Ephemeros

Ch 4: The Nature of Mortality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Estel coloured a little at the praise and grinned back.

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

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

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

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

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

Loud guffaws and various choking sounds could be heard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are those real bear tracks, Legolas?” 

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

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

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

Legolas couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.  

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

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

Little fingers and lips turned purple rather quickly after that.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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