The sun had already disappeared by the time Haldir descended the Dimrill stair down into Nanduhirion. He did not stop, however, for fear there was no time for that. He did not have much farther; half a day at the most. The elf, still holding Estel, mounted his mare, and with a light click of heels they were off, heading for the Golden Wood.

On the way down, neither had said much. Estel had remained oddly quiet, only crying out if his wound was jostled sharply. His answers to Haldir’s inquiries were short and curt. He seemed half-conscious now, his eyes cloud and partially lidded. Whatever poison in that arrow was working fast, yet not fast enough to kill him instantly. The boy closed his eyes for a moment, until his companion gently prodded his good shoulder. He opened them again, glaring weakly.

“Haldir…” he mumbled.

“What did I tell you about sleeping?”

“Not sleeping…resting my eyes,” Estel protested, blinking slowly to clear his vision. A sharp pain lanced his temples, and he bit down on his tongue to stifle a groan of pain. His fingers clumsily tightened on Haldir’s cloak and he tried to pull himself up into a better sitting position.

“Do not do that either,” the elf said, a bit sternly, “Keep them open until I say you can close them.”

“And what will happen if I do?”

“I will—” The elf thought for a moment. “I will tell your brothers how you nearly fell on me when first met. I should think they would like to know that.”

A faint grin crossed his face. “Very well. I will try.” He grimaced and reached one hand up to his shoulder. Haldir pushed it down. “Does it hurt?” he questioned.

“Is it nighttime?” the boy replied, “Of course.” He blinked again, letting his head fall back to rest on Haldir’s shoulder. Focusing on anything was impossible at the moment. Sparks and flashes of light danced before his eyes as he stared up at the sky. “There is nothing you can do at the moment.”

“I know. Yet, I wish there was.” The elf’s voice was soft.

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

The night wore on, in more ways that one. Conversation died down as Estel fought against exhaustion and pain. He tried everything he knew, but it was a losing battle. Time and time again he closed his eyes, only to be prodded by Haldir. At last, he could stand it no more.

“Stop it!” he said, his tone sharp. Haldir had once again poked him, and his patience was wearing thin.

“No,” the elf said simply.

He tiredly pushed himself up on the horse and slightly turned his head in order to see Haldir’s face. “Please, just one minute.” Tears formed in his eyes, even though he did not know why. “One minute…”

Haldir shook his head. “It would not go well,” he replied, avoiding the boy’s gaze. “Understand, Estel, you might not regain consciousness again.”

Much to his surprise, Estel only turned his head away, and leaned forward. “Could we stop for a bit?”

At first, he hesitated. But seeing the dejected slumped form of the youth, he nodded. “For a few minutes. Then we must go on.” He allowed Sirdal to walk a bit before he stopped.

Estel pushed himself off, landing on his feet. His legs buckled under him and he would have fallen if not for Haldir’s hand that kept him upright. The elf helped him sit down on the grassy, and he gratefully leaned against a rock and sighed. He did not move when Haldir placed a hand on his forehead. “I know,” he said before the elf could speak. “I knew it for some time, and there is nothing you can do.”

His companion dropped his hand, and reached out to see the boy’s wound. Gently undoing the buttons on the shirt and removing the bandage, he hid a grimace. The deep puncture was no longer bleeding, which was a relief. But the edges of the jagged hole were dark, and when he gently laid a hand over the wound, it was hot to the touch, as hot was Estel’s fever. The boy flinched back. “There is nothing you can do,” he dully repeated.

For once, Haldir wished he had some training in the healing arts. Frustration welled up in him, and he sighed heavily as replaced the bandage and shirt and helped Estel stand. “I am sorry I could not do more,” he quietly said.

“But you have already done much.” Stumbling on his feet, Estel looked up at him. “You believed me, and you were willing to take me to Lórien.” With some difficulty, he got up on the horse.

“Perhaps,” The elf answered, also mounting. “But do you think I would leave you, Elrond’s son, out in the wild?”

“I thought so when you pointed your arrow at me.”

He smiled. “You startled me. For I did not expect a young boy to come tumbling down a hill and into my camp. ’Twas a good thing you did not roll into my fire.”

At this, Estel could not hold back a chuckle. “Well, it was a good thing you did not shoot me.” He bit his lip when they were suddenly jolted. Haldir’s arm tightened around his waist. “Else I do not think I would have made it this far,” he managed to finish.

The elf did not reply. He merely bent forward and pressed his heels firmly into Sirdal’s sides, increasing their speed. He disliked pushing her to the limit, but if they did not hurry…

He shoved the thought away. No, it would not come to that. He had seen before what grief looked like on the face of Elrond and his children; it had been painful the first time. The second time would be heart-wrenching.

They were silent for some time before Estel finally asked another question. “How long have you been a warrior?” Talking helped him keep his mind off his injury, and to stave off his weariness.

Haldir was forced to think hard. “Too many years,” He finally replied. “At least a thousand years, and maybe more than that.”

“Did you ever…get used to it?” the boy asked. “The killing, I mean.” He swallowed thickly.

He did not reply at first. Estel thought the elf was ignoring the question until Haldir softly answered, “Nay, not ever.” He paused. “You did well against the orcs, Estel. You have been taught well.”

The boy smiled at this, though self-consciously. Never did he except to hear such high praise coming from an elf he had only know for a few days. “Thank you.”

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

They were only hours away from their destination when Estel could not longer resist unconsciousness. The past few weeks were taking their toll on his body and spirit, and he felt he could no longer endure it. His glazed eyes met Haldir’s eyes. “Goheno nin…” he managed to whisper before they closed, and his grip on Sirdal’s mane slipped, fingers limply dropping on his lap.

“No!” The words broke from his lips, and Haldir leaned forward and spoke directly into Estel’s ears. “Elrondion, now is not the time!” he tapped the side of his head. “Wake up!”

But Estel did not awaken. Haldir’s breathe caught in his throat as he urged his horse even faster. With one hand he held the boy. “Stay with me, young one,” he murmured to the comatose boy. “Your family will never forgive me if you do not. Elrond—he will have my head.”

At the name of his father, the boy stirred. “Ada,” he mumbled under his breath. “Mas le, Ada?” The softly spoken Elven words carried a note of pleading and anguish.

“You will see him soon, Estel,” the elf was quick to assure him. “Very soon.”

But Estel did not seem to find comfort in these words. He began moving restlessly. “No…” He flung out an arm, nearly smacking Haldir in the face. “Please…” Tears began making their way down his face. “You promised! You promised!” His breathing hitched. “A-ada?” The last word was little more than a whisper, but the hurt in the voice of the youth was plain.

Haldir place his hand on the boy’s head and guided it to his shoulder. “Hush, Estel,” he said softly. “He is in Lórien, not Rivendell.”

“L-lórien?”

“Remember what I told you—it was not your father who hurt you.” He swallowed hard. “It was someone else, Estel, someone else.”

“He…broke his promise…” A distressed look was on the boy’s face.

“What promise?”

A sob broke free. “I w-would always be known as his s-son.”

Haldir soothingly stilled the boy’s frantic movements. “You are, Estel. He loves you still.” He spoke with as much conviction he could muster into his voice. “You were ever his son. This I swear to you.”

To his relief, his words seemed to penetrate the nightmare of Estel, and he ceased to move. His dark hair fell in waves across his face as his head lolled to the side.

Haldir drew his lips together into a thin line and bent forward, hunching over the boy and his horse. Only a few more hours—he was close, so close to home. He sped on, spurred as he saw the sun rising; a new day was dawning.

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

He was crouching low on one of the trees of Cerin Amroth, one hand on his bow, and the other on an overhanging branch. He appeared to be listening. “Pen anglenna,” he said softly to one beside him.

“I cerir?”

“Galadhel.” Eyes widened. “Ha muindor mîn!” The elf sprang from the branch and leapt down, barely making any sound as his feet touched the ground. As they stood waiting, a lone elf on a horse came riding in their midst. His clothes were stained from travel, and more alarming, black orc blood along with the blood that was crimson. Though his pace was fast, he immediately slowed when he saw the two other elves.

“Haldir? We did not expect you to be back so soon.” Orophin called out. “Did you not reach Imladris?”

“I will explain later, brother.” Haldir hurriedly answered as he slowed his mount, and they saw he was holding a person in his arms. “Rúmil, seek out Lord Elrond. Tell him I have his son, and that he is in need of care.” He dismounted Sirdal and nodded to his youngest brother. “Take her there. Also tell the Lady that there is something amiss in Rivendell.”

“Son? Is this not a—”

“Not now, Orophin,” Haldir cut him short, his words edged with tension. “I need you to find a healer. Now.”

Wisely his brothers obeyed him, swiftly disappearing among the mallorn trees. Haldir hardly gave them a glance; he was practically running. He hoped there would still be time.

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

The doors of the meeting room are roughly shoved open. Rúmil ran into the room, half-breathless. He bowed briefly to his Lord and Lady before giving his message to Elrond. The peredhel immediately stood, alarm in his eyes.

“Do you know why he is here?”

The Lórien elf shook his head. “I am not sure. But he did say the there was something amiss in Imladris,” he replied, “You should find them with the healers, I think, judging by the—” before he could finish his sentence the elf lord was already out the door, followed closely by Glorfindel and Erestor. He blinked, looking towards Celeborn, unsure of what to do next.

“Haldir said it was the son of Elrond? I thought both of them were in Mirkwood at this time.”

Again, Rúmil shook his head. “My lady, he was not Elfkind, oddly enough, but a child of Men. And even stranger is the fact that he bears a great resemblance to Elrond.” He straightened his cloak as he finished speaking. A silence hung over the room.

“So he lives,” Celeborn said, “I thought him gone from this world, along with those he was born to.”

“The last time I saw him, he was only ten years of age—a mere child,” Gandalf told him, “He should be sixteen now.”

“You may go, Rúmil,” Galadriel dismissed the elf as she stood from her seat.

“Where do you go?”

“To the healers. If something is truly wrong at the Last Homely House, then it concerns me, too,” she replied as she left.

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

Elrond walked rapidly among the trees, a worried look in his face. What on Arda had happened when he was gone? A touch on his sleeve made him turn his head.

“You have any—?”

“No.” The peredhel shook his head. “I do not know.” Distractedly he climbed a winding staircase and pushed the door open, only to collide with another elf. Placing his hand on the banister he steadied himself. “Haldir?”

The Lórien elf’s eyes shone with relief. “Thank the Valar you are here.”

“What has happened?”

“There is much that needs saying, but for now, all you need to know is that your son has been injured by a poisoned arrow.” He pulled Elrond inside the chamber. “The healers have treated his wound, but he refuses to wake up.”

The elf lord brushed him aside, finally seeing Estel for the first time. Scratches and bruises marred the youthful face, the dark brown, almost black locks of hair were caked with dirt and dried blood. But it was the paleness of his face that shocked him the most. Sitting down beside the bed, he gently reached out toward him with a hand. “Estel?” he said.

The boy stirred, but his eyes remained closed. He muttered something inaudible.

Elrond rested his hand on the youth’s forehead. “Iôn?”

Suddenly Estel pulled away from him. His eyes flew open and fastened on the face of his father. “No,” he said hoarsely, shrinking away. Elrond was surprised to see terror and hurt in those eyes. He sat back.

“No, what?”

“I’m sorry, my lord—I never meant to…never meant to.” The tears began to fall, unchecked. “I’m sorry. Please.”

“What are you sorry for?” The dark-haired peredhel asked. Something was wrong here, yet he did not know what. He tried to take one of Estel’s hands, but the boy jerked away from him.

“You broke your word, Ada.” The softly spoken Elvish words were broken. “Why?”

Elrond was at a loss. “I do not understand—” he began before Haldir suddenly interrupted him.

“Allow me, my lord,” he said, looking in question. When Elrond nodded he crossed over to the bed. Clasping Estel’s hand in his, he spoke quietly.

“You are not in Rivendell, young one,” he rubbed the back of the youth’s hand. “We are in the Golden Wood.”

“Lothlórien?” Estel had somewhat relaxed under his friend’s ministrations. His fingers tightened around Haldir’s, gripping them so hard that his own hand trembled.

“Aye.” The elf continued to talk in the same tone of voice. “Remember what I told you? You are safe now, Estel.”

As his breathing slowed, Estel was able to focus more, and he now saw the worried looks of the elves about him. The grey eyes sought for Haldir, then lighted upon that of his father. Unconsciously, he stiffened. The golden-haired elf pressed him down. “It is only your father, Estel.”

The boy merely nodded, avoiding his father gaze. His entire body hurt, and he all he wanted to do was sleep. “I wish to rest.”

“Then we will leave.” Haldir rose, but estel stopped him. “Could you stay?” he questioned, softly.

The elf glanced at Elrond, who only nodded. “But later I expect a full account of what is going on, Haldir.” He said.

“Wait—Haldir, the letter…” With some difficulty, the youth pulled the back from his pocket and handed it to his companion. He pulled the covers up and closed his eyes.

Haldir gave the letter to Elrond. “Do whatever you wish with it. I will come and speak with you.”

The half elf gave his son one last glance before he left to seek out the others. As he unfolded the paper and glanced at it, his gaze darkened. Though he could only read a few words, he knew what this language was, and he feared the message behind it.

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

“What does it say, Gandalf?” Elrond asked. They were once again the large room, but the only occupants were he, Gandalf, and Galadriel. “Ill tidings?”

The wizard furrowed his brows. “It speaks of something grave indeed,” he replied, “Someone seeks for Vilya.”

“Who?”

“I do not know. It is unsigned. Nor does this say who it is addressed to.” He sighed. “But the language is Valarin, and there are few who know this tongue.”

“You think it may be one of the Istari who is behind this,” Galadriel softly interjected.

“Perhaps.” Gandalf absently replied.

Elrond wearily rubbed his forehead. “But who, Gandalf, and how did this one come by such knowledge? Or did all the Ainur know who the bearers of the Elven Rings of Power were?” He gave the wizard a meaningful look.

Gandalf pretended not to notice the look. “We were not given the knowledge, Elrond. In fact, I do not think any save I myself know.”

“That does not answer the question.” The half elf leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “How would this one know?”

“Have you talked with your son yet about this matter?” The Lady of the Golden Wood questioned.

“No,” the voice behind the single word was filled with pain. “Something troubles him,” He sighed. “There was fear and distrust when he looked at me, and I do not know why.”

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

Later that day, once he was sure Estel was resting, Haldir sought out Elrond to recount what Estel had told him. When the Lórien elf finished, Elrond was silent for a moment before speaking. “It is small wonder he feared me,” he said, “Who could blame him?”

“Yet he still loves you, my lord. Even when he thought you had sent him away, I was able to see he still believed in you.” Haldir replied. “Estel was rightfully named.”

The elf lord nodded, only partially paying attention to the other. “Tell Galadriel and Gandalf what you have just revealed to me.”

“Would it not be better if you yourself spoke to them?”

“Perhaps, but—” he glanced at the enclosed room. “I want to talk to him.”

“As you wish.” With a bow of his head, Haldir turned and left, disappearing as only an elf could.

Elrond slowly inhaled and closed his eyes. Haldir’s news had troubled him greatly. His heart ached for what his youngest had just been through, and he glanced down on the ring on his finger.

Vilya, the Ring of Air. The ring that Gil-galad that bestowed upon him the day before he had died. He slowly rubbed the blue jewel with a finger, feeling its smoothness. He had not asked for this, yet this duty had been handed to him. If someone greater than he in power had this in his hands, he would be capable of taking on Sauron himself. The thought was disturbing indeed.

Before he had spoken with Haldir, Gandalf had translated the letter into the high tongue. The letter had been filled with the plans and ideas of someone who longed for power—but it was not all.

It had also mentioned Estel, though not in name. The traitor had said that he once he had brought down Elrond, the heir of Isildur would be next. That is, if he still lives, were the exact words. For the wilderness will not be kind to one who has grown up among the elves, untried and young.

Elrond clenched his fist. He would die before any such thing happened, before any more harm could come to his son, he swore it. Grey eyes hardened like steel as he tightened his mouth.

“You can hide no more,” he said softly. “You have been found out, and there is no place for you to go.”

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

Grey eyes opened and slowly blinked, puzzlement showing in them. Where was he? No longer in the wild, for sure. But definitely not home, either. The architecture of the room was different from Rivendell; the wood was whitish, and the ceiling slanting. Graceful curves decorated the bed he was in, and the blankets were thinner and made of a materiel foreign to him. He pulled them closer, frowning as he tried to make sense of his surroundings…Slowly, he began to remember.

Lothlórien…he was in the Golden Wood…but where? Sitting up, Estel shakily propped himself up on his elbows, wincing as his wound protested the movement. The room spun, forcing him to close his eyes until the vertigo ceased. He drew in his breath slowly as he fully sat up. His body still ached, and he felt unnaturally warm. He glanced toward the dresser at the side; one candle burned brightly, and a basin stood next to it. His boots and the shirt he had formerly been wearing lay in a crumpled heap at the foot of his bed, and dagger on top of them.

Soft sounds made him glance at the door. It was slowly being pushed opened, revealing the figure of his father shrouded in the dim light of morning. Estel tensed, his hands gripping the sheets.

Elrond noted the look as he walked soundlessly into the room, his eyes never leaving the wide-eyed gaze of the boy’s. Sitting down on the bed, he crossed his arms and did not speak.

Estel spoke, though haltingly. “You know what has happened?”

“Vaguely,” the peredhel replied, “Only from what Haldir told me.” Pain flickered in his eyes as he bent forward. “I’m sorry.”

“For what happened? It should not be you, but I who is sorry.” The boy wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his chin on them, his dark hair tumbling about his flushed face. “If only I had seen through his ploy, I would still be in Rivendell.” The words began tumbling out. “If only I had been wiser, and had not pried.” His breathing hitches. “For nearly a month, I thought it was you. I thought you banished me and—” he paused to roughly swipe away a tear, whispering something around his sobs.

“And what?” Elrond bent lower until he was at eye level with the boy.

“D-dis—o-owned m-me,” Estel shut his eyes, tightly, hating the fact his emotions were displayed and how his voice shook. He was no longer a child, and still the tears came as easily as they had years ago. With a frustrated motion he swiped at them.

A pair of strong arms suddenly enfolded him, and on an instinct, he pressed his face against his father’s shoulder, his hands tightly clutching the sleeves of Elrond’s robes, no longer caring about his tears.

The elf lord ran his fingers through the tousled dark strands, his other arm still wrapped around the form of his adopted son. “You did well, iôn nîn. I blame you for nothing,” he quietly whispered. “None of this was your doing. He would have found some other way to…send you away?”

“W-was it the l-letter?” Estel murmured into the fabric.

“Aye. Whoever this person was, he was no fool. However,” Elrond smiled. “He never expected you to find your way here.”

The youth snorted at this. “Not a f-fool?” he asked, his breathing still hitching. He felt the form of his father move when the elf laughed. “I think he would not have allowed me to leave if he was as wise as you say he is.”

“That only would have made your departure more difficult.”

“Maybe.” Estel looked up, face flushed and eyes red-rimmed. He wiped the traces of wetness from his cheek wit the back of sleeve and moved away from his father, somewhat embarrassed of his previous show of emotion. “What will you do now?”

“For the moment, there is little I can do,” Elrond replied, “Except discuss things with Galadriel and Gandalf about this, and hope that we can do something about this.”

“Gandalf?”

“Do you not remember the Grey Pilgrim when he visited us only six years ago, with the dwarves?”

He frowned in thought. “I think so,” he finally said, “Vaguely.” He rubbed his forehead lightly with the back of his hand.

Elrond reached over and gently took Estel’s hand. “I think it would be good if you rested now,” he quietly commented. “You look ready to fall over.”

“But, Ada, I only just—”

“No.”

With a scowl the boy lay back against the pillows, wincing slightly. “I suppose you will make me stay in bed for a week.”

“That depends on your condition.”

“Condition?” Estel glared at his father.

“Yes,” Elrond replied, “And I want to see that wound of yours before you rest.”

With no small amount of reluctance the boy obeyed him, unbuttoning his shirt. The peredhel removed the bandage gently. Estel closed his eyes and tensed when the fingers probed the puncture. “Does it hurt much?”

“Only some,” The youth answered him. “And only when you poke it.”

“That means it is healing,” Elrond said dryly as he reapplied the bandage and moved over to a basin that sat on the dresser. His son watched him through half-lidded eyes, fingers clumsily closing the clasps on his tunic. He sighed softly when the elf lord ran a cool cloth over his face. Closing his eyes fully, he turned on his side, his arm curled around his pillow.

“Ada?” he said softly when he felt someone pull the blankets over him.

“Will you stay with me?” He clenched his pillow a little more tightly, somewhat hesitant with his request.

“Where would I be if not here?”

Estel smiled at that and said, “What about when I’m a man and on my own? Will you still be around to do this for me?”

“Iôn nîn, I will always be there when you need me. Never forget that.” Elrond sat down in the chair next to the bed, letting his fingers rest on the boy’s head. “Now sleep.” His voice deepened as he spoke the command. “Just sleep.”

Estel’s breath evened out as he obeyed, and he did not feel the gentle kiss his father laid on his forehead.

Elrond leaned back in his chair as he watched the dark-haired child sleep. So young, and yet he had already been through needless pain… The elf sighed deeply as he glanced at the pile of Estel’s belongings on the ground, and he got up to gather them, grimacing at the dust and blood coating the shirt. His fingers found the dagger and grasped it. He frowned. He remembered that there was also a knife. Where was it now?

A soft knock on the door alerted him that someone was at the door. Quickly straightening up Elrond walked over and opened the door. “Lady Galadriel,” he quietly acknowledged her.

“How does he fare?” she asked.

“Well enough for the moment. He sleeps now.” Elrond replied. “I will stay with him for today.”

“That is good.” She laid a hand on Elrond’s shoulder as she looked into the room at the still form. “Shall I send something up for you to eat?”

He nodded. “And something for Estel when he awakens.”

“As you wish.” When Elrond turned, she stopped him. “Eärendilion,”

“My lady?”

“I certainly hope your son is not as bad as your other children when he is in full health. I remember the destruction your sons caused during their stays here.” She smiled at him. “How we greatly feared them.”

“They were only elflings!” Elrond looked indignant. “Barely into adulthood.”

“And what about Arwen?”

Elrond glanced sharply. Was the Lady of Lórien smirking at him? “She was obedient, as far as I am concerned.”

“Indeed?” Galadriel raised any eyebrow. “Perhaps she did not tell you about the incident with my husband’s robes?”

Had Estel not been sleeping, Elrond would have raised his voice. “No, she did not tell me.” he replied, “Is it something I should be aware of?”

The Noldor elf placed a hand over her mouth and coughed. “You should ask Celeborn that.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Oh, Eärendilion.” she smiled again. “It really was nothing. Although Celeborn and Arwen avoided each other for a few days, it ended well. ” Her face clouded for one moment. “But this all took place before my daughter left.”

The half-elf looked away at this. “I know.” he answered quietly. “But much as changed.” His gaze became distracted. “It was Estel. The child brought a joy that Imladris had long forgotten. It is strange he did so much for us, and yet, in a way, he did not.” His eyes rested on the form lying in the bed. “He was simply himself.” Elrond glanced over at Galadriel. “You do not seem surprised.”

“And why would I be?” The lady chided gently him like a mother would. “For I could see for myself the change.” Her grey eyes were full of warmth. “When your sons visited me only a few months ago, I had the opportunity to observe them laughing over some private joke.” She turned to Elrond. “It has been a long, long time since I have seen my grandchildren truly happy. And I could see it also in you.”

“That is why I am thankful he is my son.”

For a moment they looked at Estel, who was unaware he was in the center of their attention. “You never did answer my first question, peredhel.” The Lady of Light commented.

The other heaved sighed, but his eyes twinkled. “He is worse than all three of my children put together. Only Eru knows where the boy finds his energy.”

They shared a laugh before Galadriel bade him a good day and Elrond returned to his place beside the bed. Estel had curled up tightly, arm still wrapped around the pillow. His hair fell about his face, concealing the features of a boy that was really no longer a child, Elrond noted with no small amount of sadness.

“May the Valar watch over you when I cannot,” he whispered as he watched him sleep. “For though I have not yet told you, the issue of an imposter is grave indeed, and will bode nothing good for any of us.”

TBC…

Translations:

Goheno nin – forgive me

Mas le? – Where are you?

Pen anglenna – (Some) one approaches

I cerir? – Who does?

Galadhel – Elf of Lothlórien. Derived from Galadhrim, meaning “elves of Lothlórien” according to Dragon Flame.

Ha muindor mîn – It is our brother

Iôn – son

Eärendilion – “son of Eärendil”