Story Downloaded from Open Scrolls Archive (https://www.openscrolls.net)

Title: Keeping Hope Alive (#2440)
Author: Jael
Chapters: 7

Archive: Tolkien
Category: Lord of the Rings (Movieverse)
Description: On a visit to Rivendell, Legolas meets a young boy who will change the course of his fate. When a mistake in judgment leaves the two of them alone in the wilderness and in peril, a wizard must intervene.
Published: 14 Dec 2005
Updated: 14 Dec 2005
Warnings:
Type: General
Characters: Legolas;Estel;Radagast


Chapter 1 - Love Comes In At the Eye

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.

Part One: Love Comes In At the Eye



Splat.

As he rode the trail along the south fork of the Bruinen, the rider felt the impact and saw a spreading purple stain on the white fabric of his sleeve. He muttered the Sindarin word for feces, which, being said by an elf might have been a simple statement of fact. However, with this particular elf, under these particular circumstances, it was more like an expletive.

This was not his first visit to Imladris. He had accompanied his elders on envoys to the house of Elrond many times before and was well known to the folk there. However, this was the first time he had come alone and on his own business. Always, he had been in awe of the cultured atmosphere of Rivendell and its peredhel lord, and he was painfully aware of what might be perceived as his own inexperience in diplomatic matters. It simply would not do for him to appear before Lord Elrond as a Silvan rustic decked in bird droppings.

To his further annoyance, he was struck again on the knee of his breeches, and immediately another large purple stain appeared on the neck of his grey horse. The animal began to dance sideways, more in response to the mood of its rider than from any fright at being hit, and the elf heard laughter. This was no bird. Birds do not fire from the side, nor do they take amusement in their handiwork. He turned to see a small boy crouched at the edge of the river with a fistful of ripe berries in his hand.

Another berry caught the rider dead between the eyes.

"Why, you little runagate, do you think that is funny? Is this the way the elves of Rivendell teach their children to welcome visitors?" He slid off his horse and stormed down the riverbank.

At the sight of the charging elf, the smile faded from the child's face, and he took a step back, tossing the remainder of his berries into the river.

"Look out, you little fool, those rocks are slippery," the elf warned. Too late to heed, the boy lost his footing and fell into the water.

The elf gritted his teeth and was tempted to curse again. He had half a mind to let the brat find his own way out of the river, but the current was swift and it was not in the nature of any of the Eldar to risk harm to a child. He quickly shed his cloak and bow and dove in after the boy.

The waters of the Bruinen began in the runoff from the glaciers of the Misty Mountains, and the late summer sun had not warmed them at all. The chill cut the elf like a knife and threatened to take away his breath. The currents were tricky as well, and he found himself thrown more than once against sharp rocks and nearly sucked under, as he and the boy were swept downstream. He grabbed the boy by the collar and swam to the bank. The two of them lay for a moment on the rocky shore, tired and chilled. The boy's dripping mop of dark hair no longer obscured his ears.

"You are no child of the Eldar!" the elf exclaimed. "What are you doing among the folk at Rivendell?"

"I live there. And so does my mother," the boy replied, unchastened by his near drowning in the cold water.

"And does your father dwell there too?"

"My father is dead. They tell me he was killed by orcs, and little else. I don't remember him at all."

"Well, that would account for your lack of manners," the elf grumbled. "A father would have taken you in hand before now."

"Do you have a father?" the boy responded boldly.

"Indeed, I do have a father. One who taught me not to throw berries at strangers. But this is none of your concern, young . . .?"

"Estel," the boy answered. "They call me Estel."

"Estel," said the elf. "In that case, I HOPE you will give me no further trouble as I return you to Rivendell and your mother." He stalked back upstream to where his horse stood waiting, retrieved his weapons and cloak, and threw them over the front of his saddle. He mounted and reached down for the boy. "Come, get up behind me."

"I'm all wet. Aren't you afraid I'll spoil your fine saddle blanket?"

The elf merely looked down in disgust at his dripping garments and the spreading wet stain on his saddle. "Might as well make it a clean sweep." He jerked his head in a backward gesture that left no room for refusal and kept his hand out. The boy took it and swung up.

Soon, the soggy pair were cantering over the bridge into Rivendell. The elf stared straight ahead, ignoring the barely suppressed grin of the sentry and the tinkling female laughter that drifted from a gallery overlooking the courtyard. This was hardly the dignified arrival he had hoped for. He was met in the courtyard by a black-haired elf who was, to his relief, well known to him.

"Welcome, Legolas, son of Thranduil of Mirkwood, " said his host with exaggerated courtesy.

"Mae govannen, Elladan, son of Elrond of Imladris" Legolas replied, with equal gravity.

With the formalities out of the way, Elladan's amusement got the better of him. He stepped back to take in the full effect of Mirkwood's prince, hair ends dripping, soaked garments, telltale purple stains on horse and clothing, and the lad peeking out from behind his back. "You look terrible. I see you've met Estel. What has he done this time?"

Legolas smiled weakly. Elrond's son was right -- he was not at his best.

Before he could say anything, a woman appeared from a doorway. Like the boy, she was dark haired, and she looked to be little more than a girl herself. Her face bore a look of concern that turned into fright when she saw the boy.

"Estel, what happened to you?"

"I fell in the river, Mama. He pulled me out." Hopping down from the horse, he ran to her as if he had not a care in the world, leaving Legolas to dismount more slowly.

"Who is that lady?" Legolas asked Elladan softly, as the woman ushered her son off with a brief backward glance of relief and gratitude. "She is as beautiful as any elleth."

"She should be, " Elladan replied. "She is kin. All the Dúnedain are, but this lady more than most."

"Dúnedain?" said Legolas, dumbstruck, oblivious to the groom that came to claim his horse and lead it off the to stables.

"Yes, Dúnedain. The Lady Gilraen is the widow of a Dúnadan chieftain, and that boy is her son. Legolas, my young friend, have you any idea whom you just fished out of the waters of the Bruinen? We call him Estel, Hope, but his name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. He is the last of his line -- Isildur's heir."

"The heir of Isildur?" said Legolas, pondering all that the term meant. "Then, pray tell, why is he left to run free like some ill-bred orc?"

"He does not know who he is. He will be told of his lineage in time."

"I suppose there is a kind of wisdom in that," Legolas said, as he followed his host up a path to one of the main buildings. "He already seems to think quite highly of himself, without knowing that he is descended from kings."

Elladan laughed. "He has a spirit, that one. I pity the man or elf that would try to quench it. He will need every bit of that fire before the end comes. For now, we let him enjoy what childhood he can. This is my father's decree and that of Gandalf Mithrandir."

"Wizards," Legolas snorted. "Then who are you and I to question? I warn you, though, Elladan, you may think he is adorable now, but wait until he grows up and starts lording it over you. You will not find it so amusing then."

They had arrived at a wing of guest chambers. "My father knows of your arrival, and wishes to speak with you as soon as possible. I don't suppose you brought a change of dry clothing with you?"

Legolas sighed. "No, Elladan, I did not. I traveled light, for I did not expect to stay long, and the swim came as a complete surprise. You can be sure I will remedy that oversight in the future, especially if your young fosterling is in residence."

"I will lend you some of my garments, and I'll see if the grooms can get the berry stains off your horse. I fear the shirt is a dead loss. Oh, and one more thing . . . Legolas, would you like some towels?"

* * *

Legolas had just finished changing into dry breeches and shirt when a familiar head popped into view over his windowsill, followed quickly by the rest of the boy. The elf stifled a groan. "Mind that you do not knock my clothes off the railing. I need them dry for tomorrow."

"What are you doing?" Estel enquired brightly.

"At the moment," Legolas replied, "I am drying my hair. You see, I went into the river and got wet, and I cannot go before Lord Elrond with it dripping, now can I? Especially not all over this fine borrowed velvet doublet of Elladan's."

"That's Elrohir's jacket," said the boy matter-of-factly. "See, it has the blue embroidery around the collar. Elladan wears the green. Everyone knows that."

"Is that their fashion now?" said Legolas evenly. "Then, when I see Elrohir I shall be sure to thank him for the generosity of his brother." After several centuries of the twins' 'unique' sense of humor, the pranks barely registered anymore. No doubt this was where Estel had learned that throwing things at guests was funny. The child-rearing theories at Rivendell were strange by Mirkwood standards, or so Legolas thought.

He bent forward from the waist and toweled off his hair. Shaking it out, he ran a comb through it and began to rebraid it.

"Why do you knot your side hair that way? The men here at Rivendell don't do that."

"It is to keep it out of my face when I am fighting."

"Do you fight?"

"Only when I have to."

"Do you fight orcs?"

"Again, only when I must."

At this, Estel looked disappointed. "I hate orcs. If I were big like you, or like Elladan and Elrohir, I would fight them every chance I got."

"I am not exactly fond of orcs myself. And no, you would not. Fighting orcs is nowhere near as enjoyable as you seem to think."

"When you're done knotting your hair, are you going to shave your face?" the boy asked brightly.

Legolas looked surprised. "Of course not. I am an elf. We do not shave our faces."

"My mother tells me that when I am grown to be a man, I will have to shave my face or wear a beard," Estel replied gravely. "I think I will have to wear a beard, because I have never watched a man shave his face. I would probably cut myself."

"We must all hope THAT never happens," the elf muttered, as he finished with his hair and began to fasten the closures of the borrowed doublet.

"Are you going to put on your crown now?"

"No. A crown would be overdressing just to have a friendly meeting with Lord Elrond. What makes you think I even have a crown?."

"Elladan tells me you are a prince, so of course you would have a crown. I wish I were a prince," Estel said, with a sigh.

"Elladan has too loose a tongue by far," Legolas said darkly, "and as far as being a prince is concerned, you might find that it is a highly overrated position. Some princes discover that they have to try twice as hard as any common elf to prove their worth, and they are still thought to be coddled lackwits."

"When will you become king?"

Legolas gave the boy a sharp look. "Never, I hope."

"But, why not? It's good to be the king!"

"You have no idea of which you speak, Estel. First, why would I wish for the passing of my father? And second, to be a king bears a great responsibility. Any mistake or lack of wisdom on a ruler's part can mean disaster for the entire realm. I have no desire for such a burden."

At this, the lad fell silent. The respite, however, was brief.

"I was seven years old at my last birthday. How old are you, Legolas?"

"It is not considered polite to ask an elf his age. By the reckoning of my people, I am young. By the reckoning of yours, I am old. The exact figure is of no consequence," Legolas replied airily.

"Are you embarrassed that your people think you are young?"

"Estel, I must ready myself and you are distracting me." said Legolas somewhat peevishly. "Can you not go play with the other children?"

"There are no children my age at Rivendell," Estel replied sadly. "Not the children of elves nor of men."

"Ah," said Legolas, beginning to feel slightly more sympathetic to the boy. "When I was a child in Mirkwood, there were no others either. There are so few born to us now. My father says it is because our folk have grown old in this world and our time is passing. Perhaps this is a weariness that the White Shores of Aman will cure. I am in no hurry to learn, though, for I am still in love with life and with the lands of my home. I have not had my fill of them yet, and I will not see them fall into shadow. That is why I am here."

* * *

"You have acquired a shadow," Lord Elrond observed, as Legolas was ushered into his study.

Legolas turned to see Estel trotting boldly through the doorway behind him. The lad had been following him all the way from his room, peppering him with questions about anything and everything. He pointed a slender forefinger in the boy's direction. "Stay!"

Elrond broke in gently. "Estel, I would like to speak to my guest in private. Please give us leave for a while." The boy fell back reluctantly as the elven attendants shut the door.

"He seems to like you." Lord Elrond said with amusement.

"May Elbereth have mercy on anyone he does not like," Legolas said.

"I'm quite fond of him myself," Elrond replied. "He actually reminds me of another earnest young fellow who used to haunt the footsteps of my own sons whenever his father brought him here to visit, but this little one has much less diversion in his life. He is clever and he is curious, but lonely and so, he is bored. A mother's love is a fine thing, but it is not everything to a small boy. It is only natural he seeks the company and approval of older males. Arathorn's loss was a tragedy to us all, not the least to Estel."

Legolas inclined his head, acknowledging the older elf's gentle rebuke. He looked up to see the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of Elrond's mouth. "You pulled him out of the river, Legolas. I would gladly give you leave to throw him back in if he weren't so important to us."

"Now, come, Legolas," Elrond continued, "do not stand on ceremony. Take a chair and have a glass of wine with me. It's Dorwinion, 2929, an excellent vintage. It is always good to speak with the son of an old friend. It has been many years since we saw you here at Imladris."

"Twenty-seven, to be precise, since I came with my father and old Galion. That was in the year that the winter came early and the waters of the Anduin froze solid. The snows almost caught us in the High Pass on our way home. I have never forgotten nor has Galion. After that trip, he insisted that he would no longer travel abroad and threatened to retire and go live in the flets with his granddaughter unless he was given another position. He is butler now, and Fefelas is my father's valet. "

"Galion was esquire to your father at The Dagorlad, so I would say he has earned some peace and comfort," Elrond said. "Tell me then, is the fickleness of the late autumn weather the reason why we see you in summer when the berries are full ripe?"

"Partly," said Legolas, finding a chair next to the window. Below, the trees of Rivendell spread over green hillsides, and the waters of the Bruinen beyond filled the air with a rushing sound.

"Tell me, how is your father, King Thranduil? And how are the affairs of the folk of Mirkwood?"

"He is well and so are our people. Trade has diminished with the men of Esgaroth. The dragon plagues them. Dale, of course, is a wasteland. The dwarves keep to their place in the Iron Hills and trouble us little. The woods grow darker, and the spiders grow fatter. However, none of this is why I have come."

Legolas stood and began to pace. The wine and the refined comforts of Elrond's chamber did little to soothe his uneasy sense of purpose. "For the past three years, I have been with my father's scouting patrols in the south of Mirkwood near the territory of the Necromancer. I have been within sight of Dol Goldur itself, though I went in stealth.

"Lord Elrond, the power of the Necromancer grows. The orcs are more numerous. The Old Forest road is no longer safe for travel. The orcs have been taking captives. Most they kill, but others go into the dungeons of Dol Goldur. Of those, a scant few come out again, changed, to become spies for the Necromancer. They cannot be trusted, for by whatever art, they serve a new master."

"You have seen this?" asked Elrond.

"I have, to my sorrow," Legolas answered. "Last year, one of our company was taken by the orcs. After some weeks he returned telling us he had escaped and we welcomed him back. Not long after, I awoke to find his dagger at my throat. I nearly had to kill him before I could subdue him. We kept him close for a time. We tried to heal him, and we questioned him to find out what had turned him thus. Our kindness was to no avail. He willed himself to die."

Legolas shook his head to rid it of the painful memory. "He was a seasoned elf warrior of several thousand springs. If this could be done to him, what of others? I see others going out into the world of men. Who knows what mischief they could wreak?

"Some months past, we noticed that the orcs began to search along the Anduin, near the fields of the Gladden. We could not tell what they were looking for, but their very numbers have made the river impassable, and that route to Lothlorien and further south is now cut off. Lord Elrond, it grows grim. The White Council must be informed."

"What does your father say, Legolas?"

"My father says that Mirkwood has not the strength to drive the Necromancer out on our own. He says to bring the problem to you, Lord Elrond, and so I have done."

It was Elrond's turn to stand. He turned to run his fingers along the fine carvings of his shelves and along the spines of the books they held. "Gandalf Mithrandir paid a visit to the dungeons of Dol Goldur some years ago, although he did not care to share the details of that visit with me. The White Council already knows of the tidings of the Necromancer. At the moment, they are strangely reluctant to take any action."

"They must be strongly advised to reconsider. I have a great fear that this Necromancer is far more than an upstart mage with a large army of orc lackeys at his bidding. Why does Mithrandir not see this?"

"I think Mithrandir sees it. It is Curunir who is reluctant, " Elrond replied. "Who can understand the reasoning of the Istari? They will do what they will do. And when they do it, we may yet find ourselves the pawns in their great battles. Thank you, Legolas. I will convey your message."

At that, the interview was over.

Legolas left Lord Elrond's presence in a frustrated mood. Outside the door, Estel joined him again.

"Did Elrond listen to you? He never listens to me. I think this is because I am young and have no beard. But you have no beard and he doesn't listen to you either."

"No beard. I think you may be closer to the mark than you realize," Legolas muttered as he headed down a hall and out a door, the boy trailing after him.

"I think you should have worn your crown. Perhaps Lord Elrond would have listened to you if you had."

"My father says a crown impresses others just once, and then you are on your own. I'm still saving it up," Legolas replied, almost forgetting he was talking to a child. Although, he thought, if this were not the occasion for being taken seriously, he did not know what that occasion might be.

"Well, I should have worn a crown if I had one," Estel piped up. "And if I had one, it would be a big heavy one with jewels."

"How nice. That sounds quite tasteful."

"Does your crown have jewels, Legolas?"

"Of course not. Mine is just a mithril band, like the one you see on Lord Elrond, only plainer. I don't even like wearing it, really, it makes me look like a girl. Look, are we going to start this game of twenty riddles all over again? I have not the heart for it right now. In fact, I have had about all of this day I can take."

Estel affected an air of innocent disappointment. "That's too bad, because my mother, Gilraen, would like a word with you. She wants to thank you, I think."

The elf's eyes narrowed. "And you waited until now to tell me this?" If he was not mistaken, there had been a sly glint in the boy's eyes. "Never mind, this is something I have the heart for, Show me the way."


Chapter 2 - The Widow

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.



Part Two: The Widow

The boy and his mother had apartments in one of the smaller buildings close to the river. Gilraen rose when her son led the elf into the room. "Welcome, Legolas. We have much to speak of." She turned her attention to the boy saying, "Estel, it is time for you to practice your letters."

Much to Legolas's surprise, the boy nodded and disappeared into the next room with only a slight wistful glance back over his shoulder. "He obeys you."

"For now," Gilraen replied

The room was filled with embroidered hangings depicting scenes from the history of Arda. An unfinished tapestry stood in a frame by the chair the lady had just vacated.

"These are beautiful," Legolas said.

Gilraen shrugged, "The women of the Dúnedain usually have little time for such frippery. I would much prefer to be tending a fire and mending my husband's shirts. This idle pastime is all that is left to me now. That, and my son. I must thank you for the kindness you showed him today."

"It was no kindness," the elf protested. "If you must know, I probably frightened him into the river to begin with."

"He told me the whole story," Gilraen said. "I ask your pardon for the misbehavior that provoked you. I am at my wits end with him. He has no playmates his own age and he has no older male to guide him."

"Lord Elrond . . ."

"Lord Elrond is busy with other cares. So is the wizard, Mithrandir. I think you are the first male who has said more than a few words to my boy in years."

"I am sure Elladan and Elrohir would be willing to guide him."

Gilraen tensed, and Legolas wondered if he had said something wrong.

"I watched my husband ride off to hunt orcs with those two, and I never felt a moment of fear. I was very young that day. My youth and my trust ended when they brought him home again with an arrow through his eye. I know in my heart it was no fault of theirs. I also know the day must come when I must give my son to them to learn the skills of manhood. But, Legolas -- not yet. Not yet."

Legolas nodded. "I can well understand a parent's desire to protect a child." He could also sympathize with a child's need to slip the leash from time to time, although he was so in awe of this lovely woman that he was not about to say that aloud.

"You are young for an elf, are you not, Legolas?" she continued. When he shifted uncomfortably, she laughed. "I know -- not polite. You see, I can be as impertinent as my son if it suits me."

Legolas smiled but still made no answer.

"Such a strange people you Eldar are, to be ashamed of the vitality of youth. I can see it in your eyes. The others are all so fair and untouched in beauty. But their eyes are old. I think Aragorn senses this in you too; that openness to the world and the curious spark that still exists. I think this is why he has taken to you so readily."

"You are very young too, Lady. Surely, you are younger than I am by many hundreds of years, so I find it strange you should speak to me of youth as if your own had passed. I am told the people of the Dúnedain live to a great age for those of the Second Born."

Gilraen sighed. "I feel a great age is not for me. My son will soon grow to manhood and leave me, as he must, and then I shall be free to join my Arathorn beyond the circles of this earth. I have given hope to Men. I keep none for myself.

"But let us not talk of sad things. My son is all in eagerness that you should sit with us tonight at Lord Elrond's table, and I know your presence would give me pleasure as well."

"In that case," said Legolas, hoping that his face was a blank slate, "I should like that very much."


Chapter 3 - Some Eldar Facts of Life

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.

Part Three. Some Eldar Facts of Life

"I say, Legolas, you look better in that doublet than I ever did!"

Legolas snapped out of his walking reverie to see another dark haired elf, identical in looks to the one who had greeted him upon arrival, leaning back against the supports of a gazebo among the trees.

"Mae govannen, Elrohir." he said, turning aside and joining his friend. "You must forgive me for the clothes. It was more of Elladan's wit at my expense."

Elrohir shrugged in good humor. "It is an old joke of his to lend out my things to the unwitting. You should count yourself fortunate, Thranduilion, that I do not have a wife."

The younger elf stared blankly for a moment and then blushed furiously.

"Elrohir, that was no fit subject for jest."

Elrohir merely slapped him on the shoulder. "My young friend, if you do not learn to laugh, you will never make it through your first thousand years. So, what brings you to Rivendell this time?"

"Taking counsel with your father," Legolas replied morosely.

"And did he listen?"

Legolas shrugged. "He heard me out and then gave me a bottle of wine to take home to my father."

Elrohir sighed. "If it's any consolation to you, Elladan and I have been getting that same treatment for nigh onto three thousand years. Minus the wine, of course."

There was silence for a time between them as they stared off into the trees, each pondering the trials of being the sons of noble elven fathers.

It was Elrohir who broke the silence. "What news of your home? I would have thought that one of the lovely lasses of Mirkwood had caught your eye and made Thranduil a grandsire by now."

"All well and good for you to say that, Elrohir. I invite you to make a visit to my father's halls, where I am sure you will have your pick from among those plentiful maidens," Legolas said dryly. "So far none has taken my fancy, and the same holds true for them. It does not help in the least that they all know me from a time when I was at the breast and wetting myself."

"I don't see why. Elladan still does that after too much wine, do you not, brother?" said Elrohir gaily as his twin approached and joined them.

"Which, brother? The wetting, or the other?"

Legolas dropped his eyes and colored again.

"Legolas," said Elrohir kindly, "What was I just telling you about a sense of humor?"

"I'm afraid our young friend has little to laugh about at the moment," said Elladan.

Elrohir cocked a questioning eyebrow.

"Orome's Lance, " Elladan said. "I saw it hit when he rode in today."

Elrohir nodded sagely.

"Lance?" said Legolas, puzzled.

"You know, what the maidens like to call the love sickness. As when Beren first caught sight of Luthien. Or when Elwe spied Melian and lost all thought of Valinor," answered Elladan with heavy significance in his tone.

Legolas shut his eyes and gritted his teeth. Had it been that obvious? Could he, at this moment look a more perfect fool?

"And it is always the worst when it happens with the ones you cannot have, "said Elrohir. "Very bad luck for our young friend here."

"I am right here, you two," said Legolas pointedly. "I do not find this subject amusing."

"I know, Legolas," said Elrohir more kindly. "However, it happens, and it must be dealt with. You are not the first to be so afflicted, " he said with a quick glance at Elladan, who flushed and looked away quickly. "It will pass . . . In a few thousand years. Until then, I suggest cold baths."

"And long walks in the woods," added Elladan helpfully.

Legolas sighed. "Well, then I am ahead of the game, for I have already had the one today, and I plan to leave for home tomorrow. Although it will be my horse doing most of the walking, and I fail to see what good it will do him, for, unlike his master, he has been gelded." With that, he rose and bowed to his two friends with an exaggerated flourish. He turned on his heel and strode off up the path to his quarters with all the dignity he could salvage.

"Was that a joke?" Elladan asked. "Could our young friend be developing a sense of humor at last?"

"Hard to tell with him," answered his brother. "I hope for his sake it is so. Thranduil's boy is far too serious for his own good."

Elladan rolled his eyes. "You have no idea."


Chapter 4 - Wine Goes In At the Mouth

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.

Part Four: Wine Goes In At the Mouth


When Legolas crossed the Cirith Forn en Andrath he did so with a troubled heart. He had timed his passage so that he would traverse the pass at midday, and by nightfall he had descended to below the tree line on the other side. He found a sheltered spot and made camp. He would have liked a fire, but no sane man or elf would chance a fire at night in orc territory. If there was anyone who held to the mistaken belief that the Eldar did not feel the cold, Legolas would have invited them to join him in the river the day before, or to have heard Galion's complaints when the three of them, Elvenking, prince and valet, had awakened on the eastern slopes of the Misty Mountains to find themselves covered in a foot of snow. Elves merely chose to ignore the cold as much as was possible, and Legolas did this now, drawing his cloak around himself for the warmth and concealment it would provide. True sleep would also have to wait until he was safe behind his father's gates.

It seemed to him that his journey had accomplished nothing but a waste of time and good horseshoe metal. All he had received was a courteous interview, a pat on the head for the Elven-princeling, and a quick dismissal, thank you very much. Lord Elrond and the White Council were not going to listen to the likes of Thranduil's elfling boy. Which was hardly anything new, Legolas thought sourly. If only he could have found the words to convey the enormity of what he had seen and felt in the south of Mirkwood.

It had come upon him some months ago, a desire to look upon Amon Lanc, the original home, long abandoned, of his people when Oropher had first led them to Greenwood the Great. The woods in those mountains were crawling with orcs, and, being unwilling to be responsible for the death of a warrior under his command just to indulge a whim, Legolas had dismissed his guards and gone on alone. This was a detail he had not shared with his father, for he knew that if Thranduil ever caught wind of how his son had risked himself, he would remove his command and keep him close to home for the next several decades at least.

His first sight of Dol Goldur had been across a steeply wooded valley. The tall hill of Amon Lanc rose dark and forbidding in the distance with the tower on its bare summit. The moment his eyes fell upon the accursed place, Legolas had felt himself overcome by a nameless menace that emanated from the tower, and he had frozen like a terrified rabbit. The spit had dried in his throat, and the secret parts of his body had tried to hitch back up into his belly. Already crawling on elbows and knees for stealth, Legolas had hugged the earth for what seemed an eternity until he could force himself to move again.

These were not words he could use before Lord Elrond, however, without being dismissed as a coward, and a crudely spoken one at that. Legolas was certain that Lord Elrond had never found himself to be so utterly unmanned, at least not within the last few millennia. And yet, if Elrond spoke aright, the wizard Mithrandir had actually gone inside that evil place. Legolas found himself with a much heightened respect for the old man they called the Grey Pilgrim.

Tonight, Legolas carried a flask of the Dorwinion wine, Lord Elrond's gift, strapped tight to his waist. He was very tempted to take just one sip to bring a little cheer and to banish the cold loneliness of the wild. Giving in, he uncorked the wine and drank. It was strong and sweet. Oh yes, Legolas thought, once his father tasted this fine potent vintage, he would be buying it by the barrel, and he would be buying those barrels by the wagonload. Legolas smiled, thinking of home. Thranduil was a generous monarch who loved his creature comforts and shared them with his subjects. Life in the Elvenking's Halls was good. Legolas wanted it to stay that good, but he feared it would not if the terror of Dol Goldur remained on their southern doorstep.

Along with those worries, Legolas carried an even deeper hurt from which he felt he would not soon heal. All the way from Rivendell, he had been haunted by the memory of two dark eyes. He had spent centuries living among the most beautiful females on the face of Arda without feeling more than a glimmer of interest, only to lose his heart to an adaneth who barely noticed he existed. His head told him that such an alliance was impossible and that he must forget. His heart, ever rebellious, refused to listen. As in all things concerning the Eldar, his head ruled, but he knew his heart remained unconvinced and that the two sides of his nature would be at war for many a year, much to his sorrow. He took another sip to toast the ironies of life and then re-corked the bottle. It was very tempting to keep on drinking, but he dared not lose the edge of his wits out here.

He rested his head upon his bent knees and slipped into the open-eyed half-sleep of the trail until the snap of one of his guard snares being triggered brought him back to full alertness. Quietly, he set an arrow to his bowstring and crept to the perimeter of his camp. Elvish eyes were designed to see by starlight alone, and he needed no extra light as he moved silently through the night. If his snare held an orc scout, he was prepared to silence any outcry. If the snare held some creature that could be his dinner the next day, that was then so much the better.

It was neither. A small boy, very familiar, hung by one foot from the released sapling. Already he was trying to double himself back up to reach the knot that imprisoned his ankle. The lad must have followed all the way from Rivendell, never revealing himself by sight or sound until now. Legolas found himself very impressed with the boy's ability to move silently. Just as quickly, he found himself experiencing a rush of angry horror. The lad had trailed him through the orc-infested pass, with all its dangers. He cursed himself for the inattention that had allowed such a thing. It would never have happened if he had not had his head in the clouds, mooning over his own sorry troubles.

Legolas put away his bow, took out his dagger and strode into the clearing.

"What, in the holy names of the Valar, ever possessed you to have done such a mad, reckless thing?" he demanded, grabbing Estel none too gently by the scruff while he used his other hand to cut the thong binding his ankles.

"I want to come with you, back to Mirkwood."

"That is quite impossible," Legolas answered.

"But, why?" the boy wailed.

"Because it is! Your Lady Mother is no doubt worrying herself sick at this moment, and Lord Elrond . . ." Legolas shook his head angrily. "Lord Elrond would have my ears in a flask on his desk if I thought to do otherwise than to return you immediately. He may well be in a mood to do so anyway if he thinks I had the least part in this. The moment the sun rises, we are turning around and I am taking you straight back to Rivendell."

Estel began to struggle beneath the elf's hand. "No! I won't go back! Rivendell is boring. No one pays attention to me, and I never get to have any excitement!"

"Keep your voice down, idiot child! These mountains are teeming with orcs. You will bring them down on us!"

"I don't care! I'm not going back, and you can't make me!" said the boy loudly, twisting to tear his collar from Legolas's grip.

"Oh yes you are, and I shall make you, even if I have to truss you like a game bird and tie you to my saddle!" said Legolas with a bravado he did not quite feel. He was not at all confidant of his ability to travel back over the Old Pass and down to Imladris with a screeching, struggling brat tied behind him and alerting every orc for leagues around.

Legolas swept the boy up by the waist to carry him back to where the horse was tethered. He realized his tactical mistake when the boy kicked out and landed a blow in a spot where no man or elf is immune. Legolas let out a tortured gasp and doubled over in pain, losing his hold on Estel, who promptly ran off into the night.

"Stop, you young fool, it isn't safe " Legolas cried, as soon as his breath had returned. But it was too late. He heard a high-pitched shriek quickly cut off, followed by some grunts and laughter in the Black Speech. Estel had met his first orcs.

Legolas forced himself to his feet and limped in the direction of the commotion. All he found was scuffed earth and footprints leading away. The trail, plain enough to his elvish eyes even in the dark, chilled his heart, for it did not lead back up into the mountains to the goblin caves of the Old Pass. The trail led downhill and southeast, towards the southern edge of Mirkwood and the tower of the Necromancer.

Alone in the dark with none to see, Legolas did a most un-elflike thing. He sank to his knees, punched the ground with his fist and cursed.


Chapter 5 - Not So Glorious

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.

Part Five: Not So Glorious

By the end of the second day with the orcs Estel had had his fill of adventure. For some reason he could not understand, the orcs traveled through the night and rested during the day, mostly stopping under the cover of trees or rocks. The places they chose were as unpleasant as possible-- wet, stinking, and hard on the back when they tied him to a tree or bush. The only thing important to them was to be out of the sun.

In the first moments after he had run smack into the front of one of them in his flight from Legolas, they had scooped him up and carried him. Later, they had bound his wrists together and dragged him along behind them. He had tried refusing to walk, but to no avail. They simply put his arms around the neck of one or another of their company and let him dangle, which hurt his wrists more than being dragged. The rough bindings cut into his skin, and he bled with each new tug on the rope.

Once, while being lifted, he had tried the same kick in the groin that had allowed him to break free from Legolas. The orc he kicked had gone down in pain, to the vast amusement of his fellows, one of whom had then casually backhanded Estel in the face, knocking him down and stunning him for long enough to regain control. They had not allowed him the chance to kick since that time, and in addition to the pain in his wrists, his nose throbbed and bled intermittently, making breathing a torture as he tried to keep up. Tears made matters worse, burning and stuffing his nose further, but tears were becoming harder to hold back.

He wanted his nice soft bed back at Rivendell. He wanted the kindly, if distant, presence of Lord Elrond and his sons. He wanted his mother. He wanted Legolas too, but he did not think the strange elf would ever forgive him even if they should meet again.

The orcs took their time heading south, walking at a pace that was easy for them, if not for their young prisoner. They stopped from time to time to eat their evil tasting rotten food, to urinate on trees, and to torture any small wild creature unlucky enough to fall into their hands. Estel did not understand the Black Speech, although he could sense the peril in the laughter when the orcs spoke it. Sometimes they spoke a debased form of Westron as well, and he began to understand that he was being taken somewhere for a purpose he could not quite comprehend. At least they did not mean to kill him quite yet.

They crossed a wide river when the moon was high in the sky and continued on south. It was another few hours before the sun began to rise. The orc band found a spot amid a cluster of large rocks and a few unhealthy trees to hide from its rays. Soon, the orcs fell into a noisy sleep while one of them remained on guard. Estel's rope was tied to a small tree with his hands bound so tightly there was no chance of undoing the knots and creeping away. He fell into an exhausted sleep himself.

He was awakened from an uneasy dream by rough hands stuffing a filthy cloth into his mouth, and he felt himself lifted up and carried some distance away from the sleeping group.

"This'll keep you from squealing and waking the others up," the orc guard said quietly. "Two more days before we reach the wood and then we get you south to the tower and yer breakin' in will start for true. All the time, the bosses get the finest stuff, and I'm right sick of it. Once it gets back to the likes of us, it's all spoilt. For once, just once, I'm going to get a little while it's still fresh. And no one will be any the wiser."

Estel was laid face down in the grass behind a large rock, and he felt a knee in the small of his back, pinning him down as the orc's hands left him and seemed to busy themselves elsewhere. "Now, you just lay quiet. The more you fight, the worse it'll be."

He had no idea what was happening. He heard strange rustling sounds, felt a tug at his clothing and then heard a gurgling sound as the orc's weight was abruptly jerked away from his back. A few warm drops hit the back of his neck, and suddenly the face of Legolas was in front of him.

The elf made a quick slashing motion across his lips with his finger, cautioning him to silence. He cut Estel's bindings with a knife that glistened black. Still silent, Legolas led him away, not allowing the boy to look back.

"Oh, Legolas, I thought I'd never see you again," Estel said as they ran away.

"Hush. I've been following ever since the mountains," the elf said. "I knew that one of the vile creatures would take you aside eventually."

"I was so afraid. Why did you wait?"

"Because five to one is poor odds, even for me," the elf answered, and as if to offer proof, an arrow came zinging past them, followed by a volley of them.

Legolas uttered the word Estel had first heard him say back on the riverbank. "They have heard us. Run, Estel. Run fast!" he said, reaching into his quiver and turning to face their pursuers.

The two closest orcs dropped, each with an arrow in them, but then the third was upon him. Abandoning his bow, Legolas drew his long, matched knives and managed to disembowel the third orc just as the last one hit him from the side with full force. The two of them went down, weapons flying, in a welter of arms and legs, the orc clawing at the elf's eyes and snapping at his throat.

The orc was large, and to Estel, it looked as if Legolas was getting the worst of it. Without stopping to think, he picked up a rock and flung it at the orc's head, opening a gash and stunning the orc just long enough for Legolas to throw him off. The elf snatched up a fallen sword and plunged it through the orc's body. He stood for a moment, swaying on his feet and then cast the bloodied sword away with a gesture of disgust.

"I thought I told you to run," he said. "Good shot, by the way."

"I practice with berries, " the boy replied.

Legolas looked at him blankly for a moment and then burst out laughing. He sat down in the grass and put his head in his hands. "That was a bloody mess if ever there was one. Well, Estel, you've seen death now. Not so very glorious or exciting, is it?"

The boy sat down beside him. "You're hurt."

Legolas looked down at his left upper arm where his sleeve gaped near the shoulder, revealing a bleeding cut. "Not badly. We can be thankful that most orc archers can't hit the broad side of a mountain. This one was aiming at my neck."

The thought of an arrow piercing anyone he cared about was chilling to the boy. Into his eyes sprang tears which he tried to hide from the elf.

"This is no more than a deep cut, and it seems to have bled freely. It could have been much worse." Legolas took the bottle of wine from his belt and uncorked it. "It's a shame to waste such an excellent vintage, but I think my father would rather have his son back than a sample from Lord Elrond's cellars."

"What are you doing? "Estel asked, as the elf first dribbled some of the wine over the boy's abraded wrists and then upended the bottle over his own wound, wincing as he did so.

"Cleaning the wounds. Orcs may be terrible marksmen, but they dip their arrows into all manner of foulness so that even a chance hit will do damage. "

"I know. I saw them making water onto their arrows last night."

Legolas wrinkled his nose. "Estel, my young friend, you have no idea how little I wanted to hear that." He frowned, flexing his left hand experimentally. "It burns like the fires of Orodruin and my fingers are turning numb. I fear there was something far worse than Uruk piss on the arrow that nicked me. We must get away from here. Come, help me hide these bodies."

Estel nodded solemnly and took a leg. The two dragged the first dead orc back the short distance to the copse. Soon all five were hidden in a crevice between two large boulders and covered with what little brush the elf could find.

"There, " said Legolas, " by the time the stench alerts their comrades we will be long gone. " He strode briskly off to the north, pausing only to make sure that the boy was behind him.

"Legolas, you called me your friend just now, " Estel ventured timidly. "Am I your friend? Is that why you rescued me?"

"I would not let any child remain in the hands of such brutes, especially one so . . . so well known to me as you. But I will make you a bargain. If you promise to cooperate and let me get you out of here, and if you promise never, ever again, to kick me where you kicked me, we can call each other friends."

"You mean, in the mountains?"

Estel saw the elf's lips curl in a smile. "Yes, in the mountains."

"I should not have done that. I am sorry."

"And well you should be. Now let us never speak of it again."

"Legolas . . ."

"What now?"

"That orc back there. The one whose throat you cut . . ."

"Cutting a throat is not noble, but it is the best way to kill when swiftness and silence are required."

"I saw him, he . . ."

"I know, and I did not want you to see that."

"But I did see. What did he want with me?"

Up ahead, the elf sighed, and his shoulders tensed. "It is best that you not fill your mind with such filth."

"But I want to understand," the boy insisted.

"There is evil in this world, Estel," Legolas began with obvious reluctance, "especially, there is great evil in the dungeons of Dol Goldur and among its servants. They would have broken you, lad, if not in body, then most certainly in spirit. They meant to hurt you until nothing of your own self remained save the need to please them to stop the hurt. And thus spoiled, they would have sent you back out into the world to do their bidding. They especially like to take the children of men because they are more easily broken and remolded than those who are grown. Who knows how many they have done this to and what evil they are doing now out in the world? I could not let this happen to you. To you above all.

"Now, please, "Legolas continued. "We must be far from here before nightfall. The light of the sun hurts the eyes of the orcs, so they avoid it. But they come out at night, especially in these parts. Follow me closely and try to keep up. And ask me no more of these things."

The boy nodded. He still did not understand, but he now felt that he did not want to. "Where is your horse, Legolas? Why did you not bring him? We could move more swiftly if he were carrying us."

"A horse can be heard for miles around, and I needed to move silently. Gwaeren is a short march to the north, which is where I left him and bade him stay. When we reach him, we will ride hard. At a gallop, we should be out of the worst of the orc country before dark, and then we will stop."

"Your horse obeys you like that?"

"It is elvish horse craft, Estel. I trained him from the time he was foaled, and he understands me. Do you know where I learned this? From none other than Elladan and Elrohir, the sons of Elrond. They are the finest horsemen I know. And you can learn it too if you go back to Rivendell and open your eyes and ears. The House of Elrond has much to teach you, if you have the will to learn it."

"Will they teach me to kill orcs the way you did? I think I hate orcs even more now that I have met them."

The note in the elf's voice was very sad. "When you are of the proper age, I am sure they will teach you how to defend yourself against orcs. Of all the elves I have known, Elladan and Elrohir hate orcs the most and are the best at killing them. They have reason."

They ran across country for about two hours. As time passed, Estel noticed that his companion began to hold his arm close to his body and his pace slowed making it easier for the boy to keep up. When the sun was directly overhead, Legolas gave a soft whistle, and, from a copse of trees up ahead, there came an answering whicker. The gray horse trotted into view and moved to greet his master. The elf laid a gentle hand on the horse's neck and put his head close to the animal's muzzle, muttering soft words against the velvety nose.

"Is this magic?"

"No magic, just a familiarity with horses and their ways," Legolas laughed. "I send my breath into his nostrils. That way he knows me for a friend."

Leaving the horse for a moment, he knelt to examine a weed at his feet. "Mark this well, Estel, this plant is called Athelas, Kingsfoil, and you should learn to recognize it, for it has many uses for one who travels the wild."

With a swipe of his dagger, he cut off a large bunch of the leaves. "Here, take the leaves in your palms, thus, and rub them together. Breathe the vapor deep into your nostrils, and then rub some of the herbs into your chafed wrists." He ran a gentle finger along the bridge of the boy's nose. "I do believe the orcs have broken it for you. It may never be as straight as before, but the Athelas should stop the pain and the bleeding and allow you to breathe more freely."

"As for myself, "he continued, "it should normally be boiled into a tea, but we dare not risk the fire." He chewed a handful of the leaves into a pulp and spat them back into his hand. He pressed the paste into the cut on his shoulder, which was now swelling and turning colors. And then he chewed and swallowed another handful of leaves stolidly.

"Will that heal your wound, Legolas?" Estel enquired.

"Athelas heals many things," the elf replied, with an enigmatic look that Estel had never seen before and found less than reassuring. "Come, we must be off now," he said, vaulting into the saddle and pulling the boy up behind him. He leaned forward, close to his mount's ear. "Run, Gwaeren, carry us home," he whispered, and the great horse sprang forward.

Estel had never been on a galloping horse before, and he would have found the speed exhilarating had not the situation become so grave. He leaned his face into the soft cloth of his new friend's cloak and hung on tightly.

They made good time. The green grass of the meadows beside the Anduin flew past beneath the horse's hooves. The sun began to near the tops of the mountains to the west, casting long shadows and bringing a chill to the air.

"It is time we stopped. Gwaeren needs his rest, and the orcs will soon be out."

They found a copse of densely spaced trees where the horse could stand hidden and made camp for the night. Legolas leaned back against a tree, pulling his cloak around himself. He brought out a wrapped packet of Lembas and broke a portion off for the boy, but when it came time to take his own, he stared at it for a moment, swallowed hard, and put the Lembas away again. Instead, he chewed grimly on some of the remaining Athelas leaves.

"No fire tonight?" Estel asked.

Legolas shook his head. "No fire. They'd see it. We won't have fire until we reach my father's gates. Are you cold?"

"Yes." Estel was also afraid, but he left that part unspoken.

"Then come on." Legolas held his cloak wide, inviting the boy in. Estel went over and snuggled close to his friend's side, feeling much safer. Legolas was not soft like his mother, being all wiry muscles, leather, and bones, and he smelled . . . different. Estel had always thought that the elf ladies of Lord Elrond's house smelled very pretty, and he had thought it was from some kind of perfume. Legolas was at least three days past any perfume or even his last bath, yet he smelled of clean earth, leaves, and rain. Estel decided he liked the smell of elf very much indeed.

"Better?" Legolas asked.

"Better," the boy replied as he settled into sleep. But sleep was difficult to be had, despite his exhaustion. He jumped with each strange sound of owl hooting or the wind stirring the grass, and the elf slept fitfully too, twitching and muttering to himself as if he fought nightmares.

When dawn came, the weather had changed to a misty rain, and the air had cooled. Estel was dismayed to see that there were fine lines of pain around Legolas's eyes and his skin had lost the luster that was so common among the elves. Again, he passed the boy a fragment of Lembas but took none for himself.

Their path that day took them ever northward, but they veered east, away from the river and headed closer to the dark line of the forest. Ever so often, the horse, Gwaeren, would falter before the elf recovered and urged him on. Estel could only cling to his friend's back and hope for the best. Then, he felt Legolas begin to shiver.

"Are you cold?"

"Very."

"Legolas, you burn to my touch," Estel said.

The elf shook his head. "We must get as far as we can. I must reach home, for your sake and for mine."

In mid afternoon, Legolas swayed as he sat, and Gwaeren slowed to a walk. "Estel, we must find a place to stop. If I try to ride another step, I shall fall. My eyes dim, too. You must find a place where we will be safe."

The boy leapt down from the horse and led it to the cover of trees. Beneath them, the elf slid from the horse's back.

"Forgive me, Estel. I need to rest," he said, staggering a few feet and falling onto his side in the grass. "Just to sleep, for a short time."

The elf was silent for a while, breathing heavily. "Estel?"

"Yes, Legolas."

"If, for some reason, I do not wake, I want you to take the horse. Give him his head and he will carry you to the house of my father. Stop for no one other than one of my people."

"I won't leave you."

"You may have to. I . . . will fight to wake. But you . . . must promise."

"I promise"

Legolas sighed faintly. He did not speak again.

"Please, Legolas, don't make me leave you. I don't want to be out here all alone. Please don't leave me!"

The elf's breathing slowed. The boy watched in helpless fear while he pulled his knees up to his chest. The body, and the hands that had been so hot, began to cool. All that was left was the rise and fall of the chest.

The terror of the wilderness rushed in on Estel and the tears began to flow. Carefully, he crept beneath the Elven cloak as he had done the night before, and wrapped his arms around Legolas's shoulders, laying his cheek against the broad, leather clad back. Nestling into the body of his friend, he sobbed for a time, and then fell into an uneasy sleep.

Sometime after dark, he was awakened by the sound of footsteps on the grass. The horse shifted on his feet, also alerted.

Estel took up Legolas's bow and set an arrow to the string, but he found himself unable to draw it. The bow was too strong for him. Dropping the bow, he pulled one of the matched long knives from its sheath. He crouched and made himself ready, as the footsteps came nearer.

"Drop your weapon, son," came a voice out of the darkness. "My name is Radagast, and I mean you no harm.


Chapter 6 - Rhosgobel

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.

Part Six: Rhosgobel

It was the voice that made Estel forget Legolas's warning and trust this stranger. It was a warm voice, full of laughter and the hint of far off lands.

"My birds brought me tidings of your plight," said the strange man, drawing his hand across the tip of a tall walking staff. A pale amber light sprang up, emanating from a roughly cut stone set into the tip of the wood. The face revealed seemed kindly as well, framed by a mass of curly dark hair shot through with grey. "What ails your companion?" the man asked, stooping to examine the prostrate elf.

Estel pulled his fascinated gaze away from the glowing gemstone. "An orc arrow grazed him. He said it was only a scratch, but now he's like this."

"With orc arrows, it is never so simple as just a scratch," said Radagast, examining the wound with skilled and gentle fingers. As he did so, the light of the staff fell on the elf's face. "This is King Thranduil's son! What madness took him so far south into the orc country of the Gladden Fields with a child in tow?"

"He did it to save me. This was all my fault," responded Estel. In spite of all his will, a tear escaped the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek.

Radagast grunted and returned his attention to the elf's arm. "It festers. That is easily remedied with an application of something more potent than Kingsfoil, but I feel no heat. Fever is not the enemy, lad. It is the body's way of fighting off the evil influences of a contaminated wound. His body has stopped fighting, although his spirit still strives."

"He was burning up earlier, then he became tired and fell into this sleep."

"Tell me again what he said."

"He said his fingers were turning numb and that there was something worse than orc . . . pee on the arrow."

Radagast felt for the pulse at Legolas's neck and laid an ear to his chest. He sniffed appraisingly at the wound and his brow furrowed. "The arrow was poisoned, and that poison is now at work within him. It is beyond the leechcraft of the wilderness. My home is not far. We have no time to lose."

Radagast scooped up Legolas and draped him face down over Gwaeren's back. Estel gaped. Legolas was taller and broader than the old man, yet Radagast handled him as if he were no heavier than a blade of grass.

Radagast saw the boy's look of amazement. "Your friend is of the Eldar, my boy. They are mighty warriors, but their strength is all in their spirit." He untied the horse's head and turned back. "And I . . . I am a wizard, and I am neither so old or decrepit as I may seem."

As Radagast had promised, his house was not far, just outside the western edge of the forest.

"Aren't you afraid of the orcs?" Estel asked, as the older man led the horse through a hedge of high grass.

Radagast shook his head. "Those of my kind have a few talents to deal with orcs. Within this hedge is a girdle of enchantment that evil may not pass. Even the elves do not see this place unless I will it."

They left the horse standing beside the door and the wizard carried Legolas inside and placed him on the bed, shooing aside something large and furry to make room. He lit a lantern, and in the rafters, several nests of birds raised their heads and cheeped softly before realizing that morning had not yet arrived. In one corner, a vixen lay nursing a litter of five kits. She regarded Estel with lambent golden eyes that held not a shred of fear.

"For the arm, I will require a packing of moldy bread," said Radagast, moving about the room and collecting supplies. "Strange that decay should fight decay, yet I have seen it to be true. But first we must deal with the arrow poison."

Along one entire wall ran shelves, which were filled with books and all manner of glass vials. "Put a pot of water on the fire," he directed, as he took out several of the containers of herbs and brought them to a wooden table which held tools and implements for grinding and mixing. "As decay fights decay, so is one poison sometimes an antidote against another poison. Throw more wood on the fire as well. We will need heat, as much as possible, to banish the chill of the rain."

Estel watched as Radagast worked. In the light of the hut, he could see that everything about this man was brown, from his homespun robes, to his curly, graying beard, to the hair on his head. The eyes, especially, were a warm brown flecked with gold, and to look into them was to know trust.

When the herbs were brewed and mixed together into a greenish potion, Radagast poured the liquid into a wooden goblet and carried it over to the bed. While Estel watched, the wizard opened the elf's mouth and poured the medicine in, careful to spill as little as possible. Legolas choked a little and let out a moan. "That is a good sign, at least he can still taste it, " Radagast said. As if to answer Estel's unspoken question, he added, "It tastes just as nasty as it looks."

Then he went to work on the arm, removing Legolas's tunic and shirt and washing the remaining fragments of the Athelas from the wound. He replaced it with a moistened rind of greenish bread and bound the shoulder tightly to hold it in place.

Noticing Estel's expression, he said, "If you find that disturbing, be thankful I didn't have to use the maggots. Don't look at me that way. Any man who would become a warrior needs to become accustomed to such sights."

"How do you know I want to become a warrior?"

Radagast laughed. "I have never known a lad your age who did not dream of becoming a heroic fighter, whether they be Elfkind, Edain, Naugrim, or even those strange Shirefolk my brother Mithrandir is so fond of. Now, help me bring together such blankets and furs as we can find. He needs to sweat the poison out. He will try to throw the covers off, but we must prevent him from doing so. If he chills now, he dies. He will also vomit," the wizard said, bringing a bucket over and placing it beside the bed. "When he does that, we must turn him so that he does not choke. And then we must wrap him again. Can you help me do this?"

The boy nodded.

"Good, because wizard though I am, I am not eager to have to inform Lord Thranduil that I have killed his son in a failed attempt to heal him."

It was a long night. Just before dawn, Legolas gasped and struggled upright. His eyes came into focus, but he seemed to stare out at a place far behind the wizard and the boy. "Such a cold dark place I have been in," he said, " but now it is so beautiful. I see light through the trees, and I hear the cry of sea birds."

Without a word, Radagast drew back his hand and hit the elf hard across the mouth. "Turn away from it, Elda; it is not your time."

It seemed to Estel that the hut grew dark, and that he was suddenly in the presence of some strange being who grew in size to fill it. The veil fell away from the face and body of the kindly brown man, revealing someone at once young and vital, and yet vastly ancient. Legolas shut his eyes and fell back on the bed.

Estel looked anxiously at the wizard. "He's so still, and his eyes are closed . . ."

"It is over," Radagast said wearily. "That is true sleep. He's going to be all right." He smiled reassuringly, and to the boy's relief, the familiar brown wizard was back. "And you too, young one," he said. He waved a hand and Estel fell into dreams.

When next he opened his eyes, it was past midday. He found himself draped over the foot of the bed, where he had fallen forward in sleep. Radagast was in a chair, beside the bed, his head tipped forward onto his chest, but with the brown eyes open. He awoke with a snort when he noticed the boy staring at him.

"Are you sure he's all right?" Estel, asked, concerned at the stillness of the elf.

"Quite sure, " Radagast replied. "He's exhausted, and last night I gave him a dose of herbs that would have killed a mortal on the spot. He will sleep for a while longer."

"I was afraid he would die," Estel said shakily, "so very afraid."

"You are no less relieved than I, " Radagast said "Thranduil waited long to be blessed with a child, and his birth came at a great price. As wise and kind as the Elvenking of Mirkwood is, I would no longer have found a welcome within his lands if I had lost this one."

"Are all elven fathers so fierce about their children?" Estel asked solemnly. He wondered if Elrond would be so wrathful at a threat to the life of Elladan or Elrohir. It seemed to him to be a strange thing.

"I do believe they are, lad. The elves prize children even above their own wealth. Never come between an ada and his elfling, even if that elfling is full grown, unless you wish to make an enemy," Radagast said. " But, here I am, a silly old man, going on about things you cannot understand, while you, child, have wounds of your own that need tending as well."

Radagast took the boy's chafed wrists in his large, gentle hands. "The herbs were good, but I think I can give you better ease." He fetched a pot of unguent, which he spread on the raw flesh. Immediately, the burning stopped. "And this nose . . ."

"One of the orcs hit me," Estel volunteered.

"The bone is in place, "Radagast said. "I will put a plaster on it for a few days to keep it so, but there is little else I can do. The women will find it interesting when you grow to manhood." Radagast winked.

"And now, you might want to tell me what brings an elf and a man child out alone to such a place at such a time?"

Estel looked into the brown eyes of the wizard and the dam burst. As he told the story of how he had followed Legolas from Rivendell, the wizard's eyes became wider and wider.

"Er, and how did you come to be living at Rivendell, again?"

"I am fostered there."

"And your mother's name is?"

"Gilraen. I think her father's name was Dírhael, or something like it. My father's name, I know not."

Radagast shook his head and let out a soft whistle. "Oh, brother Olorin, what are you up to?" he whispered to himself. "And I deem you do not tell Curumo. In fact, I know you do not. Well, Radagast the Simple, Aiwendil the Afterthought, will keep your secret for you."

Estel didn't know what the wizard was talking about. He was beginning to wonder if perhaps he had leaves in his hair or food in his teeth, or perhaps a big smudge of dirt on his forehead that only others could see. Because people treated him strangely and spoke of things that were beyond his understanding, he did not like the feeling at all.

Later that afternoon, Estel sat dozing on a rough log bench beside the door to Radagast's hut. The horse, Gwaeren, having drunk a bucket of water that Estel had drawn for him from the well, stood close by. His breath and soft muzzle hairs tickled the boy's cheek.

In his drowsy half sleep, Estel seemed to hear voices from inside, one deep and one light and silvery, in earnest conversation. He heard the names of Elrond and Mithrandir mentioned, along with Thranduil and others with which he was totally unfamiliar: Arathorn, Aragorn, and Isildur. Had he been more alert, he might have noted that neither voice sounded very happy, but as it was, he paid them less heed than the buzzing of the bees in the brown hay hedge that surrounded Radagast's yard and house.

The voices ceased, and he felt a presence and a weight join him on the bench.

"Thank you for tending to my horse. Radagast has enough on his hands at the moment."

Estel snapped awake to find Legolas sitting beside him, looking much the worse for wear. His shirt hung off one shoulder. The other was bandaged. His skin looked even paler than usual.

"Radagast also tells me that while I was being sick last night, you held back my hair. I can only imagine what else you saw and heard. That was very brave of you."

"No it wasn't," Estel said, looking away quickly. "I was scared to death. If you had died, it would have been my fault. You were hurt and you were sick unto dying and you didn't tell me. Why, Legolas?"

"It is not our way to show pain or weakness. I also hoped to spare you the worry. I was afraid myself, you see."

"Afraid? You, Legolas?"

"Yes. I will tell you a secret, Estel. Show me the man or elf who is never afraid, and I will show you a great fool of a man or elf who does not stay alive very long. There is no shame in it. I was afraid those orcs would kill you, or worse, and it would have been I who had allowed it to happen. I was afraid my strength would not hold long enough for me to get you to a safe place. And as you can see, it did not. Had it not been for the fortuitous arrival of Radagast, Legolas, the Greenleaf, would be remembered as the incompetent son of Thranduil of Mirkwood. A late born scion of a diminished house. I would be remembered as the elf who lost you."

"Why am I so special?" Estel said quietly.

The remaining color drained from the elf's face. "I do not know what was in that potion that Radagast gave me, but it has loosened my tongue overmuch. I am not myself. In fact . . ." he swallowed hard, "if you will excuse me . . ." He stood up and moved gracefully, yet with increasing swiftness into the nearest clump of trees and out of sight.

He returned on unsteady feet some minutes later and sat down beside the boy again.

"Are you all right, Legolas?" Estel asked carefully.

"No, " the elf said miserably. "I feel like beaten troll droppings. My head aches, my arm throbs, and I am certain I will not be able to keep food down for days. My only note of joy is that I remain alive to feel anything at all. I feel utterly wretched, and not to belabor a point, Estel, but this is what happens when any person, high or low, does things that are rash and foolish, no matter how well intended."

"I begin to understand why you do not wish to be a king," the boy said.

"Do you, now?" said Legolas. "Well listen to this, and mark it well, because I doubt I will ever be in a mood to speak of it again, and none of the elves at Rivendell will tell you either, it being a sore subject to those of my blood if mentioned in our hearing.

"At the end of the Second Age, there was a mighty battle in which my grandsire, Oropher, took part, leading the armies of Mirkwood. He was brave, my grandsire, no doubt of it, but wisdom and judgment were not with him that day. He was too proud to put himself or his army under the authority of the High Elven King, Gil-Galad, and instead he led the first charge against the Black Gates of Mordor."

Legolas sighed. "In the end, Sauron was defeated. But Oropher did not live to see the victory. Thranduil, my father, led the remnant of the Silvan warriors home to Mirkwood and became king there. But two out of three of those warriors stayed behind to light corpse candles in the Dead Marshes, and my grandsire is among them.

"I was not yet born when my father returned to Mirkwood and our folk began to be pushed ever northward by lack of people and strength, but there are those still among us who were alive back then."

"The warriors who fought?" Estel asked.

"They are among us as well. I speak of the families of those who did not come home. I see their faces, Estel. They are scarred with the sorrow of the loss of husbands, fathers and sweethearts who will never return until the breaking of the world. So, from the time I was very young, I promised myself that if ever I were called upon to be king I would do it well, and not visit such misery on those under my protection. At least not without dire necessity."

"I'm glad I'm just an orphan boy," Estel said. "I would never want to be a king and to have the lives of so many people in my hands."

"You never know where fate will lead you," Legolas said. "Sometimes we are called to great things whether we will it or not. We can only prepare ourselves to rise to it, understanding that it is not all bright banners flowing and tales of chivalry as the elven bards sing."

"I don't want it. I hated the orcs once I was among them and I never want to see another. I almost got you killed, and I hated that too. I am sorry, Legolas, so very sorry," Estel said, bursting into tears and burying his face in his friend's chest.

Legolas drew him in, stroking the child's dark curls with his good arm. "Hush, Estel. Hush. All will be well. Give me some days to regain my strength, and I will take you home."

"To Rivendell?"

"Yes, to Rivendell."

"Good, because . . . I want . . .my mother," Estel sobbed.

Legolas merely held him closer and sighed deeply.


Chapter 7 - 'That's all we shall know for truth . . .'

Disclaimer: The world of Middle-earth and the characters belong to JRR Tolkien, and I am merely borrowing them for a short time. This story was written for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of the readers. I am making no money from it.

Part Seven: 'That's all we shall know for truth . . ."

The trip home was blessedly uneventful. Radagast had dispatched a pigeon to Rivendell with a short message informing Lord Elrond of Estel's safety and imminent return. Legolas was grateful for a pigeon's lack of carrying capacity, although he realized that this meant a significant amount of explaining would be expected of him eventually. Estel proved to be a pleasant companion on the way back, remaining silent when silence was required, as during the trip through the Old Pass. When the boy did speak, his questions were not so irritating as they had been before, either because they were more intelligent or because Legolas was beginning to enjoy the hero worship. He wasn't sure which. The boy became increasingly silent until they were riding alongside the Bruinen, close to the spot where they had first met.

"Legolas, we need to stop for a moment."

"We stopped an hour ago. Can you not contain yourself until we reach Imladris? It is close now."

"It isn't that. I need to ask a favor of you."

"And what would you ask of me?" Legolas replied.

"Legolas . . . Please don't tell the elves."

"Don't tell . . .? Estel, what do you think I am?"

"You are my friend."

"Of course. How silly of me not to have recognized! You see, I never had the sort of friend before who would pelt me with ripe berries, kick me in the vië and hold my hair while I throw up."

"Legolas, don't make fun of me."

The voice was so sad and serious, that Legolas immediately regretted his flippancy. "All right. Let us get down off this horse, sit upon the rocks and talk our terms, man to man, man to elf, elf to boy -- whatever you choose to call it. It seems we have come full circle."

They dismounted and sat staring into the river.

"What I meant," Estel began, "was, do we have to tell them everything?"

"We certainly must tell them something. We were gone a long time, after all, and we must account for it."

"There are some things that I have apologized to you for. And others that I know to be foolish and I will never do them again. And yet others . . .of which I am deeply ashamed. Must Lord Elrond know? And must my mother? For it would distress her greatly to learn how near I came to danger."

Legolas nodded gravely. "I do not enjoy looking the fool in front of Lord Elrond, which I must, if some of this tale is told." He stopped to ponder. "How about this? You followed me over the pass without my noticing. I will be honest with you, that part alone is humiliating enough for me, and I doubt Elladan and Elrohir will ever let me hear the end of it. Eventually, we came to the house of Radagast, where we spent a pleasant week playing with the squirrels and then we came home. This is not precisely the truth, but there are no significant lies. I can live with it. How about you?"

Estel nodded and put out a hand to shake.

"Not so fast," Legolas said. "You must make me some promises in return. First, you must give up all foolishness such as what just happened. Second, you must agree to obey your mother, Lord Elrond, and all the other elves of Imladris. They have much to teach you. Keep your eyes and ears open and you will learn it. This should not be a chore. I will also tell you that Imladris has a huge and wonderful library. Spend your free time there, reading."

"Reading?" The boy sounded unconvinced.

"Yes, reading." Legolas smiled, lost in memory. "I spent many an hour there in that library, while my father and Lord Elrond spoke of important matters and Elladan and Elrohir had grown tired of me. It was there I learned the great tales of the First and Second Ages--of Beren and Luthien, of the drowning of Numenor, how Glorfindel fought the Balrog. I even learned of Legolas of Gondolin, a brave warrior . My father, Thranduil, wanted his own little Legolas to be a healer or a harpist, but that tale made me pester my father for my first bow. Let me tell you, there is far more fun and mischief to be had in books than in ripe berries."

The boy nodded. "You never answered my question, Legolas, back at the hut of Radagast. Why should I be saved? Why should I learn? What makes me special? And please, don't lie to me, because friends do not lie to one another."

Checkmate, thought the elf, borrowing a term from a delightful strategy game of the Easterlings which his father had bought in a shipment of goods and taught him to play. This was indeed the heir of Elendil before him, although as yet but a child. Here he was, centuries old and supposedly one of the wise First Born, maneuvered into a corner, neat as you please, by a child of seven years. This boy was the flower of a more vital race that would in time supplant his own, yet much of what was best in Estel came from the Eldar. It was a bitter yet unique gift of fate that he, Legolas, would have a small role in the shaping of this man to come.

"I will never lie to you, Estel. But you must understand that I have made promises to others, which I must keep as well."

The boy nodded.

"To answer your question, every life is precious, no matter how small. I took you from the orcs because it was the decent thing to do. Every person counts and has a role to play, whether they be an orphan boy, a stable hand, a gardener, a serving girl, or the son of a king. Do not put too much stock in titles, for it is the worth of the individual that counts in the end. The humble may come to greatness, the great may come to ruin. Watch. Wait. Learn skill and wisdom. Be ready for whatever fate will send your way. Make me proud of you when next we meet."

"Some day, Legolas, if I do as you say and make you proud, will you wear your crown for me?"

Legolas grinned. "I suppose I shall have to. Hard work deserves a reward. But it will have to be a very special occasion indeed."

"One more thing, which I don't quite understand. When you were ill and drifting in your speech, you spoke my mother's name."

"Did I speak it with . . . respect?"

"You did."

Legolas let his pent up breath out slowly. "Then, please, Estel, do not ask me about this until you are older and can understand such things." And when you are old enough to understand, he thought silently, I hope you will be friend enough never to speak of it again.

They clasped hands, mounted the horse and rode on into Rivendell.

The welcoming committee was larger than before.

"I will speak to you later, " said Elrond, pointedly to Legolas. "And you, young Estel, are to go under the tutelage of my son Elladan to learn the genealogy of the high kings of Numenor and the rudiments of Quenya grammar. This should take the next six months."

"I welcome the opportunity to learn, " said Estel bravely as Elladan led him away. He gave a quick smile, and Legolas nodded in return.

"And then I get him to train him in the fine art of shoveling up after horses and polishing armor." said Elrohir. That boy won't see leisurely daylight for at least three years. He is so, so very . . ."

"In for it," Legolas finished. "Watch him, though. I have discovered he has a way of turning the tables on you when you least expect it. "

"Oh, I know it," said Elrohir. "Already I hear he has some skill at tracking. Although, following a horse's behind over the Old Pass seems simple enough to me."

Legolas cleared his throat and shot a look at Elrohir, who went away laughing.

He was left alone with Gilraen, who fixed him in her gaze and led him to the same gazebo in the trees where he had sat with the two sons of Elrond just weeks earlier.

"Legolas, tell me all of what happened."

"Nothing much." said Legolas, innocently. "He followed me over the pass. We came, in time to the home of Radagast, where we rested for a time and returned. Your son was a delight -- no trouble at all."

She looked at him sharply. "His nose is broken. I do not think you did that."

He stared off into the distance. "Of course I would not."

"Your sleeve is bulky. You wear a bandage. Which you did not wear when you left Rivendell."

"I really do not recall . . ."

"And you forget that Radagast the Brown has many pigeons."

Legolas stared down at his feet. "Ai, Valar! I am really . . . in for it."

Gilraen laughed. "Have no fear on that score. Lord Elrond sees the truth as well as I do. And if he does not, I will put in a good word for a kind young elf who is so loyal to my boy. Once again, you have put yourself between my son and danger. If there is a boon I could grant you, I will do it."

He looked long into her eyes, saw the truth that lay there; that in her heart her husband still lived and there was no room for any other. "There is nothing you can give me. All I want is to see you content."

"When my son is safe and happy, then I am happy."

"Then it is quite simple, really. When I am around, Estel will be as safe and as happy as he can be."

He looked down at the white waters of the Bruinen, rushing past. How many measures of water had passed over those rocks since the day that he had pulled an annoying little boy from them? By now that water had made its way to the Greyflood, past Eriador down to the sea, and it might even be on its way to the Undying Lands of the West. Not even the Valar themselves could call it back, no more than he could change his life now.

"Gilraen, of late my spirit has walked in some dark places, and I have come to understand that I will have one of those strange fates that my people speak of. I fear that the joys of home, hearth and children are not to be mine. In these past weeks, I have come to love your son as a child of my own and as the brother that fate did not give to me. As the years pass, I will love him as a friend. It will be thus throughout our days together. This is my promise to you."

At this, she smiled. It pierced his heart.

Gilraen. The name meant Wandering Star. It was a fitting name, he thought, for one who was to lure him away from the woods and the well-trodden paths of his sheltered Silvan existence. For the love of her and for her boy, he vowed to himself, he would follow his strange fate to wherever it may lead. By his life or death he would keep her hope alive.

The End

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Authors notes: My sincere thanks go to my beta, DeLynn, who went above and beyond the call of duty. Her suggestions improved this story immensely. In a few instances, I ignored her advice about canon and punctuation, so if I've made any mistakes, blame me and not her.

This story is movie verse. In due course, Legolas will volunteer for the Ring Quest rather than being chosen by Elrond, as happened in the book, Fellowship of the Ring. This story explains his motivation for doing so, along with the basis of his lifelong friendship with Aragorn. All my stories, before and after, stem from this point.

Some of the chapter titles are taken from the following poem by W. B. Yeats:

"Wine comes in at the mouth

And love comes in at the eye;

That's all we shall know for truth

Before we grow old and die.

I lift the glass to my mouth,

I look at you, and I sigh."

W.B. Yeats, A Drinking Song 1910

For those who will insist that elves never use saddles, I cite the following example of an elf using both saddle and bridle. The horse is Asfaloth; the rider is Glorfindel: "Suddenly into view below came a white horse, gleaming in the shadows, running swiftly. In the dusk its headstall flickered and flashed, as if it were studded with gems like living stars. ( . . .) the rider had reined in his horse and halted ( . . .)?'You shall ride my horse,' said Glorfindel. 'I will shorten the stirrups up to the saddle skirts, and you must sit as tight as you can." Fellowship of the Ring, Chapter XII: Flight to the Ford

Legolas is an excellent horseman and can control a horse without the use of a saddle or bridle, but in this story he has chosen, while riding in state to Rivendell, to use a saddle for comfort, cleanliness, and practicality.

On the use of a wound covering of moldy bread, I give the following quote from a site called Pan Zagloba?s Medicine Chest: A Google search for "moldy bread" and "antibiotics" produces some very interesting results. The penicillium mold is among those that grow on bread. "My uncle, who comes from Slovakia, was telling me that in the old country the villagers would let bread go moldy. They would then apply the moldy bread over a wound to prevent infection. Little did these villagers know but they were making their own penicillin." (source)
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