Disclaimer: All rights to whomsoever they belong, unless it already belongs to me.

A/N: It is important to note that this story stands as a joint sequel to two of my previously unrelated fics, Second Star to the Right and Lullaby of the Lily Flower. Truth be told, it is not essential to have read Lullaby as the events of that story do not directly affect the events of this; however, some OC characters and events from Second Star do have a direct bearing on the plot of this fic. That said, I do intend to write this fic so that you do not need to have read either to understand it, so if you don't fancy going back to read the other two, there will not necessarily be any need to!

Just for reference, in case you have read Lullaby, this is set around a year later. It's a quiet chapter I suppose, but don't worry, it won't last for long. I have also tried really hard to do away with any typos, having edited it about five times, but please accept my apologies for any that slipped through the net! Anyway, if you have made it this far, I will stop this ramble and let you get on with the serious business of reading!

Chapter One: Homecoming

Oh the leaves are falling from the trees,

And the snow is coming don't you know,

But I'll still remember which way to go,

I'm on the road, the road to home.

I'm here where I belong,

I'll see you soon,

It won't be long.

- The Road to Home, Amy MacDonald

Leaves crunched satisfyingly beneath his booted feet as he followed the woodland path, winding slowly ever downwards. The trees swayed slightly in a gentle breeze, wafting through the dark, wayward hair that had grown long since last he had walked this way. The golden red canopy, still in places tinged with green, allowed the dappled autumn sun to warm his face, and he smiled as it evoked memories of his brother and laughter. Below to his left, a familiar rush of water raced hidden by in its deep gorge, seeming utterly unchanged despite his prolonged absence.

Six months he had been gone...not that six months was a particularly long time even by mortal standards, but it was the longest this young Ranger had spent in the wilds, away from his family and home. Returning now, things were not different exactly...rather he saw them in a new light. Dark grey eyes scanned the glades he had known so well; there, where he had learnt to use sword and bow with his brothers; that secluded path, where he had ridden his first horse, and years later fallen to break his arm; these trees, trees he had tried for so long to climb as quickly as his elven counterparts, learning the hard lesson that that could never be. Scenes all around him that he had so taken for granted that he had never really seen them, not truly; yet now he saw them all, his home in the fading russet glow of autumn, and his heart ached as it had not done in months for sight of his father and brothers.

"We have lost you again, Strider," a small voice said in his ear, making him start. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ancadil smiling at him, and gave the other Ranger a mildly guilty look.

"Memories, Ancadil," Strider replied with a sigh. "Nothing seems to have changed..."

Ancadil regarded him with shrewd, green eyes, his shaggy auburn hair pulled away from his face in a clip. Two decades Strider's senior, he had been born in the wilderness and lived there all his life, like many of the Rangers of the North. Consequently he had never really understood the concept of a fixed home, for his own had always been a roving point, and he never truly felt at in ease being too long in any one place. But he knew that Strider's heart had bent ever more to his childhood dwelling the closer they drew to it, and more and more often the young ranger would seem to watch the world with misted eyes as the landscape became more familiar around him.

"Everything changes, Strider – even you," Ancadil winked. The younger Ranger looked up sharply, locking eyes with one of the men who had been his mentor this last half year. "Time cannot go backwards, and we can never be the same twice."

"Mmn," Strider replied, frowning. "I had been thinking on that too." He fell silent, and for a while spoke no more. They fell into step beside one another, behind the three men in front of them. This close to Rivendell there was no need for such securities as setting a watch, and Galdal, the swiftest runner among them, had already gone on ahead before they had broken camp at dawn to inform the hidden citadel of their coming.

"It is not always a bad thing – too change, that is," Ancadil ventured a small while later. "We become better, stronger, wiser; experience teaches us the patience that youthful impetuousness denies."

Strider smiled at him ruefully. "So I am no longer youthfully impetuous?"

"Oh well now, I cannot say that I would go that far...yet," Ancadil winked again. Strider snorted softly but did not reply, instead allowing his mind to wander in the wooded glades that held recollections he thought he had long forgotten. So wrapped up in his memories was he that he did not notice when one of the Rangers in front of them called his name.

"Strider? My brother is calling you," Ancadil said pointedly, nudging the younger man in the ribs.

"Mmn? What? Oh – sorry," he mumbled apologetically. "I was miles away."

"And probably would not have noticed even had a Warg pack had come to pay us a visit," the older Ranger grinned. It had become a running joke that Strider's reveries were so intense that he often paid little heed to his surroundings, making the more experienced Ranger's tease him that all the tracking skills he had learnt were wasting away.

Strider shoved him lightly, a genuine smile breaking across his face as they picked up their pace to join the men ahead of them. "I am not that bad, Anca," he protested, waving his acknowledgement at a sprightly young man who had stopped ahead.

"Aye, well, if you insist." The older Ranger remained tight lipped, but his eyes sparkled.

"It's just...I am home," Strider said simply, gesturing vaguely around him. It seemed hard to express what he felt in words; he only knew that his heart was rejoicing as proximity to the hidden vale increased. Yet that joy was laced also with uncertainty; would his life be the same as it had been before – could he be the same? Or as Ancadil said, had everything changed irrevocably?

"Aye young one, and in for a well earned rest, I'll warrant." Ancadil referred to him by the slight nickname the man had gained through being the youngest in the ranging party.

"Not if my brothers have any say in it, I fear!" Strider laughed again, the thought again causing both happiness and doubt. "They will believe I have half a year's worth of teasing to catch up on, I don't doubt."

Ancadil laughed openly, his eyes twinkling. "I think you may have a point there – but perhaps your father will keep them at bay, if only for a little while."

"That only encourages them," Strider chuckled, rolling his eyes. "The surest way of making them do something –"

"Is forbidding them to do it, I know," Ancadil finished for him, laughing at the look of mild surprise on Strider's face. "I have known the sons of Elrond since before you were born, young one," reminding Strider once more how young he was. As if I do not feel that enough around the Firstborn! he winced inwardly.

Ahead of them, the other Rangers had reached a point where the path slid along the top of a sheer precipice, and the greenery fell away around them as the River Bruinen came finally into view below their feet. But this was not what held the Rangers' eyes, nor what made them halt their procession and call to the young man; that was the view at the narrowest point of the gorge. Spanned by ornate stone bridges and lofty towers, the Last Homely House perched with seeming ease astride the river at its feet, commanding the pass of the steep valley. The golden glow of the afternoon sun fell across it from the high west, and the ancient Elven refuge of Lord Elrond Peredhil shone as a fallen star, marble roofs glinting pearly white. Carved arches caused the rushing waters to cascade in several arms over the tumbling falls and a mist of soft silver hung lightly in the air.

"Imladris," breathed Ancadil.

"Home," Strider echoed, his eyes fixed upon the vista etched into his memory, a tumult of thought in his head.

"Very nearly, Strider," said another Ranger, suppressing a smile. Strider turned absently to him. "Your father will be glad to see you, I think."

"And I him, Balon," Strider replied, beginning to follow the elder Ranger down the path, his long legs eating up the distance between them. "How long will you stay, do you think?" the young Ranger asked to dispel the conflicting ideas in his mind. His eyes still followed the vision of Rivendell ahead of them.

Balon looked to Halbarad, his Captain, for an answer. "Not long, Strider," Halbarad answered, watching the younger man's footing for him lest he should slip on the winding path whilst his gaze was otherwise engaged. Strider seemed oblivious to the subtle guidance the two commanding Rangers offered him. Shaking his head with a sigh, Halbarad exchanged a mildly exasperated glance with Balon who just threw his hands up in resignation, a grin on his bearded face. The Captain recalled a conversation with his second in command during the new recruit's first week: "He is very young," Balon had commented, watching his Captain closely for more. "He is unsure," Halbarad had nodded, "of his own abilities and purpose. His is a heavy burden, one he is not fully aware of yet. But he has Arathorn's eyes...he just needs to learn to accept it." Halbarad had seen the change in the new Ranger, and knew that the young man was only now coming to realise it for himself.

"We will spend a week, maybe more, resting and gathering supplies. I have not hunted game in these woods for years; perhaps your brothers would accompany us." Halbarad continued the conversation Strider had started as the path wound its way back into woodland and Rivendell disappeared from view behind the trees.

Turning his eyes back to the path before him, Strider nodded. "My father will probably press you to stay longer."

"Just like he always does!" Balon laughed, his voice deep and throaty and his dark eyes glittering. Grey streaked his dark hair and beard, but he was still a lithe man and being of the blood of the Dúnedain his years were longer than his smiling face belied.

"Lord Elrond has always put on the best of festivities," Halbarad agreed. "Has he not, Amarthdur?"

Strider turned to see the Ranger behind him blushing red and glaring at his Captain, and looked questioningly back at the leader.

"Elvish wine is generally too potent for most men – as I am sure you have discovered yourself," Halbarad said by way of explanation, a smile tugging at his lips at the sight of his fellow. "Amarthdur, however, did not know this."

"Or rather Ancadil did not tell me!" Amarthdur grumbled, turning fierce eyes of identical mossy green on Ancadil and causing Balon to laugh even harder.

"Oh no, you are not pinning this on me, little brother!" Ancadil called, now from the rear of the party.

"You did not tell me I needed to water it down!" Amarthdur threw back, who, slighter in body than his sibling, easily side-stepped the older man to lay a playful smack on his head.

"That did not seem to stop you drinking half a barrel," mused Halbarad, his features perfectly schooled to passivity, though Balon noted the glint in his eye with glee.

"Half a barrel?" exclaimed Strider, staring at Amarthdur in shock. "Even my brothers should have difficulty managing that together."

"Yes, thank you Strider," Amarthdur said wearily, rolling his eyes skyward.

Ancadil grinned and clapped Strider on the back and motioned at his brother. "He was out of action for about a week, were you not Amarth?"

"Aye, and did not Lord Elrond have to send healers to him at some point?" Balon put in. "I remember him being bed ridden."

"I am not surprised!" Strider laughed, "I have had headaches enough on a couple of undiluted glasses – it is usually the Elven King Thranduil's wine that is the most potent of all," he added. "Especially the reds." He winced outwardly as half-memories filtered through his mind regarding those particular vintages.

"I have never been to Mirkwood," Amarthdur said wistfully, as their path began to wind back around towards the River; "What is it like?"

Strider opened his mouth to respond, but paused frowning before he did so. Halbarad thought he saw something akin to sorrow pass fleetingly through the young man's dark silver eyes, and shook his head almost imperceptibly at Amarthdur, who glanced worriedly at the young Ranger. Neither Lord Elrond nor Strider had given them a full account of his time in Mirkwood just over a year ago now, but rumour had reached their ears by various means, and the Captain had requested that his men not stir memories in the youth that might be painful. If he wanted to recount his adventures, he would do so in his own time.

"Mirkwood is beautiful," Strider finally replied, aware of but unresponsive to the silent communication between the men around him; "The trees are even more ancient than in Rivendell, and the power of the Sindarin elves keeps the shadow at bay, for the most part." He paused again, before a wide grin spread across his face. "Now they put on the best parties!" he laughed, succeeding in brushing away the vague tension that hung over them.

"Perhaps we shall see it one day, Amarth," Ancadil said, rolling his eyes and smacking his brother lightly upside the head. Balon let out another rolling peal of laughter, causing even Halbarad to shake his head and chuckle to himself.

They all rounded the final bend in their road, the banks now rising slightly on either side and crowned in parallel lines of carefully tended silver birch trees, orange leaves seeming to line the way for them like a carpet. Lengthening his strides, Strider was the first to pass beneath the ancient renowned archway of stone and living bark, and come at last after months of wandering into the flag-stoned courtyard of his home. He was surprised and warmed to the heart to see a small contingent of familiar faces turn to greet him in joy, before –

"Estel!" A pair of joyful voices suddenly called out in unison, and Strider's eyes immediately found his twin elven brothers, Elladan and Elrohir, pushing past the others and racing down the steps to meet him. Unable to keep the grin off his face, Estel bounded toward them and they met half way before Elladan pulled him into a fierce hug, almost yanking the young man off his feet.

"You are back!" Elrohir said, delightedly.

"Apparently so..." came Estel's mumbled reply from the folds of Elladan's shoulder. "Dan – let me down!"

Grinning from ear to ear, the raven haired elf released the man and side stepped, allowing his twin to grasp the man just as tightly, again pulling him off of his feet. Galdal slipped past them to join his fellows in the courtyard and Halbarad acknowledged his man with a swift nod and a thankful gaze. This welcome was exactly what Strider needed to subdue his fears. The young Ranger's gasp elicited collected laughter from the group of men and elves crowded at the top and bottom of the steps. Halbarad and Balon exchanging another set of sly looks as their ward of six months was released from their care.

"Well met, sons of Elrond!" the Captain called at them, saluting with him his hand.

"Well met indeed, Halbarad!" Elladan called back, bowing slightly to them. "I see you managed to bring him back in one piece then?"

"Even as you see... but only just!" Balon teased as Elrohir too released his human brother, and ruffled his hair affectionately. Laughing, Estel shoved his hand away, turning to the others gathered behind the twins. Golden-haired Glorfindel strode forward to grasp the young man's hand and wink at him, cuffing him lightly on the chin. He was followed closely by Erestor, his father's Councillor, and Brethildur, the Master of Horse, the former of which as usual carried some historic scroll and the latter predictably in full length leather riding chaps. Estel gave them a lop-sided grin.

"Welcome home, Estel," Glorfindel said warmly, his ancient and unreadable eyes full of mirth as the twins continued their conversation with the Rangers.

"Aye, he seems to have a penchant for trouble!" Ancadil joined in, causing Strider to begin to protest.

"Peace Strider; you have done well," Halbarad said warmly. "No doubt your father will want to hear of it himself."

"Indeed I do." A deep voice rolled out of the door, followed by the Elven Lord himself. At the top of the steps Elrond paused, unwinding his hands from the sleeves of his long burgundy robes and holding them out to his youngest son. The twins let him pass, and Estel stepped forward almost shyly, bowing low to his adopted father. The doubt that had temporarily been forgotten seemed to flare momentarily in his heart, before he took the hands offered to him. The murmur of voices was stilled.

"Welcome home, Estel," Elrond said quietly, his voice rich and soothing to ears that had long been starved of it. Taking the young man's head in his hands, he gently pulled him forward and kissed his forehead before gazing to his eyes. Ageless grey met dark silver, and for a few moments they did not speak. The Elven Lord took in the subtle changes in his son; the broader shoulders, the straighter stance, the lingering stubble upon his chin – and the flicker of self-doubt that haunted his open gaze. "You have grown," Elrond finally said simply, an almost sad smile on his face. "You are become a man, my son."

Estel stared back, his eyes trusting and searching his father's face for...he knew not what. "Though perhaps not completely, just yet," Elrond continued, smiling and wrapping one arm around Estel's shoulder and pulling him alongside him. Estel released the breath he did not know he had been holding, relaxing into his father's embrace. The action did not go unnoticed by Erestor and Glorfindel, who silently smiled at one another.

"Captain Halbarad, welcome once more to Rivendell," Lord Elrond called in greeting to the Ranger. "I hope that your journey was good?"

Halbarad bowed low, sweeping his hand outwards from his heart in respect. "All was well, my lord."

"I am glad to hear it. Come, you must be weary after your travels; rooms have been prepared for you, as always, and refreshment; should you wish for anything, you need only ask."

The group of Rangers all murmured their gratitude and bowed again.

"And Halbarad? Thank you for returning Estel to me." Elrond added, his sharp eyes imploring those of the Captain, who smiled and nodded in understanding.

"And as for you, my son, I would hear of your journeys in the wilds," Elrond said, turning his attention to Estel once more as he steered him inside, followed closely by the twins. Heading towards the sweeping staircase to their first floor quarters, they paused as Lindur, Elrond's ever faithful Head of Household appeared from a side door, a towering pile of freshly laundered towels teetering in his arms.

"Ah, young Estel!" he said, leaning around the towels to nod his greeting. "I am glad to see you home, and looking so well. I hope you will find your rooms much as ever they were."

"He means despite your brothers' insistence in using them as their own," Elrond breathed in his son's ear, and winking at him.

"I am sure all is more than well, Lindur," Estel replied, grinning at his father and the elf before him. "And it is good to see you too – and to be home."

"I do not doubt it, young one," Lindur laughed, as he went to move past them. "You must excuse me, my lords, I need to get these to our guests..."

"Of course, Lindur, be about your business," Elrond answered, stepping aside. "Elladan, lend him some assistance –"

"Oh, that is unnecessary my lord!" Lindur called back over his shoulder, and manoeuvred backwards into the ground floor bathing rooms.

"Do not forget to offer him the use of the bathing rooms father," Elladan teased his brother as they moved off again. "He smells like he has not had a bath for months." He danced lightly side from Estel's reach, who was still pinned to his father's side and could not follow.

"Elladan, could you at least have waited a while before you began taunting him again?" Elrond said not a little wearily, but his lips seemed to smile of their own accord and contradict his words.

"But father, we have so much time to catch up on," Elladan replied, his face the picture of innocence. Elrohir snickered and elbowed his twin on Estel's behalf.

"Hey – whose side are you on?" Elladan retorted, shoving his twin back.

Elrond fixed them with a stern look as they all began to ascend the stairway. When they reached the entrance to his room, Estel paused on the threshold, gazing in on his old life. Someone, no doubt Lindur, had opened the wide bay window to allow the soft autumn breeze to flit past the light cloth curtains which billowed lazily into the room. It was almost eerie, Estel thought, as he took it all in; it really was exactly as he had left it, all those months ago. The same bed covers, tucked lovingly in by Lindur, the comforter folded precisely at the corners. At his old writing desk, a pot of ink sat patiently waiting, the papers beside it fluttering slightly though weighted down by a heavy ball of clear glass. His first bow still sat untouched in the corner, as it had done for years, barely half the size of the one he wielded now. He shifted his weight slightly, his fingers brushing the sword pommel at his left hip and lingering there.

"Have I changed, father?" he questioned suddenly, a slight frown creasing his brow as he pulled away from his father.

Elrond turned to face him again, looking deep in his eyes. His father's heart longed for Estel to remain just that; but he knew that could never have been. "Yes, Estel; for a time you were not Estel at all, I think."

"No," the human murmured softly in concurrence. "For a while I was Strider. I was different...I still am."

The twins noted the change in their brother and stood seriously on either side of the door frame, flanking their father. Even now, Estel had to suppress the smile at the sight of the twins mimicking the Elven lord, as their concern all caused their eyebrows to quirk in exactly the same place.

"We all change, Estel; it is a part of life," Elrohir said, leaning against the frame.

"But can I go back to being Estel now? Can I just – flit between identities?" Confusion clouded the young man's face as he sought for answers from his family, and he brought his hands up, turning them over and gazing at them.

"Of course you can be Estel now," Elrond said smiling, tipping the young man's chin slightly to realign his eye line. "Right now, you do not need to be anything else. You have done well. I am proud of you."

Estel smiled appreciatively back, holding his father's gaze but still not entirely sure.

"What is it, son?" Elrond prompted when he sensed the hesitancy.

"It is just...something that Ancadil said," Estel sighed, dropping his father's gaze and glancing back into his room. "That we can never be the same twice; things are always changing."

Elrond paused before answering, and the twins exchanged silent looks. "He is correct," Elrond answered softly. "What is lost cannot be regained; becoming an adult has made you lose some of the innocence of childhood you still had in your heart."

"But in my heart...I do not feel like an adult," Estel replied, still confused. He chewed his lip thoughtfully, still not looking at his family.

"Then what do you feel?" Elladan asked gently. In his eyes the youth of over twenty was a mere babe, but he saw through the eyes of the Firstborn; in the world of men, which Estel would one day have to join, he had already come of age. It never ceased to amaze him just how swiftly the bright flame of a mortal life passed him by.

"I feel..." Estel struggled for words, staring at his feet and reminding Elrond of the small, young boy he had once been. "I do not know," he sighed exasperatedly, finally meeting his father's eyes again. Elrond placed his hands on Estel's shoulders.

"Then for now, you need not trouble yourself with it; understanding will come with time," Elrond said, his eyes imploring his son to trust him. Estel silently consented and his frown disappeared. What he needed was rest; perhaps then he could think clearly.

"However," interrupted Elladan abruptly, deciding it was time to dispel the heavy atmosphere; "What you do need to do is shave."

"Elladan!" said Elrond sharply, casting a disbelieving eye at his eldest who held up his hands in defence.

"I am merely commenting that something appears to be taking over Estel's face; that is all..."

"Either that, or you simply have not washed?" Elrohir put in unhelpfully, catching on to his twin's line of thought. The pair were rewarded with a wide grin on the young man's face, one that lit his sea-grey eyes with laughter.

Elrond sighed. "Ilúvatar give me strength..." he muttered, releasing Estel's shoulders. The young man ran a hand absently over his chin, feeling the prickly stubble. "Do you not like it? I had not really thought about it."

"You look fine, Estel," Elrond emphasised. "Ignore them. And you two must let your brother get some rest."

"I always thought I had rather good taste," sniffed Elladan, stroking a hand over his own unblemished cheek – as an elf, he had never known the strange daily phenomenon that seemed to plague mortal men.

Estel gave his brother a withering look, not unlike that of his father's. "Good taste for what – a Warg?" Estel taunted, his smile mischievous.

"Oh you will pay for that, little brother –"

"Not now, Elladan," Elrond cut in curtly. "Lindur has prepared the bathing room on this corridor for you Estel, so you will wash and dress –"

"And shave!" added Elrohir, before his father silenced him with a glare.

"And then you will join us for dinner – and you two will give him a chance to rest before you set on him again. I am serious, Elladan."

"It's alright father; it is only because they know they could not take me on at full strength that they try their luck whilst I am tired," Estel grinned, sliding back into his room before either twin could swat him.

"Enough!" said Elrond loudly, causing all three of his sons to suppress their sniggers. "Barely five minutes have you been home, Estel, and already I feel I need a rest. Now do as I say, all of you. Go!" He ushered the laughing twins towards the staircase, standing sentinel at the top whilst they descended. Estel chuckled to himself and dumped his pack on the floor by his desk and unbuckled his sword belt and quiver, grabbing his old, clean clothing from where it had been piled for him on his bed. Heading back out towards the bathing room down the corridor, he paused to see his father waiting at the top of the stairs.

"Thank you father," the young man said, his grin charismatically lop-sided as the elven Lord came towards him. His heart felt lighter than it had a few moments ago, his worries laid aside in the banter with his brothers.

"The three of you are going to be the death of me," Elrond sighed good-naturedly, pulling him into an embrace with strong arms. Estel leant into it, breathing in deeply the warm, familiar smell of his father's robes and sighed contentedly. "I have missed you, little one," Elrond whispered in his ear. Estel screwed up his face, pulling away slightly.

"Father, you cannot keep calling me that now..."

"I know, I know," Elrond laughed lightly, letting his arms fall to his sides. "But truly Estel – welcome home."

With a final light kiss to his forehead, Elrond let the man go along the corridor, watching him until he had disappeared into the bathing room in a swirl of steam.

"Welcome home, indeed." He whispered, and descended the stairs in wake of the twins.

-0-

The sun had set, and the stars of Elbereth were shining high in the inky sky as the final dishes were cleared away from the tables in the Hall of Fire. Flagons of wine (watered safely down Amarthdur had ensured, to raucous laughter from his fellows) stood half empty, a testament to the thirst of the many numbered there that evening. Most of the household had turned out to welcome the young Ranger home, and the Hall was abuzz with merriment and chatter, whilst in the corner a quartet of minstrels lightly thrummed and tuned their instruments. At the centre table, Lord Elrond leant back comfortably in his deep cushioned chair, idly tracing the carved patterns on its arm with one hand, whilst his other held his goblet of honey-white wine. His sharp eyes followed the actions of a group further down the table, as Elladan and Elrohir quizzed their younger brother on his adventures. What had started out as Estel's carefully selected tales had quickly broadened to encompass many of his mishaps as Balon, Ancadil, Amarthdur and Galdal all helped the twins weasel the truth out of the young man. Elrond chuckled to himself as Estel moaned softly at the current story, as far as he could tell involving a rabbit trap and his own foot, which only caused those listening to erupt with laughter. Dropping his head into his hands, silver eyes peaked between his fingers, imploring his father's aide. Elrond shook his dark head, feigning helplessness, which only caused the twins to laugh even harder.

Chuckling next to him, Glorfindel leant over and whispered in his old friend's ear; "You did not teach him to lie very well, did you?" the elder elf winked. His bright eyes were sparkling and his pale cheeks flushed with rose, his braided golden hair spilling down his shoulders.

"I had hoped his brothers might have taught him a thing or two..." Elrond mused,

quirking an eyebrow.

"Ah, you young ones," Glorfindel sighed, leaning back, waiting...

"Do you never tire of that, old friend?" Elrond sighed in response, turning his head to see the Balrog Slayer of ancient renown, who had aided his own father's escape from the fall of Gondolin, now grinning at him roguishly over the top of his wine glass.

"The old ones are the best," Glorfindel beamed back. Elrond simply rolled his eyes, deigning not to reply.

"If telling yourself that helps you to believe it, we shall not hinder you," a rich voice spoke from behind them, and Erestor claimed the vacant seat at Lord Elrond's left. Grabbing a pitcher, he poured himself a glass of wine and settled back in his chair, setting his navy robes precisely, all the while conscious of Glorfindel's pointed glare.

"So nice of you to join us," the blonde elf drawled, though the light never left his eyes; "I was afraid you had become lost in that beloved library of yours – or worse, that the books may have eaten you..."

"Do not be ridiculous, Glorfindel," Erestor chided, glancing at his friend with mild disdain before lighting on the Rangers down the table. "You know full well my books only attack strangers."

Unsuccessfully stifling a snort into his wine, Glorfindel had to quickly lean forward to place the glass on the table before he spilt it.

"Do you know," Elrond said passively, twirling the remaining wine in his goblet and scrutinising it carefully, "I think I can safely say that you two are worse than the twins. And," he added as an after thought, resting his gaze on Erestor, "They are my books."

"Oh no, do not tell him that," Glorfindel laughed quietly, "I think I see mutiny in his eyes..."

"Besides, we have far more decorum than either Elladan or Elrohir," Erestor commented, sipping delicately at his own red wine.

"Yes, but you are also both old enough to know better!" laughed Elrond, before finishing his own wine in one gulp.

Across the Hall, Elrond noted Halbarad conversing with some other elves. His stern face was yet young, his grey eyes strong and glinting in the firelight. He glanced towards the Lord of Imladris, dipping his head in respect. Elrond responded in kind, and motioned slightly with his free hand for the Ranger to join him. Excusing himself from his companions, Halbarad made his way to the Elven Lord's side. At a quick look from Elrond, Glorfindel rose lightly from his chair, offering it to the Captain; "I beg your forgiveness, Lord Elrond; but I long to hear more of your son's adventures." With a bow and a wink, he sauntered down the table to join the laughing group, though not before pinching the wine pitcher Erestor had been using. Grumbling, the dark haired elf also rose and followed, coming to lean on the back of Elladan's chair.

"Please, take a seat, Halbarad," Elrond encouraged him warmly; "Do you wish for more wine?"

"Nay my lord, my glass is still full, though I thank you," the Ranger responded, slipping into the chair on Elrond's right with a small sigh. He crossed his long, booted legs before him as he sank into the velvet cushions, taking a deep swallow of the sweet red liquid. Trickling down his throat, he could feel it warming him to the very bones.

"It does not seem you met with too much trouble on your journeying," Elrond commented softly, not looking at the man.

"Nay; mostly northwards did our paths stray, to the banks of the Hoarwell. Further north, though..." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "The Orcs are growing bolder by the year, and the northern wastes lie still under a shadow. We drove them up, past Freezeford by the Ettenmoors, but I cannot say how long they will be held at bay. Something is calling to them." Suddenly it seemed to him that the bright warmth of the Hall was dimmed, and he shuddered slightly, though the temperature had not fallen.

Elrond perceived the darkness behind his words, but did not voice his thoughts. The Councils of the wise had long suspected the stirring of Evil in the east and south, but as of yet no clear reports had been made. In his own heart Elrond wondered at the shadow that seemed to be stirring all evil creatures of late, and what exactly had triggered the stirring of that shadow itself.

"The strong arms of the brave Dúnedain have long protected the lands of Eriador; and may they long continue to do so," Elrond said, raising his glass slightly in a toast.

Halbarad nodded his acknowledgement, raising his own glass and drinking deeply. "The western lands and the Shire will ever have our protection; yet our numbers continue to wane, Lord Elrond;" he said, after pausing for thought. "We alone cannot stem the overwhelming tide forever."

Elrond glanced at the Ranger sharply. The foresight of his lineage came briefly to him as he replied, looking down the table at the cringing form of Estel. "We none of us can...it will not be long I think, even by the reckoning of Men, before we are called upon to contribute to the final great deeds of this Age."

Halbarad gazed in wonder at the Elven Lord, whose own life spanned from the First Age of the Eldar Years. "Then we shall be ready to answer the call when that moment comes."

"Yes," Elrond smiled sadly, "I do not doubt that you will."

They fell silent for a while, watching and listening to the growing group of Elves and Rangers gathered around Estel and the twins.

"You raised him well, my lord," Halbarad finally spoke, noting how Elrond's eyes were fixed on his human son. "He is a quick learner, and eager; trusting and loyal, though perhaps a little too much of the former...but that will change with time; and he is one of the stealthiest men I have ever met, a true asset to a hunting party."

"I think we can accredit that to his growing up in this House," Elrond smiled. "He had to practice for years to creep up on his brothers."

"Aye my lord, that rings true," Halbarad agreed with twinkling eyes. "He has grown though, into a fine man."

"Mmn," Elrond murmured, his mind flickering back to his conversation with his son earlier that day.

"He will be a great man, I think, when he has come to full maturity; but until then, he simply needs to learn to accept who he is."

"And you always were a perceptive man, my friend," Elrond smiled. "Now we just need to get him to believe your words."

"Ah, thankfully that is your task now," Halbarad chuckled, draining his glass. "If you will excuse me, my lord, I think I shall retire for the evening."

"Of course, Halbarad; I will see you on the morrow. Sleep well," Elrond wished him well as the Ranger pulled himself to his feet. Watching him go with slumped shoulders, Elrond could not help but to think that it was not only Estel who bore a heavy burden in these wild days.

For a while longer, he continued to watch and listen as the talk surrounding his sons began to die down, and the minstrels began to play a quiet lilting rhythm from the corner. He hummed to himself, drumming out the beat with his long, slender figures. The longer he watched, the more he noticed Estel remaining silent, resting his head in his hands, his eyes drooping. The Rangers about him gradually began to drift back towards their sleeping quarters, clapping the young man lightly on the back as they left. Sighing deeply, the Elven Lord drew himself to his feet and paced down the table, coming to rest behind Estel's chair. Glorfindel watched him idly from beside Elrohir across the table, smiling at the exhausted human.

"Estel, you need to rest," Elrond said softly, leaning over and speaking in his son's ear. Estel nodded absently in response, leaning back in his chair and looking upwards at his father. His pupils were wide in the half light of the fire, his cheeks a rosy red from the wine. A sleepy smile brushed his lips before a yawn escaped him, which he hastily hid with a hand.

"Let your brothers take you to your rooms," Elrond implored, laying a gentle hand on his son's head. For once, the young man did not argue but allowed Elladan to pull him to his feet. Elrohir joined him from the other side of the table, and between them they began supporting Estel towards the stairs. Three calls of, "Goodnight, father," floated to his ears before they disappeared up out of view. Erestor chuckled lightly as they went.

"I strongly suspect our respite of peace may be over, my friend."

Elrond released a deep sigh, still looking at the staircase. "Why do I get the feeling you are right, Erestor?"

"I am always right," came the grinning response as Elrond settled himself back down in a vacant chair.

"Here we go again," Glorfindel said, rolling his eyes.

"Oh bother the pair of you," Elrond reprimanded good-naturedly, refilling his goblet.

Upstairs, Elladan continued to hold his human brother upright whilst Elrohir dimmed the small lamps around Estel's room. Slowly, they lowered him down to his bed, rewarded by a soft groan as he sank into the deep feather mattress. Elrohir knelt by his feet, nimbly pulling off the tired man's boots and swinging his legs around, allowing him to lie down.

"Must you still treat me like a child?" Estel muttered drowsily, his words slurred by wine and sleep.

"Only so long as you act like one," Elrohir replied, quietly tittering to himself. Estel gave a soft snort in reply, his eyes already fighting to close.

"Don't," Elladan commanded, laying a hand on his brother's forehead; "Stop fighting it Estel, and just sleep. You are home now, and you are safe."

"Not with you two around..."

"Hush now, little brother," Elrohir said, crossing his arms as he rose to lean against his twin, stifling his own yawn. "Go to sleep."

One last smile ghosted across Estel's lips as he finally gave into his body's demands. The twins stood sentinel over him for a few minutes, listening as the man's breathing became deep and steady. Gently, they between them pulled the duvet up to his chest. Elrohir fought against a second yawn.

"You are as bad as him," Elladan tutted, nudging his twin from the room.

"Oh be quiet, you mother hen," Elrohir retorted, leaning against the doorframe and casting a final look over his sleeping brother. "Or save your mothering for him, at least."

Bickering, they closed the door to and headed for their own rooms, leaving Estel to wander safe, at long last, in the dreams of his family, and his home.

-0-

Far away in the starlight, westward across the wild of Eriador and past the weathered top of Amon Sûl, a lone hunched figure stole out of the Prancing Pony Inn in the town of Bree. Limping slightly, a heavy hood covered its head so that only steam rising in the frosty air gave a clue to the hidden face. Gloved hands tightly gripped a gnarled walking stick as it headed for the stables, swinging it in low circles upon the ground immediately in front of it. Whistling lowly, a response came in the form of a soft whiney from one of the stables, and the head of a golden horse poked outwards, searching for her mistress.

She knew that she could wait until daylight before she travelled – but she had lingered here long enough; and besides, the cloudless sky provided more than enough light for her horse to find her way by. She preferred travelling by night anyway; it was purer somehow, and always much easier to detect the approach of another traveller.

She saddled the mare with some difficulty, always reaching out with her hands to feel the soft warmth before pulling on the bridle, and tightening the girth. Struggling up into the seat, she gripped the pommel tightly as her arthritic knees screamed in protest. Getting used to her body's ageing creaks had taken some time, and she was still not altogether pleased with it. Perhaps he would have something to dim the pain, even if only for a while.

Her horse nickered softly, and she nudged forward as her rider settled herself. Carefully tucking her cloak in around her, the figure whispered something too low for mortal ears; but the mare responded immediately, setting off at a brisk trot toward the town gates. The guard grunted at her ill-humouredly, but did not deny her passage, and soon she had left the lights of Bree behind her, glimmering on their hill top. This journey, her final journey, took her eastward; and following the road lit like a silver ribbon in the starlight, she headed for her destination in the silent night.

And with every step the golden mare took, a shadow stirring in the North grew

stronger, and sped on dark winds ever southward...

To be continued

Please R&R

Loadsa love, Estel xxx