Disclaimer: I don't own these characters and I make no money from this writing.

(Elladan takes over the narrative.)

We were delayed overnight by the torrential rain but this morning, the sun shines palely, a cream disk in the sky, and we follow our guide more quickly, our horses and Estel's pony splashing along the narrow path.

Our guide whistles a greeting, or perhaps a pass sign, and we dismount. The ground is marked with faint pathways and the scent of woodsmoke and cooking is in the air; we are close to the village. I smile and look at Elrohir, who walks alongside me.

"It is good to be here," I say. "It is too long since we visited."

"Aye," Elrohir replies. "Too often do we fight with Rangers at our side. It will be good to visit them in peace."

And we descend the slope and come among the houses, where the people have long been up and about, and look for Father and for Estel.

"Elladan!" comes a happy shout. "Elrohir!" Estel runs up to us. He is carrying a puppy, a grey, sad-eyed, long-nosed puppy. Estel looks like a Ranger child – even his hair is tied back as theirs is.

"Good morning, brother," I say. "And does your puppy have a name?"

"He's too little," he says. "Grandmother says I can have him at the end of the summer, when he's learned what he needs to learn. Papa's talking to Grandmother now, over in that house." He gestures with his shoulder, since his arms are occupied. "Oh! You brought Spider!"

Now he is torn. He can't put the puppy down because it will get soaking wet and filthy on the muddy path but he wants to see his pony.

"Here," my brother offers. "Let me keep the nameless puppy for a while. You'll need to give Spider a good rubdown and feed. He's been a long way in a short while."

So there is an exchange of animals and we leave Estel with Spider. He will be occupied for quite a while seeing to the pony's needs.

Elrohir enquires where to leave the puppy, finds the right house and disappears inside while I go to find Father.

"Elladan," he says gravely as soon as I am given permission to enter Ivorwen's house, where I had been directed by a young girl.

"Father," I say, greeting him formally as his demeanour demands. "Estel seems happy with his puppy."

"The dog is a wise gift," Father says. "Ah, Elrohir."

"Father," Elrohir says as he enters, carefully wiping his boots on the mat placed there. "Ivorwen. I am happy to see you so well and that Estel has met his grandmother."

"I am well, and I am pleased to see you all three here. Come, refresh yourselves."

We do, my brother and I, but I am concerned that the atmosphere is dark, the greeting guarded, when I had expected a joyful reunion – had been yearning for it after days of concern.

"Where is Estel?" my father asks as he hands me a piece of bread.

"He is attending to Spider. Father – what is wrong?" I ask, anxious to hear what is troubling him.

Then Ivorwen surprises us all. "You allowed him to name his pony Spider? Elrond? You allowed this?"

My father is rarely lost for words, but this old woman, with her intense gaze, has caught him with this question of hers and he is unable to answer.

"He has a way of picking names," Elrohir says, filling the awkward silence. "He seems to see the name of a creature, find the truth in it. Until now, we have left him to make his own choices."

Ivorwen pauses. She has always spoken her mind in the past and I wonder at her hesitation now. Then she looks at my father. "Hear me, old friend. This is an ill choice and he must be persuaded to change it, or you must take the pony from him and give him a horse he can name well. Ruby was his horse, was it not? A fine name for a fine horse. You cannot allow him to ride a pony with such a fell name."

My father clears his throat and appears to make up his mind quickly. "Estel loves the little creatures which spin beautiful, shining webs in our gardens, Ivorwen. He watches them by the hour. He knows nothing of the evil creatures of which you speak, and I will not tell him that he has named his pony wrongly."

Ivorwen's expression becomes hard, and the determination in her eye reminds me that she has lived long, and protected her family fiercely over many years. She has lost husband and son to evil and is roused to anger quickly by any threat to her people.

Elrohir glances across at me, and it seems to me he is nervous. I do not know what to do for the best, for Father's temper can be roused too, more so since our mother left us.

"Perhaps we should speak to him, Father?" I offer, but it seems he does not hear me.

"I shall not ask him to change it," Father says. "He is a stubborn child and this will upset and anger him. We need him here, calm and happy, if we are to put him through these trials of yours."

Ivorwen leans forward, hand raised. "Of mine? We have agreed on the boy's treatment and it will take place as has been arranged. I cannot allow him to keep something close to his heart when it has a name of those foul creatures of Mirkwood."

Elrohir puts his hand on my arm. "Come," he says. "Let us see about our own horses. We should be poor guests if we were to force others to care for them."

I nod and we stand to leave, giving our farewells to this formidable lady, who barely nods. Father does not acknowledge us at all.

Outside, it is beginning to drizzle again.

"Let's give Estel a chase, brother," Elrohir suggests. "If he's going to face some trouble, then let's give him some fun first."

I nod, then follow Elrohir to the edge of the camp, and we take up station behind the nearest house. I risk a glance and find Estel has his back to us, so we watch him busily brushing, just as he has been taught, and listen to him talking to his pony, while we plan our attack in signs to each other.

"I have a puppy, Spider," he says, the rhythm of his words matching the strokes of his brush. "I have a puppy. He's a hound, and he's all mine."

Elrohir grins wolfishly and starts to stalk the boy, who continues his labours and his chatter without noticing us. He hushes me when I try to remind him about our horses, which are being attended to, a job we should be doing.

"He's going to be big, pony," Estel says, pausing to smooth his pony's coat with his hand. "I think he might be almost as big as you when he grows up. Maybe you'll be too small for me by then. Oh well, that's ages yet. Now, where was I?"

Elrohir takes another step forward while I hang back, and I think I notice a flicker in Estel's expression.

"Oh yes. I have – two big, ugly – brothers," each pause, a sweep of the brush. "I have – two big, ugly – brothers. They don't know I know, they think I don't know, they don't know I know they're right up close behind me!"

Elrohir takes the last few steps quickly as he realises Estel has found him out, then Estel turns and sticks his tongue out at him. It is irresistible. We step closer, my brother pounces, sending Estel giggling into my arms. I grab him and start tickling him but he slithers away, ducking under Spider's head and running a short distance.

"Can't catch me!" he shouts and we give chase, letting him lead us through the village, much to the amusement of the people, who shout their support to Estel. He tries to take one corner too quickly, his feet going from under him, and lands in a pool of muddy water, laughing hard and then splashing the water at us. Elrohir grabs one arm and I the other and we lift him out and set him back on his feet. He is breathless and hot and happy.

But we have stopped outside Ivorwen's house and from inside, the voices, though muffled, are loud and angry and Estel's happiness disappears in a moment.

We are not close enough to stop him. He takes two steps and goes inside the house without asking, and there is a sudden silence. Elrohir goes in and I follow, and I find Estel standing by the fire, hands in fists, looking at his grandmother. I cannot see his face but I do not need to.

"Grandmother! Why are you shouting at Papa?"

I see Elrohir wince and follow his eyes to look at the floor. Estel is dripping dirty water onto the rug. I don't know whether to laugh, drag Estel away or let him get an answer to his question, but Father is looking thoroughly annoyed and his attention is turning to us.

"Estel," he says. "You will not speak to your grandmother in that tone of voice. You will leave us now and dry yourself. Elladan, Elrohir - what were you doing? Take your brother away, now!"

But my younger brother, my brave young brother, stands there, head held high, refusing to be diverted from his course.

"I heard you, Papa. You said Spider's name. I want to know why."

I put my hand on his shoulder and he looks up at me. I frown at him.

"Please," Estel says. "I really would like to know," he adds, standing as tall as he can.

When Ivorwen begins to speak, my father leans forward, reaching for her hand, but she will have none of it.

"You named your pony Spider, child. Why?"

"I saw he has a spider's web pattern in his coat, Grandmother. I like spiders. They are clever, and make such pretty webs. When there's dewfall, in the autumn, the tiny fil – filaments are hung with diamonds. And they have eight legs!"

Ivorwen looks at him, then stands, and she is tall and strong despite her age. "They are fell, child. In Mirkwood, they are great beasts that would catch and poison you. They have killed older boys than you. Do you wish your pony to have such a name?"

Estel is faced with a decision he cannot make. He does not know enough to make it, I think. Someone must help him now but again, before I can speak, he is talking to her.

"I didn't know that. I can't imagine how – however would they be big enough? They're so little. I like my pony's name. I want to keep it! Papa!"

I take Estel by the hand but he is resisting me. If he were younger I would carry him away, whatever his protests, but I fear he is too big for that now, and I might not be able to keep him from injuring himself.

Elrohir seems to have no such fear. He reaches forward, catches Estel by the waist and tries to pull him away.

"No!" Estel says, pulling away. "I want to know what I've done wrong! Grandmother!"

"We will speak of it again, Estel. Calm yourself. I will look at this pony myself and we will decide then what must be done. Come – calm down, child, you will make yourself ill." Ivorwen's words sound hollow. She is withdrawing from the trouble she has created.

I can feel Estel's grip on my hand tightening. Elrohir lets him go then takes hold of his other hand.

"Enough!" he says. "That is enough!" My brother's voice is sharp and angry enough to master Estel's fury. The boy finally gives in and comes with us but the anger coursing through him does not subside quickly, and he throws off our hands when he can.

Fortunately, Halbarad has come to find Estel. I wish we had some time with Estel's friend to explain what has happened but Estel has gone with him before we can say anything. He does not even glance back, and the happiness of just a few minutes ago dissipates in the cool wind blowing from the east.

"Let us attend to the horses," Elrohir says, his face as stern as I have ever seen it. "At least we may do that task aright. If we had not chased him …"

"He would have found out, brother. Ivorwen is determined to make this small matter into a great one, and I do not know why. We must speak to Father as soon as we may."

My brother and I passed an unhappy day, though a busy one, for we assisted in the raising of a house for the family. Layers of wool and waterproof material cover the framework of painted poles and wooden walls, and we are leant cooking pots and coverings for the floor. We set out bedrolls for all of us and start a fire, then Father joins us. He is taciturn and his expression is grim.

"Estel?" he says, settling himself down by the fire.

"I will find him," I say. I go out into the gloom, wondering where to look for the two boys when there is a shout, a cry of alarm that quickly runs through the village, sending men to the call armed with bows and swords. We join them, Father running ahead of us, for to be of help to these people comes naturally.

Then Father stops. A man is carrying a boy, who is limp in his arms. Another carries a pup, which is whimpering and crying.

"Estel!" shouts my Father, running forward.

But the boy is too tall to be Estel, and when he is carried into a house and set on a bed, we know it is Halbarad.

"Where is Estel?" I ask, desperate. "He was with Halbarad."

The man who had carried Halbarad says, "We saw sign, my lord. The boy was there. We have already begun to search but we have not found him yet."

My father is gone in a moment, and we follow, snatching up lanterns. My heart fills with dread. Halbarad has been knocked unconscious. When we find the place, the signs say only one thing.

Estel has been taken.