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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…just disappeared.”

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

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

The trees…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wanted to see his brothers again.

Most of all, he wanted his father back.

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

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

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

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

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

One week later...

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

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

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

“…Odogchaer, tolothchaer, nederchaer—”

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

To his relief, the bow was lowered slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is your name?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what?”

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

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

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

“That was not the end of it, was it?”

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

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

“Do you think the Lady can?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you push him off the cliff?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you did not ask.”

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

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

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

“Such as—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is there anyway through the mountains?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TBC…

Nae! – Alas! Minig – elven

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

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

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

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

Next chapter will be titled “Wrath of Caradhras.”