Disclaimer: Westu hai, Tolkien!

A/N: I just had to write this follow-up. Sorry it took me so long to get it posted!


"Estel?"

"Yeah?" Estel looked down from his perch high up in the fir tree at his best friend in the entire world. Straddling the branch beneath him, Legolas had the thoughtful frown on his face that Estel had come to associate with him being upset. "What's bothering you?"

"I do not believe Lord Elrond likes me very much," the elf observed soberly.

The teenage boy flipped upside down on his branch, bringing his face within inches of Legolas's. "What makes you think that?"

"I've been here a week, and he has hardly spoken to me. Every time I'm around, he starts attacking his temples with his fingers. I think I give him migraines – and I don't know why," Legolas added, hurt.

"I wouldn't worry." Estel dropped onto his friend's branch. "Everyone gives Ada migraines. Me, Elrohir, Elladan, even Arwen once or twice." He scooted closer to Legolas. His eyes grew to the size of saucers, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Have you seen Arwen? She's beeeeeee-yooooooo-tiful."

Vaguely annoyed, Legolas swung down from his perch to the branch below it and so on until he reached the ground. "I don't think that's it, Estel."

Estel jumped off his branch, did a flip in midair, and landed on his feet. "Ta da! Think that'd impress Arwen? But seriously, Legolas, what else could it be?"

"I don't know," Legolas sighed as they set off through the woods, heading back towards Rivendell. "But there's got to be something. Otherwise why would he have Glorfindel and Erestor following us?"

"WHAT?"


Elrond watched his advisors troop in to dinner that evening, muddy and bedraggled.

"What happened?" he asked, trying desperately not to snigger.

"Your son," growled Glorfindel through gritted teeth.

"And Thranduil's." Erestor shivered. His clothes were soaked through, and the weather had taken a turn for the worst.

Although Elrond offered his sympathies most profusely, his advisors refused to forgive him. They stalked over to the table, snatched a platter of sandwiches, and swept from the room, glaring fiercely at Estel and Legolas as they walked in.

"Hello, Ada," Estel grinned at his foster father, a picture of innocence.

"My lord Elrond," murmured Legolas, staring at the floor.

Momentarily, Elrond felt ashamed of himself. It wasn't this poor ellon's fault that his father had a terrible habit of depositing his children in others' care like presents at a hobbit birthday party. But then he remembered all the pranks, shattered heirlooms, and traumatized maids from the elf prince's last visit, and his shame vanished like a puff of smoke.

"Legolas, Estel, after you have had dinner, you are confined to your rooms until further notice," Elrond said brusquely. "It was very wrong of you to treat Erestor and Glorfindel thus. Estel, I'm going to have to talk to your mother about this."

"Mother? No, no, please don't," Estel begged. "We'll be good. I promise!"

Legolas nodded emphatically. "We'll stay out of trouble, my lord. You have my word."

"Off with you, then." As he watched the younglings scamper away to the dinner table, Elrond's feelings of foreboding increased.


"Told you he didn't like me," Legolas muttered darkly. He looked out his window at the starlit sky, then turned back to Estel, who lay sprawled across the bed.

"Huh, what? Oh, yeah . . . I'm sure it's not your fault. Probably something your dad did. You don't think he'll actually tell my mom, do you?" worried Estel. He did his utmost to keep news of his misadventures far from his mother's ears. Gilraen seemed so fragile lately. Estel loved his mother dearly and didn't want anything to upset her.

"I haven't the slightest idea." Legolas gazed up at the stars and started humming one of Thranduil's favorite songs, an intricate melody praising Elbereth.

Estel pushed himself up off the bed. "We need to get out of here."

The elf stopped humming. "I wondered when you'd come to that conclusion. The window?"

"Of course."

Together, they undid the latch and pushed the heavy glass window open. First Legolas, then Estel slipped through the narrow opening and into the night. They headed for the stable, creeping from shadow to shadow. Rather than use the stable door, they slunk into the hayloft with the help of a tall elm.

Once inside, Legolas went from stall to stall, greeting the horses in turn. He stroked their noses and patiently untangled any knots in their manes with his long fingers. Last of all he came to Brennil, Elrond's favorite brood mare.

"I wish I had your skill with horses." Estel watched the elf enviously. "They all love you. They'd let you do anything you wanted with them. Hey . . ."

"What is it?" Legolas glanced away from Brennil's liquid eyes to look at his best friend.

Estel stared pointedly at several cans of hoof polish sitting by the open door to the tack room, then raised his eyebrows significantly. "I have an idea . . . "


Many years later, Elrond sat in his study, composing a letter. Although important correspondence usually took him several careful drafts, this time, however, the words flowed freely. After all, Elrond had dreamt of writing a letter like this for decades.

My Dear Thranduil,

Thank you so very much for sending Legolas to my little Council. His information was nearly priceless. I have decided to send him with the Fellowship of the Ring. Aragorn – you will remember him as my son Estel – is also in the Company. As they were so adroit about getting each other into trouble in their youth, perhaps now they will be able to keep each other – and the rest of their companions – out of it. If he survives, you should see him in a year or so. Give my greetings to your lovely wife.

Navaer an si,

Elrond of Rivendell

Fin.


A/N: Review?