened, but the slowly rising din of the awakening city made this near impossible. With a heavy heart, yet with his senses on high alert he walked onward hoping to find the desperate child, yet at the same time knowing how unlikely it was in such a big city to find someone who didn’t want to be found.

He stopped and turned back. The boy could not have gotten that far, even with his head start of two hours. As the first carts rumpled through the streets on their daily business he sighed, now robbed of the ability to find the boy by some noise Eldarion he would have made. He leaned against a stone wall and briefly closed his eyes to extend his senses a bit farther.

After a while he stopped and turned back towards the Citadel to assist Faramir and his troops in their systematic search. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed something on a stone wall that was out of place. He stopped to investigate and saw a torn piece of a bright red fabric hanging on a jagged piece of wood from an old little gate leading to the city’s underground.

He did not know why, but he knew instantly that this was the sign he had searched for and that it belonged to Eldarion. Squeezing himself with much difficulty through the narrow opening he nearly slipped on the moist stones lining a tunnel under the city. He nearly choked at the dank and stale air here and prayed freverently that the boy had not scampered around here in the dark.

But this was just his kind of luck, wasn’t it? Again he closed his eyes and listened intently, but all he heard was the rushing of water. As he just wanted to turn and head out, he heard another sound faintly above the rushing water flushed with high pressure though the tunnel. As his mind identified the sound his heart froze. What he had heard was clearly the crying of a child.

Again knowing that this could only be the boy he was searching for, he briefly hesitated. Should he call for help, or…judging by the desperate crying of the child and the rushing of the water, Eldarion was in serious trouble and he needed help quickly. Without further thought the elf ran along the slippery path, trying to detect where the crying came from. Not an easy task with so many turning and twisting tunnels.

Finally he got closer and as he rounded a corner his heart nearly missed a beat. Pressed against a fence by the rushing water was the little prince with his head barely above the water. Only a few minutes more and he would drown. Without thinking the wood-elf sprung into the hip-deep water and gasped as the icy liquid nearly swept him off his feet. There was no chance for a child to fight against that current.

“Eladarion, hold on, I´m coming,” he shouted, but the child could not hear him. His head was almost under water now and he was relentlessly pressed against the fence. Using the current to his advantage Legolas let himself float toward the boy. Inches from the fence he put his feet in front of him and groaned at the pressure of the water that pressed him against the obstacle.

With some determination he got a good hold on the fence only inches from the boy. He reached one hand out and grabbed the youngster’s chin to pull his head above the surface of the water. The boy spluttered, sobbed, screamed and thrashed.  He was completely unaware that someone was trying to help him. After a while Legolas’ feet and arms began to tremble with the exertion of holding both himself and the boy upright and out of the water.

Again and again he had tried to speak to the boy, but the child was terrified and incoherent. Then slowly but noticeably the pull from the water lessened and the height of the water level decreased until the two friends sank to the now still wet but waterless ground totally exhausted and catching their breath. Rising on his knees Legolas crawled over to the motionless child, afraid that his efforts were in vain after all.

As he carefully turned the little body over he sighed. The boy was alive and looked at him with wide eyes. “L…Legolas?” he sobbed. Gently pressing the boy to his chest the wood elf inhaled. “Yes, little one. It’s me. You are safe now.” Sobbing now violently the boy threw his arms around the elf’s neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… I couldn’t get out…and then the water came…. and….”

Stroking the wet hair soothingly Legolas tried to calm the boy. “Shht, it’s all right. Don’t worry, I will get you out of here.” As the sobs had subsided somewhat Legolas untangled himself from the boy’s choking grasp and looked him over. “Are you injured?” he asked seeing nothing apart some scratches and bruises.

“I think my ankle is broken. It hurts fiercely,” the boy answered. Quickly examining the leg Legolas could only affirm the statement. “I fear you are right. I will carry you then. Let’s get out of here quickly before the next rush.” Seeing the fearful widening of the boy’s eyes the elf quickly regretted his words and rose lifting the boy in his arms.

Snuggling close to his chest the boy did not make a sound as his injured leg was jostled in the process. Carefully setting one foot in front of the other the wood elf retraced his steps back until he reached the entrance through which he had entered. “Will Ada be angry at me?” the boy asked miserably, directing pleading eyes at the elf. Legolas smiled. “I think he will be very happy to have you back. With a little cooperation from your side all will be well again.”

Nodding and closing his eyes the boy finally succumbed to his exhaustion. Minutes later the elf emerged from the small opening and came face to face with an astounded and very worried Faramir.

………………………………………

“Legolas”, the Steward cried in immense relief, seeing the elf emerge from the underground system with the missing prince in his arms. Taking in their bedraggled and very wet appearances Faramir could pretty well guess what had happened. “Are you two all right?” he asked.

“Eldarion has broken his ankle, I fear.” Legolas responded. “Faramir, how did you know to look here?”

The Steward smiled. “I’ve grown up in this city and the dangerous places are often the most appealing. I followed my instinct.” Legolas smiled back. “I will quickly bring him home to end the worrying,” Legolas announced, feeling how the boy shivered in his arms. Faramir nodded, already sending his men back with the order to inform the King of their eminent arrival.

………………………………..

The King rose quickly, as a knock sounded on his study door. He took a deep breath as he opened the door and saw one of Faramir´s man standing there breathing heavily. Arwen was standing only inches behind him.

“My Lord, my Lady. Lord Faramir sent me to tell you that your son has been found. Lord Faramir and Lord Legolas are already on their way back.” The King and Queen´s sighs were audible and made the guard smile. “Thank you for bringing this message so quickly, have you any other details?” the King asked relieved beyond measure. “I’m sorry, my Lord, but I was only ordered to bring the message. I haven´t seen them personally.” Nodding the King dismissed the guard.

As the door was closed he turned and drew his wife into a gentle embrace feeling her trembling with joy and anticipation. Pacing the hallway they did not have to wait very long. Hearing a commotion in the courtyard the King opened the door and rushed outside closely followed by his wife. Standing on the steps they waited impatiently until the party came into view. Aragorn narrowed his eyes, as he saw his son snuggled up to Legolas’ chest, pale and dripping wet.

Arwen gripped his arm nearly painfully. “He´s injured,” she whispered. Nodding the King hurried down the steps as Legolas and the others arrived there. Taking the nearly asleep child in his arms the King looked at his best friend. “What happened?” he asked. Looking back the elf tried to smile. “I think his ankle is broken, and he must get quickly out of the wet clothing.”

Nodding the King cradled the boy closer to his chest being careful not to jostle the injured leg. “Thank you my friend. I know there is more to this story, but I think this can wait for later. Will you accompany us?” “Of course.” The elf smiled and climbed up the stairs to embrace the Queen and reassure her that all would be well. The King quickly thanked Farmair and his men, dismissed them and carried the boy inside the house to his private healing chamber, reserved only for family members. Closely followed by his wife, the King laid the boy down on the examination table and Legolas closed the door.

Arwen stroke the flushed face of her son whispering soothing words to the now silently crying child. While the King washed his hands Arwen peeled the child out of his wet clothing and dressed him in a warm sleeping gown. After a questioning look from his wife the King nodded. “I can manage. We will meet in the library later.”

Nodding the two elves left after each of them had kissed the boy. After they had left the King turned back to his son and hugged the miserable looking boy gently. “Eldarion, I’m so glad you are here. I will look at your foot and make you feel better, but first you must drink this.”

The boy only nodded, as his father held a cup to his lips. Too tired to resist he swallowed the bitter contents. Only minutes later he was fast asleep and did not feel anything as the King set the broken ankle and splinted and bandaged the little leg securely. After this he carried the boy to a nearby bed and settled him carefully. After he was sure that the boy rested peacefully he left the room with the door slightly open to the adjacent library, joining his wife and friend.

……………………………………………………..

After changing in some dry clothes Legolas related the tale of the happenings to the parents. A heavy silence descended over the room, after the first shock had abated. Making sure that the elf wasn’t injured, in spite of a few bruises and scratches, Aragorn tried again to sort out his confused thoughts.

With one ear directed towards his son’s room he still couldn´t understand the reason behind Eldarion´s odd behaviour. There was still some puzzle piece missing. A brief look at his wife and friend told him, that the elves struggled with the same problem. What was troubling the boy so, that he could not speak with anyone about it? The King shuddered again as he recalled the events that had nearly cost his son´s life. Lost in thought he nearly jumped, as Faramir appeared at the slightly open door. The steward inclined his head toward the three occupants.

“My Lord, my Lady, Legolas. The three youngsters who have attacked Eldarion yesterday are now in my study. Will you attend the interrogation?” Even before Faramir had ended Aragorn had sprung to his feet. “We are coming,” he announced extending his hand toward his wife, knowing that nothing would stop her now. He invited the wood elf with a brief nod. Now he would at last gain some answers. He still thought about a children´s quarrel but as he entered the Steward´s study he clearly saw that the three youngsters were already beyond the state of children. No match for Eldarion.

He did not really know what he had expected, but surely not the nearly arrogant, yet bored expressions on the three faces. Leaning against his huge desk and facing the young adults in front of him with an expressionless mask he waited until Arwen and Legolas had seated themselves left and right of him. Angered already by the boys aloft expressions he took a deep breath. “You are brought here to answer to me, concerning the attack at my son yesterday.” Looking at the youngsters sternly the King had braced himself for so many answers, but what then tumbled in the most spiteful way from the leader´s mouth left him momentarily speechless.

“It was hardly an attack, the brat needed a lesson,” answered the youngster in the middle without a flinch. Regaining his composure quickly Aragorn stepped forward until his face was inches from the youngster’s. With his hands atop the youngster’s hands on the armrest he pinned him effectively to the chair. “Then enlighten me, young one, how would you call four cracked ribs, a split brow and bruises too many to count?” he said in a deadly calm voice.

Not intimidated in the slightest the youngster looked back at the King hatefully. “As I said before this half-breed needed a lesson taught. He is always favored by everyone. All others can struggle around him but the princeling is always the best. We are not very fond of this bastard.” Sensing the danger Legolas quickly stepped forward and restrained his friend´s hand, as the King´s patience was stretched beyond any limits.

Albeit he himself was ready to punch the smug smile from the youngsters face, this would serve them nothing. Glaring momentarily at the wood elf, the King quickly enough regained his composure and stepped back. Having heard enough already he ordered the six guards standing at attention. “These three are arrested immediately until I have decided over their punishment.” As the six guards stepped forward and grabbed the arms of the youngsters the speaker from before struggled widely, glaring at the King and his wife.

“You upstart from the north have no right to be King and order us around and the same goes for the half breed brat you call your son. “As he saw the shocked expression on his wife’s face something inside him was snapping. With a quick reach the King grabbed the youth’s neck and squeezed lightly. “I would advise you to shut up and surrender; otherwise you will join my son in the house of healing with more that a few broken ribs.” Finally ceasing his struggles the youngster gave up and Aragorn released him. Quickly the guards led them from the room.

Still trembling with rage the King turned and paled, as he looked at his wife crying silently. He quickly strode over and enveloped her in a loving hug, angry that he could not undo the words uttered in such hate. “I’m sorry, my love that you have to hear this.” Looking with watery eyes at her husband the Queen shuddered.

“Estel, we have done Eldarion wrong. When these boys have tormented him like that, than he has all reason to be afraid and withdrawn,” she sobbed now, guilt evident in her voice. The King could only nod. “You are right. I´m sorry, I have never guessed this. As soon as he awakes I will talk to him and try to set things right.” Holding each other tightly they tried to shut out the hateful words they had just heard. How must the boy have felt?

Legolas had quietly and discreetly left the room, as Faramir before him, still not able to comprehend what he had just witnessed. He had known that it was always difficult to be a child of two worlds but such contempt and hatred he had not expected. It was so sad. These single-minded and blinded beings seemed never to die off, yet being the son of the King was never easy.

……………………………………………………

As Eldarion woke he groaned inwardly as he tried to remember why his right foot throbbed badly and why his whole body ached. As the memory returned he could not suppress another groan. Now his parents would be truly upset and he was in serious trouble. Therefore he was surprised to feel a hand caress his cheek and a gentle voice was bidding him to open his eyes.

He reluctantly obeyed and was another time surprised to look into his father´s face, only love and concern in his eyes, no anger. “Eldarion, how do you feel?” the King asked, looking straight into the grey eyes so much his own. Not able to judge the mood of his father at the moment the boy struggled for the right answer. “I’m fine,” he said carefully, trying to not let any emotion slip into his voice.

Seeing the shoulders of his father sag and hearing a weary sigh, he felt instantly guilty, but before he could say something more the King looked up. “Eldarion, I’m sorry. Now I know how the other boys have treated you and why you have reacted the way you did. I´m really sorry about the way I reacted and I beg your forgiveness for not listening to you properly. But why in all of Arda did you not confide in me, or at least in your Nanneth? We would have helped you to get solve this problem and…..”

After Eldarion had swallowed his shock that his father had found out he hung his head and averted his eyes. The King stopped and frowned and had the distinct feeling that he still had not gone to the core.

“What is it, Eldarion,” he asked gently lifting the boys chin with his finger. As the watery eyes looked back at him the King´s heart nearly broke. “Ada,” the boy began with a trembling voice. “Every time you or Nanneth interfered in the past everything became worse. They had then even more reason to hate me.” Now understanding the whole mess the King enveloped his child in a gentle embrace no longer able to contain his tears.

“I’m so sorry for not understanding, but I promise you that these boys will never pester you again,” he said and vowed inwardly that these individuals would never again have the chance to lay eyes on his son. As the boy’s sobs had subsided the King was shocked by the next nearly whispered words. “But Ada, are they right to call me a bastard? Am I not so worthy because I’m the child of two races? “Nearly choking the King was only glad that Arwen was not present to hear this heartbroken anguish. He disentangled himself from his son´s arms and looked the boy in the eye.

“Eldarion listen to me. They are not right of course. You are a child of two races, yes, that’s right, but you are also a child of love. You are no bastard. You have inherited so many wonderful character traits from both your Nanneth and me. How can this be bad? These people are only jealous and frustrated. You must not listen to them, all right?” Earning a reluctant not and the touch of a smile they embraced again. Both had not recognized the Queen standing at the doorframe. With a much lighter heart she left, sensing that this was a moment for father and son. She would make her peace with her child later.

………………………………………………………….

A few days later the prince wobbled on his crutches down the steps into the garden. Legolas and Faramir, sitting on a bench, were on their feet instantly should the boy fall. Gratefully he made it down and came toward the bench. Looking hesitantly he took a deep breath.

“Legolas, Faramir, I’m here to…apologize to you. I’m sorry for snapping at you at the House of Healing,” he said looking at the Steward, “and for being rude to you down there in the ravine,” he added looking at the elf. Ashamed he looked down. “Are we still friends?” he whispered. Swallowing the two adults knelt in front of the miserable looking boy and embraced him simultaneously.

“Of course, we are, you are welcome, young one,” Legolas choked out. “Need you ask?” Faramir added with the same choked voice holding the young prince close.

The End