Spring, 2958
Lothlórien

Elladan sat on his bed in the room that he shared with his twin during their stays in the Golden Wood. He had a whetstone in one hand and was idly sharpening his sword. The blade sang with each stroke of the stone and kept time with Elrohir's movements as he paced across the floor.

"When you wear a hole through the floor, don't expect me to rush forth to save you from falling through the flet."

"And when you've sharpened your sword down to a dagger don't expect me to lend you mine."

The two lapsed into silence again, and the sounds of stone grating on metal continued to keep time with inaudible Elven footfalls. If this routine was a test to see which twin would be the first to successfully annoy his brother, then Elrohir won. Elladan finally dropped the stone and chucked his sword unceremoniously across the mattress in a huff.

"Oh, this is pointless!" He bemoaned as he flopped down on his back on the mattress and covered his temples with the palms of his hands. "We have lingered here too long. We should have left weeks ago!"

Elrohir ceased his pacing. With a soft sigh he came to sit at the foot of his brother's bed. Sad eyes rested on his twin as he took Elladan's discarded sword and sheathed it, only to set it aside again.

"I have never seen you so anxious to leave our grandparents' realm," he said, his voice neutral. "This used to be the one place where we could go to forget about time for—"

"A time?" Elladan finished for his twin, smirking slightly.

Elrohir softly snorted a small laugh while Elladan sighed.

"It is not Lothlórien, gwadur-nin," Elladan confessed. "It's just…" But words failed him then, and he sighed again and closed his eyes.

"You are restless," Elrohir concluded, smirking slightly.

Elladan opened his eyes and sat up partially. He reclined on one elbow and arched an amused eyebrow at his twin.

"I know, gwadur-nin," Elrohir continued. "I feel it, too."

"We must leave, Elrohir," Elladan said seriously as he sat up fully. "We are of no use here."

"And we are of no use in Rohan, either," Elrohir added. "We agreed to winter here to be with our sister."

"Arwen…" Elladan breathed. He stood from his bed and walked to the edge of the flet. He braced his hands on the thin rope balustrade and leaned heavily into it. The Elven rope sagged some but didn't give. "I do not understand it, Elrohir."

Elrohir belatedly stood from the bed and crossed to his brother's side.

"We do not need to understand it, gwadur-nin. All we can do is encourage her to pursue this happiness she's found."

"You mistake my meaning," Elladan replied with a smirk. "She and Estel love each other, and as soon as Estel reclaims the throne of Kings we shall see them married. I see how Arwen is happier now than she has ever been and in my heart I know that their union is right."

"Then what don't you understand?"

A pause.

"Elladan?"

"How she can be so calm!" Elladan finally admitted, irritation plain in his voice. He pushed off the balustrade and turned to face his brother. "How can all of Lothlórien can be so calm about it all? Estel is off in Rohan somewhere doing Vala-knows-what feeling like his entire family has condemned and abandoned him. How could he think that of us, gwadur-nin? And more importantly, how can we allow ourselves to be convinced that we should simply let him to do so? We have every power to end this nightmare and bring him home again, to reassure him that he is our brother and that we love him. We could ride to Rohan right now and tell him this! We could tell him that we approve of his love for Arwen; that we all approve!"

It seemed then that Elladan's words ran dry. He turned violently on his heels and paced a few steps away.

Elrohir remained where he was, watching his twin's fists ball with rage as his back went rigid with tension. Mentally he counted to ten. By seven Elladan had relaxed again, just as Elrohir had expected he would. Only then did he deem it time to speak.

"Yet we do not," he said to Elladan's back. "We sit here in Lothlórien, watching Arwen, and daernana, and all the rest of Lothlórien take comfort in Estel's destiny. We watch them sit on their heels and do nothing, for they believe that this pain our brother is enduring is nothing but the heat of the forge and that Estel will be tempered unbreakable by it."

As always with Elladan, his silence was his admission.

After a long moment he turned around.

"I see how much Arwen loves Estel. I hear it in her voice in the way she speaks of him. I see it in her eyes, Elrohir. Already I feel their bonds of love through her fëa. How can this great love, this great sustaining force that has brought our sister out of contabescence and back to the living world once more—"

"Be content to let him suffer so?"

Elladan hung his head, half a nod. Elrohir closed the gap between them.

"I do not understand, gwadur-nin," Elladan said quietly. Then finally he looked up, at last meeting his brother's eyes. "How can she—how can they all, be willing to let him suffer so, seemingly in the name of love?"

"Are you really asking that, gwadur-nin?" Elrohir asked softly as he placed a hand on his twin's slumped shoulder. "Or are you asking why we have thus far agreed to go along with them?"

Elladan smirked slightly, a sad, ironic half-smile.

"Either one will do."

Elrohir gave the shoulder a soft, reassuring squeeze. "I wish I had a real answer to give you," he said. "But I am not counted among the Wise. All that I can say is this: we both know that the Wise have not come to this decision lightly, especially daerada. If this is what they feel is best, then I don't see that we have a choice but to respect their decision. Especially if Arwen has."

"Oh but you're wrong," Elladan said, that sad, ironic half-smile dancing about his lips. "We could choose to go against their wishes and drag Estel home by the ear."

Elrohir returned the smirk at last. "Yet we do not."

"No, we do not. Though the minute Arwen changes her mind—"

"We will ride straight into Mordor if we have to in order to bring our brother home again."

Elladan nodded. "Aye, gwadur-nin." Then the mirth left him. Elrohir instinctively knew to draw his hand away. "But until that time… here with our kin we must remain. Hoping and praying from a distance that the Valar will guide our brother's steps and one day bring him home again."

"Estel is strong," Elrohir reassured. "And we—his family, have raised him well. I have faith in him, Elladan; faith that he will not depart the circles of this world without accomplishing all that has been ordained for him to accomplish. We shall see our brother again. I know it."

Elladan sighed, and it seemed as though the smile tried to return, though it was swallowed whole by worry.

"Oh, I know I shall see Estel again, gwadur-nin," he said. "It is the waiting part that is killing me."

Elrohir couldn't help but smile. "Indeed," he agreed. "It seems that where Arwen's contabescence has ended ours has just begun."

Finally, feebly, the smile returned to Elladan's face. "Yet somehow I think that you have found a remedy for that too," he said with a slight shake of his head.

"But of course, Elladan," Elrohir admitted. "What else is there to do but to continue that which we have always done in times of temporary darkness such as this?"

Elladan's smile turned wicked. "Return to Imladris," he declared, "and take up the hunt anew."

Elrohir's smile turned to mirror his twin's. The two of them laughed then, and clasped arms to cement their agreement.

"We should tell daerada and daernana that we intend to leave tomorrow at first light," Elladan announced.

"They will not be thrilled with the apparent haste of our decision," Elrohir warned, "and will most likely deduce the reason."

"So let them deduce," Elladan dismissed. "Estel is their marionette, his destiny the strings they pull as they see fit. Surely they did not expect us to sit in the audience for this and be content."

"Of course not. But in turn we cannot expect them to be content to know that we are picketing against their decision by biding our time hunting orcs."

Elladan's eyes grew hard. "If you can honestly tell me that at this point you truly care of their opinions of our decision gwadur-nin, then we can simply state it to mean that we no longer wish to be idle here, and that there is good work to be done back home with our own patrols or with the rangers. Can you say that, Elrohir?"

Elrohir was silent. His gaze drifted to the floor. Elladan nodded once, knowingly.

"Come then," he said. "We must prepare."


Mirkwood

"Have the Dúnedain taken their leave?"

The King of Mirkwood was walking down one of the many stoned corridors of his palace, talking with his seneschal. They had just left the Healing Ward, which was being put to use again.

"Yes, my King. Those who are not staying in the Healing Ward."

King Thranduil sighed tiredly. It had been a very long day.

"And the reinforcements?"

"Twenty warriors were sent to aid the patrols. The spiders will soon regret congregating themselves so thickly this close to our borders. They shall find that their pray still possess the greater numbers."

"For now, at least, Ithilion," said the King. "For now."

"I would not worry, sire. Do not forget Tarmion's Yellow Company is much more numerous than the sparse few that were injured. They did us a great service by containing the infestation before calling for aid."

"Tarmion has proven a great ally these past years," the King observed.

"Indeed he has, my King. Much like Thrador before him, and Algareb before that."

Thranduil glanced askance at his seneschal. "Something troubles you, mellon iaur. What is it?"

"I must now see to the burial preparations for four unfortunate edain."

Thranduil winced slightly in sympathy. "I'm sure their companions will help you in tracking down their families. It really is best if we let them handle the final details for their kin."

"That does not make the task much lighter on my heart, my King," Ithilion ruefully admitted.

"I would be rather worried if it did, Ithilion," Thranduil replied.

The seneschal laughed slightly until it was stolen by a sigh.

"When we began honoring our Dúnedain allies of the Yellow Company," he began, "I proportioned a large plot of land in the protected forests for their burial ground. Our own masons and carvers have the contract of erecting their tombs. That was ten generations ago in the reckoning of men. Now it seems as though the gentle glade where our noble fallen allies lie has grown too crowded and a new area must be approved. I have four departed souls whose bodies I do not know where to lie to rest."

The king seemed distressed by this news. "I shall look into your plight at once, Ithilion. More land shall be given, I promise you."

"We have known this day would come for several years now, my King," Ithilion pointed out gravely. "I think, in some manner, no one at Court wanted to address it until the need was directly upon us."

"You seek to rebuke me for my lack of diligence," Thranduil presumed. There was no indignation or hostility between either of them, however. Ithilion may be seneschal to King Thranduil, but Thranduil son of Oropher will always remain student to Master Ithilion. Every now and then, this latter fact must be pointed out, and both accept it. "But you are right," Thranduil continued. "The matter has been brushed aside for far too long."

"Your subjects have little love for the edain," Ithilion reminded his king. "But respect should count enough instead."

"There are some who do and there are some who do not. Their memories are long and their hearts unforgiving, as so these times have made them."

"Bowen's people are our allies in this war, and should be treated as such."

"They are given that consideration, Ithilion. However, one does not need to like or trust one's allies."

"Our own wounded in the Ward are alive only because of the timely arrival of the Dúnedain. No Mirkwood warriors perished at the expense of four of Tarmion's people. Perhaps I have lived too long, my King, but I find it difficult not to like nor trust those who have repeatedly saved the lives of my kin at great hurt to themselves."

"In times of need, our two peoples work well together," the King defended. "Our soldiers default to Dúnedain command when they are the more knowledgeable and the same holds true for the reverse. Many times has Elven blood been shed to spare edain lives just as the reverse was true today. Our people are astute enough in battle to know that the agents of the Dark Lord are the real enemy, and therefore I find that I care little about what hushed opinions are spoken behind closed barracks doors."

"I have not been as vigilant in turning deaf ears to the opinions of our people," Ithilion remarked. "I can tell you that for most of them, Dúnedain are a wholly separate race from the other edain—Elvish blood notwithstanding. They would shoot edain on sight if caught trespassing within our borders, while Dúnedain are at least offered guarded greeting first. Whether they do this out of true feelings or out of duty to the orders of their King is nearly an even split amongst them."

"Yet the orders are obeyed, Ithilion. That is the greatest point of all."

"Is it?" The seneschal questioned with sincere curiosity. "I have witnessed how, under guard, the kin of the fallen have been allowed to visit the graves of their loved ones. Yet now it seems that so many of their faces are known to our soldiers that they may walk about the grounds unescorted. Shadows of life they seem, sitting by the stones of their fathers or brothers or sons, telling the tails of their continued trials in the living world and singing sad songs of lamentation that moves even the souls of our own people so that more often than not Elven voices are raised in unison with the edain."

"There are two great unifiers of people," Thranduil answered. "War and grief. Here in Mirkwood we have plenty to share between both races."

"Yet these same voices that share in mourning also whisper behind closed doors of their dislike and distrust of those they praised in song. Forgive me, my King, but I do not enjoy such duplicity."

"In all honesty, Ithilion, neither do I. Yet I cannot order a change of public opinion. I seek only to do what is best for my kingdom, and I enforce our laws and mandates accordingly. We fight for the same cause, and the Dúnedain have proven great allies for it. I do not wish for more than that. I do not look for friendship with them. They are edain; we are the Moriquendi, Sindar and Nandor followers of my father, and Silvan who have dwelt in this great forest since the elder days. Precious little we have in common and I cannot fault my people for desiring that it remain that way."

"Nor should you, my King. However, the Dúnedain as a people deserve to be respected for more than their skills with bow and sword and their meticulous efforts in this war."

"That is your opinion, mellonin, and while I value it, I am afraid that it bares little relevancy here."

"Perhaps not, sire," Ithilion conceded. "Forgive an old elf his musings."

"Always, Ithilion, always."

There was silence for a time then, each elf apparently lost in his own thoughts. Finally Thranduil decided to give voice to his.

"Yet I sense that there was more thought behind this conversation than your simple dislike for the current duplicitous status of inter-race relations."

Ithilion's response was a tired sigh. "Legolas," he said.

"Legolas? What of Legolas?" Thranduil questioned.

"It has been his close friendship with Strider of the Dúnedain that has started to turn the hearts of our people. Your subjects love their prince, and more importantly they trust his judgment. They perceive that he has seen great worth in Estel, and this has given them cause to reconsider their opinions of the edain. Even though some have allowed their prejudices to turn their hearts against your son, it because of Legolas that many now are more willing to give thought to the worth of their allies."

"Legolas has not been this full of life since before Finril died," Thranduil observed. "Estel was aptly named by Lord Elrond. He truly is a beacon of hope, for that is what Legolas has found in their friendship."

"And when he loses this newfound hope?"

Thranduil stopped their trek with an outstretched hand and turned surprised eyes to his seneschal.

"What do you mean, Ithilion? Speak plainly!"

Ithilion sighed again. "One of the deceased rangers was not part of the Yellow Company. His markings labeled him as one of Balran's messengers."

Thranduil's brow furrowed in thought. "Balran? Of the Violet Company?"

Ithilion nodded. "He was carrying a package: a small wooden crate, addressed in Westron, bound for Imladris. It came to Violet Company from Dale, out of Rohan."

"Rohan…"

"I have the package in my office, waiting for a courier to take it to the House of Elrond."

Thranduil's face set in grim lines and his eyes hardened. "I will send for Legolas. He would demand to act as courier if he was here to know about the package, and if that box contains what I sense you fear it to then no doubt he would wish to be with Estel's family when they open it."

Ithilion nodded, the sentiment falling somewhere between satisfaction and resignation.

"Very well, sire."


Imladris

Elrond sat in his study, reviewing Erestor's reports on the status of the spring planting. It was something like the eighth time in the past two hours that he's tried to read over this document. However, each time he would start it, Elrond would come up with a decent excuse not to finish it. The latest border patrol from Glorfindel, for example, had eaten nearly a thirty minutes of his time. After that, it was an updated inventory of his current cache of healing herbs. Now that the ground has begun to thaw plans for restocking winter's depletions were in order. Elrond had even gone so far as to condense the report into a list of Imladris's most urgent herbal needs and then cross-reference that with the list Thranduil had sent him of Mirkwood's requests for herbs to be delivered in trade for some fine Dorwinion brandy.

Finally there was no paperwork left for Elrond to do without getting up from his desk and hunting it down, and so he came back to the report on the spring planting at last. Unfortunately, by the third paragraph in his eyes began to glaze over. Elrond blinked several times to clear his vision, but the damn piece of parchment refused to cooperate for his eyes. At last Elrond sighed and leaned back in his chair, stretching his back and deciding not to fight it.

The planting reports were always the hardest ones to get through.

When Elrond had first established Imladris back in the second age, luxuries such as its now-renowned gardens did not exist. Only after the Last Alliance, during the deceitful days of innocent peace that followed did this once military outpost begin to adopt the charms that have since grown to give Imladris the title of 'the last homely house east of the sea.'

It was mostly Celebrían's doing. She's the one who first started the gardens. As the new Lady of Imladris, she was the one who laid the groundwork, organized the planting, read these reports and took charge of the entire affair. Then after she sailed, Arwen took up the task for a time. Yet she is spending more and more time in Lothlórien these days… these years. Alas now the task has fallen on Elrond's shoulders, that he might oversee Celebrian's gardens, to keep her presence felt and to honor her memory as the Lady of Imladris, the tender of her gardens…

The spring planting reports were always the hardest to endure.

Elrond sighed tiredly and stood from his desk. It wasn't a wholly indecent hour for an elf-lord to cease his duties for the day. Perhaps a walk, down along the banks of the Bruinen, would help to clear his fëa of the melancholy that Imladris's daunting gardens had instilled in him.

The river was always peaceful here. Elrond and Vilya ensured it so. The Bruinen ran wide and shallow in this spot and the current was gentle, perfect for fishing or even bathing in the summer months. The gentle rushing of the water over the slowly cascading waterfalls that lie hidden just around the bend provide a soothing backdrop for this quiet scene, and Elrond had been quite well known to take full advantage of it.

Slowly and in no hurry, the elf-lord walked along the river's bank, finally coming to stand beside the top-most tier of waterfall. From this point onward the river drops downward. Over the next mile there are many waterfalls like this one, gently cascading in long stony steps of rushing water. They don't have quite the breathtaking visage of their larger cousins farther upstream that mark the boundaries of the Elven realm, but their subtle majesty is seldom overlooked by those wishing for a quieter, more peaceful spot for reflection.

"Im tira lle meleth-nin," Elrond said softly to the river, allowing himself to be calmed by feeling it's pulse through his link with Vilya. He sighed in tired contentment as he did so, until the peaceful moment was broken.

"You have become a creature of habit, Peredhil."

Elrond nearly started at the sound of the voice. Quickly his eyes searched the riverbank and easily spotted Glorfindel, who was reclining on the stony beach of the opposite bank nearly twenty feet downstream and therefore also nearly twenty feet below. Elrond smirked, noticing now the splash marks on the opposite bank that told the tale of how the Vanyar had jumped across the stones of the waterfall to cross the river before walking down the slightly more manageable path on the other side. He looked back to Glorfindel, who was grinning up at him from his reclined position and making no moves either to stand and greet his lord or even to invite Elrond to join him.

Elrond recognized the ploy. He gathered up the bottoms of his robes and swiftly yet surely picked his way across the top of the waterfall after the fashion of his advisor. He then made his way down the side of the riverbank and over to the reclining balrog-slayer, who seemed to nod towards his lord in satisfaction before at last standing to present himself.

"I still remember a time when you forbade all of Imladris from crossing the falls to prevent elflings from striving to emulate their elders."

Elrond couldn't help but chuckle as he came to stand beside his longtime friend.

"As do I," he agreed. "Though I also seem to remember a certain captain of the guard that refused to obey that command."

"I was always careful to be sure that no elflings were present," Glorfindel defended merrily. "And besides, there were always one or two particularly cleaver elflings that managed to come up with the idea on their own."

Elrond couldn't help but groan. "Do not remind me, mellonin. Celebrían was far from pleased when she learned exactly how Elrohir had broken his arm that summer."

Glorfindel couldn't help but chuckle. "Yes, I would image she reacted the same way Elladan did when Estel confessed the reason why his Midsummer Festival tunic was ruined."

Elrond's quiet laugh was stolen by the stab of pain he felt in his heart.

"They have left Lothlórien," he said, feeling the hurt anew.

"We have received no word from Galadriel," Glorfindel reminded Elrond pointedly.

"Nor will we," Elrond added. "They did not give enough warning for the Galadhrim to forewarn us of their coming."

Glorfindel nodded gravely. "Will they be returning here?"

"I know not," Elrond confessed. "I sense only that they desire to take up the hunt again. They would spend their time roosting out orcs in the Misty Mountains if the conditions there permitted them to do so."

"Hopefully the late-winter snows will change their minds on that."

"Perhaps," Elrond conceded with a slight nod. "I wish that I could see more. All I have is faintest sense of them as they are drawing nearer to Imladris."

"Today of all days, Elrond, I will take that as proof enough."

Elrond sighed and closed his eyes. "Has all of Imladris remembered?"

"Need you ask, Elrond? This is twenty-ninth day of Coirë. Wherever Estel is, he just turned twenty-seven."

"No one has mentioned anything about the day being observed."

"They probably do not wish to upset you," Glorfindel offered as kindly as he could.

Elrond sighed. "I will instruct the cooks to prepare the traditional feast for Estel's birthday. He is still a part of this House, and I will not allow anyone to forget the fact in the name of misguided propriety."

Glorfindel surprised Elrond by laughing.

"I would not worry about that, Elrond. Erestor has already taken the liberties."

Elrond smiled fondly. "I shall have to thank him for his presumptuousness, though for some reason I suspect that he was not alone in this endeavor."

Glorfindel's response to the subtle accusation was to smile and shrug in feigned innocence.

"I have no idea what you mean, Peredhil."

Elrond smirked. "I'm sure."

Then Glorfindel's smile turned wide and genuine. "But come, Elrond! If we wish to partake of Estel's birthday feast we must be getting back. It would not be fitting for the Lord of Imladris to attend such an event with damp and dirty robes."

"It's not exactly fitting for her captain of guards, either," Elrond pointed out.

"I'm still more soldier than elf-lord here, Elrond," Glorfindel reminded him. "Therefore I'm entitled."

"If you say so, mellonin," Elrond said dismissively. Then, like two mischievous elflings, the two elf-lords picked up the bottoms of their robes, climbed the riverbank, and skipped across the stones of the waterfall to come to rest safely on the opposite shore. They then began walking in companionable silence back towards the Last Homely House.

"If you want my opinion, Peredhil," Glorfindel piped up, breaking the silence. "You don't get dirty nearly as often as you should."

"This may come as a surprise to you, Vanyar, but I rarely ever want your opinion." Elrond was joking of course, and Glorfindel well knew it.

"Which is why I speak so freely; in the hopes that one day you might actually take the things I say to heart."

Elrond barked a laugh. "How about this, then? On the day that I return indoors dirty and you don't give me the third degree concerning my health and safety, then perhaps I'll start taking your advice to heart."

Glorfindel half-shrugged as he walked. "You have your charges, Elrond, and I of course have mine."


A lone unburdened Elven rider could travel between Thranduil's palace and Elrond's house in ten days, provided that they rest only for their horse and don't encounter anyone or anything else that might delay them. The official record of dawn on the eight day was held by Glorfindel, but Legolas, who had just urged his horse to halt on the banks of the Bruinen, wasn't intending to break any records. In fact, now that he was within sight of the Last Homely House, he found himself reluctant to continue on to his destination on this sunset of the ninth day of travel.

The urgency of his errand had made him hurry, but now, at the end, Legolas found that dread pulled equal weight with curiosity. He instinctively felt the weight of the small box in his traveling pack. Its writing could have been Estel's, but now was now smeared to the point where only one word was recognized: Rivendell. Ithilion said that it was taken from one of the fallen Dúnedain, a messenger of the Violet Company who was taking it from Dale in the footsteps of the last letters Estel had written. However those were letters, not packages. What cause would Estel have to be sending packages?

Rather than speculate Legolas urged his horse onward once more, hoping and praying that it really was Estel who sent it and not someone acting on his behalf, because that would mean—

"Noro lim, Tathren! Noro lim!"

Legolas's mare plunged into the shallows of the Bruinen and crossed without difficulty. From there Legolas wasted no time and rode straight up to the front of the house.


"My Lords! A rider approaches fast up from the banks of the Bruinen!" The relatively somber birthday feast was interrupted by the sudden appearance (and shouting) of one of the night watchmen. Elrond and Glorfindel rose from the table while Erestor, who sat facing the door, pushed back in his chair.

"He bears the colorings of Mirkwood!" The watchman added, and the three elf lords exchanged glances.

"Thranduil has not warned us to expect anyone and the next courier isn't due for weeks," Erestor informed them.

"Only Legolas would ride here so swiftly without warning," Elrond concluded.

"Perhaps he wanted to arrive in time for Estel's birthday celebration?" Glorfindel added without his usual mirth as he followed Elrond quickly out of the dining room with Erestor close at his heels. They were all thinking the same thing: perhaps Legolas has heard from Estel.

The three elf lords descended the marble stairs at the front doors of the Last Homely House just as Legolas slowed his horse to a stop. The night watch of Imladris had gathered around, along with just about anyone else that was with earshot of the initial warning.

"Apologies," Legolas demurred as he dismounted. "I did not mean to rouse the entire household."

"You could not help but do so," Elrond informed the prince. "We in Imladris know well that the only thing to bring the Prince of Mirkwood galloping to our doorstep is when he is carrying one of my sons home injured."

"Alas that I have made this journey alone," Legolas lamented. "Especially today."

"Estel would be honored that you remembered," said Glorfindel.

Legolas cast his eyes downward.

"What is it?" Elrond asked plainly though not without concern.

Legolas looked up again. "My Lords, I come baring news."

Three soft Elven gasps.

"…Of a sort."

"Do you bring word of Estel?" Elrond asked, barely remaining calm.

Legolas bit his lip. "I believe so," he answered tentatively. Before the lords of Imladris could question him he clarified: "A package has come to my possession. We know that it originated in Rohan. The address was badly smudged from water damage. The only discernable word was 'Rivendell,' and I cannot tell if the handwriting is Estel's."

"What sort of package?" Elrond questioned; desperation, curiosity, and impatience all swirling in his stormy eyes.

"Small," was Legolas's reply. "I have it with me in my pack."

"Might I suggest then that we retreat indoors to better light so that we may open it?" Erestor offered, ever the voice of reason.

Elrond nodded his ascension. "My study," he commanded.

Glorfindel left without prompting while Legolas allowed the pack to slide off of his shoulder and down his arm. He grabbed it protectively with both hands. Elrond then placed a paternal hand on Legolas's free shoulder and guided the clearly exhausted and troubled prince indoors while behind them Erestor was directing a groomsman to tend to Legolas's mare.

Elrond led Legolas through the house and up the stairs to the second floor where his private study was located. Legolas brought his pack over to Elrond's desk and set it down. He opened the pack and cautiously reached in with two hands to pull out the package. It was small, as he had said: a square crate made out of six planks of wood as long as a hand; and just as Legolas had described, the writing was unrecognizable and barely legible.

"Spiders are congregating near our borders," said the prince. "Their webs are becoming a danger. Six members of our patrol were ensnared and nearly found themselves as entrees for the vermin if it weren't for the timely arrival of a band of Dúnedain. Twelve members of the Yellow Company had chanced upon the nesting site." Legolas sighed, easily envisioning the scene in his mind. "I am told that the battle was fierce. The spiders were small, fast, deadly poisonous and alas more numerous than first thought. The Dúnedain could not destroy them all. They barely managed to secure the freedom of the elves before ordering all to retreat back towards the castle. Six of the Dúnedain were poisoned. Only two survived."

"I am sorry, Legolas," Elrond offered when it appeared that the prince had finished his tale. Legolas was idly fingering the box, his heart now tormenting him with thoughts of its contents. Neither noticed that Glorfindel had reappeared, carrying a tray with some of Estel's birthday feast as well as tall glass of water and a goblet of wine. He stood silently near the doorway, listening to the exchange.

"One of the Dúnedain," Legolas continued. "I did not chance to learn his name before I left. He was not part of Yellow Company, as originally thought. When the healers had stripped him of his traveling clothes in vain efforts to save him, they discovered that his dress and heraldry placed him as one of Balran's folk, part of the Violet Company. He had this package on his person, and was no doubt simply traversing the paths of Mirkwood with members of Yellow Company as a guide. His companions said that he had come to Mirkwood from Dale, and was bound for Rivendell."

"Estel has sent us word through Dale before," Elrond mused aloud. His eyes were fixed on the box.

Just then Glorfindel cleared his throat. "Open it, Elrond. Your hands will serve much better than your eyes."

Elrond blinked, not showing any signs of being startled by his seneschal. He walked over to the side of the desk tentatively, as though the package was a living thing that at any moment might lash out and attack him.

"And you, Prince Legolas, are going to sit down and have some dinner." Legolas nearly balked when Glorfindel presented the dinner tray before him. "Estel would throw a fit if you rode in for his birthday yet declined to partake of the feast."

Legolas's growling stomach made up his mind for him. He took the tray and found a seat on the settee. He didn't yet touch the food, however. His eyes were glued to Elrond, who held the small box in his hands.

"It's light…" Elrond observed as he held it up. "I don't feel much weight aside from the wood of the box."

"A stack of letters perhaps?" Glorfindel offered.

"Why would he send them all at once?" Legolas asked from where he was sitting.

Elrond ignored them both. He set the box down on his desk and grabbed a letter opener. He shoved the point of it between one wall of the box and its lid. A quick pry and the iron filings that served as nails came loose and the lid popped off. Elrond put the letter opener down and gingerly set the lid aside.

When he peered inside, his face became one of confusion.

"What's inside?" Legolas asked.

"Elrond?" Glorfindel followed quickly.

"Something small," Elrond replied. "Wrapped in green cloth." Slowly he reached in and removed the item. It wasn't heavy and fit squarely in the palm of his hand. Legolas placed his dinner aside and stood from the settee.

"What is it?" He asked, now more curious than afraid. It did not fit the description of anything Estel had taken with him, nor was it anything more symbolic, such as a lock of hair or scrap of Elven cloth, something to indicate that the brother of his heart had died and his friends in the south were alerting his family in the north.

Elrond slowly allowed the object to unravel itself. Finally it plopped heavily back into the palm of the elf-lord's hand, and he set the cloth aside.

"A medallion…" he breathed, almost in awe of this small trinket he held. He turned it over once and saw intricately carved details. "A horse's head!"

Glorfindel and Legolas gathered around. Sure enough, Elrond held a horse's head in profile, just smaller than the palm of his hand and no thicker than a dinner plate. The horse's nose was angled up, as though it was whinnying into the winds as it ran unbridled, as evidenced by the wild strands of its mane. At the base of its neck was a strange script that none of the elves could read.

"That must be the script of the Rohirric language," Glorfindel mused aloud.

Elrond nodded as he studied it. "I do not speak Rohirric," he confessed. "Imladris has not had dealings with Rohan since the nation was founded."

"That does not surprise me," said Legolas. "They trade with Dale and Laketown. We have learned from King Bard that the people of Rohan are superstitious. They fear the elves."

"There's something else here," Glorfindel called out. He was examining the box, and removed a folded piece of parchment from the bottom. He held the parchment up and looked to Elrond. "It is addressed to Lord Erestor."

"Erestor!" Legolas exclaimed in surprise.

"As seneschal, receiving packages from places like Dale is part of his duty," Elrond informed the prince. Legolas nodded, remembering that.

"I'll fetch him," Glorfindel offered. "I doubt he has gone anywhere far." The Vanyar handed the parchment off to Elrond as he left. The elf-lord fingered it gingerly, knowing that it was improper to open mail not addressed to him, especially when it was still uncertain if Estel had sent the package.

Yet from Estel or not, the package still concerned him, and that meant Elrond could care little for propriety. He unfolded the parchment and began to read. The flowing script of the High Tongue streamed across the page in the elegant handwriting of his youngest son and Elrond had to close his eyes briefly as he gave thanks to the Valar.

Lord Erestor

I did not know what else to do with this so I have sent it to Imladris. It is the custom of the Rohirrim to display their medals above their family's hearth beside the collected honors earned by their forbearers. I, however, have no family to speak of.

Elrond shut his eyes again, wincing at the sting of Estel's casual words. Silently Glorfindel slipped into the room, followed by Erestor. Legolas sensed that it should be a more private moment, though he couldn't quite bring himself to leave. He walked over to the large bay window and peered out into the starlit blackness over Rivendell.

I thought perhaps that you might place it with the other relics and heirlooms of Númenór. If I was to keep it I am sure that it would get lost or misplaced, and I do not wish to dishonor the circumstance of its giving by having that happen. It is the medal of the Gilded Horse, awarded for services rendered above and beyond the call of duty. The inscription reads, "For instigating the Battle of the Broken Dam during the Midwinter War, Year 448 of The Mark."

Do not think too much on this honor, however. I served primarily as a healer during this war, which was fought in less than a fortnight and lasted only two battles. However, King Thengal believes that a healer who can swing a sword at need and has a bit of uncanny luck is worth decorating and I had no choice but to humbly accept the honor.

Elrond couldn't help the small smile of paternal pride as he shook his head—Typical Estel!

To those who may inquire, please inform them that I am well. To those who gifted me my bow and quiver, please send my apologies. They had to be left behind on the battlefield in the White Mountains. I remain forever in your debt for this service.

Humbly yours,

Strider, of the Dúnedain

Elrond's gaze drifted off and the letter loosened in his grip.

"Estel has been to war," he said to everyone and no one. "And has returned decorated by the Rohirrim." Elrond then looked to Erestor, who was doing his best not to look dreadfully out of place. "He wants you to put the medallion with the rest of the heirlooms of Númenór."

"That is why he sent a package to me?" Erestor asked.

"So it says here in his letter," Elrond explained, "which he addressed to you."

Erestor's jaw dropped slightly in surprise. Elrond's response was to hand him the letter. He blinked a few times, letter in hand, to be sure that he wasn't seeing things. Then he began to read, with Glorfindel hovering over his shoulder. Legolas had turned away from his window and had taken the Medallion from Elrond. He was inspecting it for himself in the glowing lamplight.

"You had an argument with Estel wherein he perceived great hurt," Erestor said when he was done. His tone restrained his indignation but those present who knew him well could easily glean it from him. "Yet how does that give him the right to constantly wound us so? Need his letters be so casually cruel?"

"It was not Estel's intent to be cruel," Glorfindel told his friend. "Merely formal, for he believes that he is addressing strangers now, and requesting favors of them."

"Let me see that!" Legolas demanded. Glorfindel took the parchment from Erestor and handed it to the prince, exchanging it for the medallion.

"An exquisite piece of craftsmanship," Glorfindel appraised as he inspected the detail work.

"Indeed," Erestor agreed. "Either Rohan has plenty of gold and craft to spare, or this is one of their highest honors."

"We should do as he requests," said Elrond, "and keep the award here in Imladris."

"Yet to keep the medallion in some rarely visited trophy room only to be seen by those who come by to dust the trinkets of Númenór?" Glorfindel asked. "Estel's honor should be worth more than that."

"I agree," Erestor voiced.

"I know the twins have been decorated by the Dúnedain before," Legolas voiced, "and even by my father. They keep such things in the suite they share, mounted on their walls. Perhaps we should put Estel's award in his chamber?"

"No one else would see it there," Glorfindel pointed out.

"Erestor," Elrond spoke in a commanding voice, and all eyes snapped to him. "Commission a plaque on which to mount this." He took the medallion from Legolas's idle hand. "See to it that the translation is inscribed—including the date in the reckoning of our calendar, and that it was gifted to Estel."

"Very good, hir-nin," Erestor replied, taking the medallion from Elrond.

"But where shall we put it?" Glorfindel asked.

Elrond smiled a seemingly genuine smile. "Estel stated that it is tradition to display such things above the family hearth. I see no reason why we should not do just that. Find a place of prominence for it, Erestor, in the Hall of Fire."

The three other elves returned the smile whole-heartedly. Erestor's face nearly shown with glee as he bowed slightly and took his leave. No doubt he would begin preparations for this task immediately.

"What of the Lady Gilraen?" Glorfindel then asked.

"Send a rider to the Dúnedain camp at first light," Elrond instructed. "And prepare her usual room, for no doubt she will wish to stay for a time."

"I'll go," Legolas volunteered.

"I think not, good prince," Glorfindel declined with an almost fatherly chuckle. "You've just come from ten days hard riding. You're going to eat your dinner and then retire for the evening, and even if you are ready to ride in the morning, I highly doubt that your horse will be."

"Nine days," Legolas corrected meekly. "I made the ride in nine full days."

"Congratulations!" Glorfindel intoned. "That has to be a personal best for you. However, it doesn't change the fact that you will not be riding tomorrow."

"Yes, hir-nin Glorfindel," Legolas acquiesced at length.

"You may eat the dinner Glorfindel has provided for you here," Elrond offered. "Then if you feel up to it, you may join us in the Hall of Fire. I believe Lindir has composed a new song in tribute to Estel."

"Thank you, Lord Elrond."

The two elf lords then exited the study, leaving the prince to his meal in peace. They were bound for the Hall of Fire, where all of Imladris was gathered to celebrate the anniversary of Estel's birth, even though the man himself was absent.

After Elrond and Glorfindel departed Legolas moved his seat to the floor so that he may better eat his meal. He was not so presumptuous as to sit at Lord Elrond's desk, even though the elf-lord truly would not mind if he did so. With the study door being left open, Legolas ceased his movements and strained his ears. Finally the faintest of sounds reached him, and he smiled. He recognized the Lindë-Estel, the Song of Hope that Glorfindel had written with Lindir for the feast that celebrated Estel's coming of age seven years ago tonight.

"Happy birthday, mellonin," Legolas whispered. "Wherever you are."


"Estel has done well for himself." The Lady Gilraen was standing beside Elrond in the Hall of Fire, admiring the plaque by the hearth that held the golden horse head medallion.

"So it would seem."

Gilraen frowned. "You don't think so?"

Elrond sighed. "This honor Rohan has bestowed upon him tells us that he has been to war. The Rohirrim only fight against two foes: the orcs of Mordor and the men of Dunland. Neither has Estel been matched against before."

"The rangers are no strangers to orcs."

"Not to goblins, perhaps," Elrond allowed. "But those fiends of the mountains of the north are not orcs of Mordor. Those are taller, broader, deadlier foes. They do not fight for their own evil designs, but their orders come from the Enemy himself. Every blade they wield, every blow they deliver, is done in His name. You will not find a deadlier foe in all of Middle Earth than an army of Mordor."

"You paint a depressing picture, my Lord."

"I speak only of what I know, Lady Gilraen."

Gilraen turned to face him.

"But what do we really know?" She asked him. "Estel has seen battle in the South. That is either with these fell beasts that you describe, or with the Dunlanders, the ancient enemy of the people of the Mark. The specific details are hidden from us, left to mere speculation."

"Yet it is enough," said Elrond, eyes fixed on the plaque. "We know that Estel has seen a war. He has served as a healer, and then at need, as a soldier."

"And has prevailed," Gilraen added. "The Rohirrim honor him for it."

"Estel has the makings of a gifted healer and an exceptional warrior," Elrond admitted, though his voice held an odd quality that Gilraen couldn't place. "From his correspondence, it appears as though he has offered himself up to the Rohirrim as the former, and yet, if he feels that if it is warranted, he will enter the field of battle just the same. Even if it means defying orders."

Gilraen was confused. "My Lord?"

Elrond sighed and closed his eyes briefly, momentarily standing in another time and place.

"I was in Estel's position, long ago, during another war. I was to be a healer only, but in the end I saw that a healer's job is fruitless if there is no one left alive to heal. I grabbed a sword and I followed my King's soldiers into battle. Gil-Galad was furious, but in the end he could not rebuke me. If the enemy has broken through, if the need is truly dire, then every non-combatant must grab a sword, lest the die upon them. Such is the deadly fortune of war."

"And you perceive that Estel has seen such war?" Gilraen asked wide-eyed.

"I do not know," Elrond confessed, and his voice was pained. "I cannot see. I can only hope that Estel's first battle in the south was not fought with such need."

Gilraen's expression softened in understanding.

"You do not wish for him to experience what you experienced," she concluded. Elrond turned to face her at last. "You cannot bear the thought of Estel living through trials so similar to yours."

"I have seen a hopeless war. I wish that fate on no one."

Gilraen smiled fondly. "You are a good father, Elrond. I shall never be able to thank you enough for what you have done for my son… for our son."

"Am I?" Elrond asked her, almost bitterly. "What kind of father allows his son to leave under such duress? What kind of father cares more for his son's destiny than his well-being?"

"The same father who has the courage to confess his fears to that son's mother, even thought they share no bonds save those forged by their shared child."

"I do not deserve your forgiveness, my Lady," Elrond pronounced.

"You did not need to ask it," Gilraen countered. "I have spent the past seven years getting to know the man you raised, and I am proud of him. Arathorn would be proud of him. Lament the cruelty of destiny, my Lord, but do not regret your choices concerning Estel. I have found that I cannot hold them against you."

"Will your opinion change, my Lady, if Estel never returns from Rohan?"

Gilraen could not answer. She directed her gaze to the floor for an extended moment. Then she looked up again, and rested her eyes on the plaque.

"Our son is the last hope for Middle Earth, though I would die a thousand deaths to take that burden from him. If we do not believe in him, then we do not believe in victory, and I want victory, Elrond. For my people, for Arathorn, and for Middle Earth."

"Aragorn is destined for that victory, yet fate has not bound him to it. We shall have to see which proves the stronger master."

"It's fate," Gilraen declared with sad finality. "It has always been fate. So much ugly death has happened because of fate."

"Yet not even Fate can defeat Hope. Only despair can do that."

Gilraen was still staring at the medallion Aragorn had earned.

"Do you think he is despairing, Elrond?"

Elrond's eyes joined Gilraen's in their study of the horse's head medallion.

"He is adapting," Elrond spoke at length. "He is finding a way to survive. As long as he does that, then there is still cause to hope."

Gilraen smiled faintly, accepting Elrond's words for truth.

She did not bother to remind him that he did not answer her question.


Five nights after Estel's birthday feast the twins finally crossed the Bruinen into Imladris. The night watch alerted the Last Homely House, and Elrond, Glorfindel, and Erestor turned out to greet them.

"Welcome home, my sons," Elrond greeted them. His well-trained eyes scanned them quickly in search of signs of injury and he grinned all the more broadly when he did not find any.

"Mae govannen, ada," Elladan greeted tiredly.

"You did not send us word or your arrival," Erestor chastised slightly as the twins' horses were led away.

"That is because our decision to leave was rather sudden," Elrohir informed them.

"Well come inside," Elrond directed. "We can discuss your reasons for leaving Lothlórien after you freshen up."

"That is well, ada," Elladan agreed. "A nice hot bath sounds wonderful right about now."

"Indeed," Glorfindel agreed as he led the way. Erestor rolled his eyes as Elladan punched the Vanyar lightly in the back, upsetting his step.

"Do not fault Glorfindel for speaking the truth, Dan," Elrohir admonished his brother.

"Wait just a minute!" Elladan protested. "I've ridden just as long and as hard as you. If I stink of horse then it is no worse than you."

"Indeed," Glorfindel echoed.

"Watch it, Vanyar," Elrohir warned. "We outnumber you two to one."

"Hardly. With Erestor here we have you matched."

"What Erestor?" Elrond asked, his eyes alit with the smile on his face.

Glorfindel glanced around and saw that indeed Erestor had vanished. He then muttered a string of Dwarfish curses that sounded suspiciously like 'lousy no-good stealthy elf-scout' that caused Elrond to arch an amused eyebrow before Elladan interrupted, saying:

"You see, Glorfindel. You stand alone."

Two identical elves then marched forward as one down the hallway, hands creeping out in front of them and feral grins on their faces. Glorfindel suddenly found himself fearing of death by tickling when a voice called out from the staircase:

"Not alone!"

Four heads snapped around to see Legolas quickly descending the stairs. He leapt the last few and walked nonchalantly over to Glorfindel's side.

"Ah ha! Saved by the prince of Mirkwood."

"We can still take them," Elladan told his brother. Elrohir nodded. They continued to advance menacingly on the pair of fair-haired elves.

"Indeed you may," Elrond called out. "But your fiendish schemes can wait until after you've bathed."

Then two identically childish and disappointed Elven voices whined:

"AAAA-DAA!"

Legolas and Glorfindel merely laughed.


Legolas sat on a bench in one of Imladris's infamous gardens. It was a bright and cheerful sunny day and Legolas was enjoying it. He was returning to Mirkwood the following dawn, and wanted to take full advantage of the peacefulness of Rivendell before he departed.

Well, of whatever peace he could find with the twin terrors of Elrond home at last.

And speak of the devils…

"Here you are mellonin!" Elladan's voice. Legolas could tell.

"Elladan and I have been looking all over for you." Bingo!

Legolas turned in his seat to see the twins approach the bench.

"And now you've found me," Legolas stated plainly, smirking. Then he stood from the bench. "What can I do for you?"

"Are you still planning on leaving tomorrow?" Asked Elladan.

Legolas nodded. "At first light. It is a ten day journey back to Mirkwood, and already I have lingered here too long."

"Do things really go as ill for Mirkwood as they say?" Elrohir asked.

Once again Legolas nodded. "The spiders have multiplied. They have not been seen in such large numbers since before the Five Armies. I am needed home."

"Do you need friends?" Elladan asked.

Legolas blinked in surprise. "Are you offering?"

"You stayed with us in our time of need," said Elrohir. "Now we wish to do the same for you."

"We want to accompany you back to Mirkwood," Elladan added. "If you'll have us."

"What say you, Legolas?" Elrohir followed.

"What does your adar say?" Legolas returned.

"Ada gave us his blessing," Elrohir told him.

"And Glorfindel has assured that the patrols can spare us at least until summer," Elladan added.

Legolas smiled, perhaps his warmest, most sincere smile since he learned of Estel's departure.

"Then I say, let's kill some spiders."

The twins broke into identical grins, and soon were laughing. The three joined their arms together, forming a circle.

"We'll send the vermin running," Elrohir declared.

"If we do not squish them first," Elladan amended.

"Make your preparations," Legolas informed them. "We ride for Mirkwood at dawn."

The twins nodded and dropped their arms. Then with those same identical grins they turned tails and ran back towards the house, most likely to inform Lord Elrond of their immanent departure and to prepare for the journey and battles ahead.

Legolas watched them until they disappeared from sight. Then he sat back down on the bench as the sun began to set. It was a warm spring day, and clear. Already Isil could be seen, even though Anor had not fully retired for the day.

Legolas stayed in the peace and tranquility of the gardens until nightfall, allowing the magic of Rivendell to soothe his troubled spirit. The twins would be accompanying him to Mirkwood, and that was well. It would keep them out of trouble, and out of the mountains where they would hunt the fell creatures of the enemy that stole their mother from them. They would find purpose in Mirkwood, and so would he.

Legolas looked up in time to see the Gil-Estel begin the nightly trek across the sky.

"I've got the twins," he said to the star of Eärendil. "You must watch over Estel."


Translations:

Gwadur-nin: my brother

Vala: an individual of the Valar

Daernaneth/daernana: grandmother/grandma

Daeradar/daerada: grandfather/granddad

Mellon iaur: old friend

Adan/edain: human (individual)/humans or human race

Im tira lle meleth-nin: I miss you (lit: I look towards you) my love.

Mellonin: my friend.

Coirë: The calendar of Rivendell divides the year into approximately six months (more like seasons). Tolkien records that Aragorn was born on 1 March, or according to the elves, the 29th day of the "month" of Coirë, Quenyan for "stirring" and akin to "early spring."

Noro lim, Tathren! Noro lim!: Sindarin. Ride on, Tathren (Sindarin for 'Willow')! Ride on!

Hir-nin: my lord

Lindë-Estel: Quenya. Song (of) Hope.

Mae govannen: well met

Adar/ada: father/dad

Notes:

To clarify the elves a bit, with examples:

There are 3 different types of elves: Vanyar (Glorfindel), Noldor (Elrond), and Teleri (Legolas). All 3 types awoke together in the far east of Middle Earth but were then invited to go to Valinor.

The Vanyar went to Valinor and never left (except Glorfindel, but that's another story I haven't written yet). The Noldor went to Valinor but then many of them returned to Middle Earth, either in pursuit of Morgoth (Fëanor and his followers) or in pursuit of those in pursuit of Morgoth (Galadriel and her brothers, etc). By this time of the Third Age most of the Noldor have returned to Valinor, with the exception of the small contingents living in Rivendell and Lindon, and then there's Galadriel in Lothlórien.

The Teleri are a bit tricky. They break down as follows:

Falmari: little-used name for Telerin elves that made the journey to Valinor.

Moriquendi: name for Telerin elves that refused to go to Valinor or who fell away on the Great Journey and thus never saw the light of the Two Trees. Of the Moriquendi there are the following divisions:

Avari: elves that refused to go. They're probably still living in the far east of Middle Earth somewhere.

Sindar: elves that made it all the way to Beleriand before deciding not to go to Valinor. They lived in Doriath under King Elwë (Elu Thingol) or with Círdan at the Havens.

Silvan: elves that turned away east of the Misty Mountains. They were the original settlers of Mirkwood and Lothlórien.

Nandor: Silvan elves that eventually crossed the Misty Mountains and made it all the way to Beleriand to eventually become the Green Elves or be counted as part of Thingol's folk.

See the notes in chapter 2 (The elves react) for more info.

If you forget the breakdown of Ranger companies, see the notes in chapter 5: Finding Hope.