“Oh, Estel, your face when the cup started moving. Priceless!” Legolas’ voice shook with laughter.

Estel’s cheeks grew warm, but he merely smirked. “Revenge shall be mine, mellon  nîn. When you least exp---” 

“Hush!”

At once, the group fell silent. Estel knew better than to ignore that tone in Elladan’s voice. He bit his lip. Was it something he said? No, that would have brought only a scolding, not this silence…“Yrch!” Elrohir and Elladan shouted as one. Swords in hand, they leapt from their places by the campfire.

“Where?” Estel asked.

“Above us.” Legolas said, as he drew and strung his bow in one fluid motion.

He could make them out, now, by sound and odor as much as by sight. At least a dozen of them swarmed like ants onto the path ahead. Legolas felled them one by one with his arrows. Elladan and Elrohir stood guard as if daring the orcs to approach.

He pulled out his own bow, for the foul creatures were yet some distance ahead. While he lacked the keen eyesight of the Firstborn, the full moon provided sufficient light for his purpose.

“Meat tonight! Juicy elf and man flesh!” an orc cheered. He resembled a infant’s teething toy due to his torn ears and squashed face.

“Silence, fool. We must catch them first.” The voice held a note of disgust. Estel looked closer. Was that a man?

Thwang. Thud. “Aargh!” The man fell, with Estel’s arrow embedded in his chest.

Chewtoy charged with a roar. Estel had just enough time to drop his bow and draw his sword in its place. Heart pounding, he shifted into a fighting stance.

Block. Dodge. Thrust. Parry. Dodge—not fast enough. Pain shot up his left arm, but no time to stop. Slice. Chop. Thrust. The orc fell. Another took its place.

Clang. Move left. Duck. Block high. Jump. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw yet another orc approach. Spin. Block. Slice. Sweat dripped into his eyes, blurring his vision. Turn. A dagger pierced the flesh of his thigh. Slice. Chop. One lay dead at his feet while Legolas finished off the other.

Panting, he looked about. He didn’t see any more living orcs, except the one Elladan was fighting---no, it was down. It was over. He heaved a sigh of relief as he cleaned his blade, ever mindful in case of further attacks.

“Well done, mellon nîn,” Legolas said.

***“Come, little brother. Let me tend to your wounds,” Elladan said.

“My thigh is the worst of it, I think, but my arm was grazed as well.” Estel gingerly lowered himself onto a boulder.

“It looks painful. Shall I make you some willow bark tea?”

 He swallowed back vomit. “No, thank you. Healing brews taste ill enough even without the stench of burning orc.”

Elladan grunted sympathetically. Legolas and Elrohir had been careful to dispose of the corpses downwind of their camp, but the odor still carried.

“Very well, then. I shall endeavor to be gentle.”

Hissing softly, he tried not to flinch as his brother cleaned and dressed his wounds.

“I shan’t stitch these, I think. Orc weapons are as filthy as the hearts of those that bear them. Adar can give a second opinion once we reach Imladris.”

“Thank you Elladan.” 

“You are most welcome, tithen muindor. Now rest for a while before we continue homeward.”

By now, a full host of stars adorned the night sky. Estel’s eyelids drooped as he tossed his bedroll to the ground. He stifled a yawn as he climbed inside. With his good arm serving as a cushion for his head, he could almost ignore the sharp rocks beneath him.

***

Thwang. Thud. “Aargh!” The noises repeat in his head, giving him no peace. What had he done?  He sat up with a groan, unable to sleep any more.

“What is it, muindor nîn? Do your wounds pain you?”

“No, Elrohir, I am hale enough. Well, in hröa, at least.”

“But not in fëa? Do ill dreams plague you this night?”

“No. Well, yes, but, it’s different this time.”

“How so?”

“Because I killed a man.”

Elrohir sat on the edge of Estel’s bedroll. He rested an arm on his foster brother’s shoulders. 

“Ah. And was this your first kill?”

“Of a man, yes. I mean, I’ve killed orcs and wargs, and giant spiders of course, but this felt different. Like I’m a kinslayer now, killing one of my own people.”“Nay, Estel, never that. He was in the company of orcs, and it was their party that instigated the battle.”

“I know, but still.” Tears ran down his cheeks. He hastily wiped them away. 

“Do not be ashamed, muindor nîn. As someone very wise once told me, ‘not all tears are evil.’”The tears became a torrent, and he choked back a sob. “What is wrong with me, Elrohir?”　

“Nothing, pen neth. Nothing at all. It is normal to grieve when you slay one of Ilúvatar’s children. That is all to the good---I should be far more concerned if you slew without remorse. But there is much darkness in this world, and at times we do what needs must.” Elrohir rubbed soothing circles on his foster brother’s back.Legolas and Elladan approached. “We have all killed men, Estel. Do you think any less of us for it?” Legolas asked.

“No.” Estel said. “But that’s different. You’re elves.”

“We are still the children of Ilúvatar,” Elladan said. “Truly, you have no cause for guilt. Your remorse itself speaks to the innocence of your heart.”

“But that’s just it! I don’t regret it---not entirely. A sort of---thrill ran through me when he fell. Does that make me a bad person?”

“Ah, little brother,” Elrohir said, “you have the heart of a warrior---to do what one must and to find satisfaction therein, yet always to mourn the lives that were lost. Such is our lot, for as long as we dwell in Arda Marred.”

“Does it ever get easier?”

“One learns not to hesitate, but one can never forget the lives one has taken. You will endure. You are strong.” Elrohir said.

“Go not to the elves for counsel, for they will say both yes and no! I thank you, nevertheless.”

Estel leaned against his brother and fell asleep. No more fell dreams plagued him that night, wrapped as he was in the comfort of Elrohir’s arms.