Keeping Hope Alive

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."