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

“Cold?” the elf questioned him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You speak of Erestor?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aye. Both are younger than me.”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“For what reason?” the elf was surprised.

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

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

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

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

“It was only a suggestion.”

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

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

“Estel!”

They both laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yrch.” Was the elf’s reply.

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

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

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

“”What? He looked at the elf.

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

“Sword.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Estel, look in front of you!”

As he first, he narrowly dodged an orc arrow.

“Stay alert!”

“I am trying!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No…”

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

“Estel? Estel, look at me.”

Slowly, the youth turned unfocused eyes on him.

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

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

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

He could not let Námo have this one yet.

TBC…

Translations

Yrch – Orcs

Daro – stop

Ta naegra – that hurts

Min – one

Tâd – two

Neled – three

Magol lîn – your sword

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

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

Thanks goes to Fiondil for pointing out a few errors.