A/N: I really don't know what to make of this story, but anyways, it's Elrohir's POV. (Of course.)


Two weeks ago, Estel decided he wanted to be a healer.

It was nothing but child's play, at first, and we smiled to see it, for what child has not played at healing at some time? The little one hurried urgently along with his healing blades, as he lovingly dubbed them, and for a time it was nothing worse than finding a cat tied up in ingenious knots, with a wide-eyed Estel proclaiming vociferously that it had rabies and he was disinfecting it. Never mind the impossibility.

But then Estel poisoned Glorfindel.

It was all a mistake and a "naccident", the boy had insisted at first. But then he realised the seriousness of what had happened, and, under Adar's not-so-loving hand, swore never to play with redbark or minĂ­as again. His healing blades disappeared - for a time, at any rate - and we breathed in peace.

I still cannot speak of this next part without pain.

It started as an innocent solitary ride in the woods at the foot of the Hithaeglir, but it ended deep in the mountains, bound and beaten in caves darker than night. For days I was held captive, without seeing the light of day or the twinkle of the stars, or the wind's gentle touch in my hair.

Then I remember hooves pounding in the east, clear voices ringing through the air, steel clanging on steel, and at last my father's arms, and I clung to him and cried and cried.

Day had never seemed so dark as when my father brought me home, only half-conscious and numbed with pain. Dusk fell to dawn, and dawn to the midday, and the midday faded to eventide, and so on for days, they told me. And then one night I awoke alone in the blackness, bleeding afresh, and I heard screaming, but I did not think it was myself until Elladan's arms were around me, his gentle voice soothing me, and Adar's arms held me down firmly but so gently, and Arwen's hands were there, and her voice, and at last I calmed.

Late that night, I woke to find myself still wrapped in their arms, and a little face peering up at me in the shadows. It is Estel, his young eyes so worried and scared. He whispers something about Erestor and Glorfy keeping him out, but he snuck in anyway, and I cannot bring myself to scold. It feels so good, his little head resting on my chest, listening to my heartbeat with all the expertise of the very young, and his fingers tangling in my hair as he falls at last to sleep.

There is something about the healer in him still, even though he has grown older. It is only rarely that we find animals subjected to his examinations, for he has become a healer of the mind. Without him I do not think I could have pulled myself from the darkness and overcome it.

He may be Aragorn to many, but he is still Estel to me.

He will always be my hope.