Days went by and days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and soon an
entire year had gone by. Estel grew accustomed to their ways, he wore a
gray cloak in the fashion of a ranger, and even carved his own pipe, and
smoked it regularly now (to Carhanon's dismay). He spent most of his time
with Halbarad, and the two of them formed a friendship that was more like
brotherhood, that lasted the rest of their lives. Estel found a confidence
in himself with these people, and a feeling that he knew who he was, where
he came from, where he belonged. These were his people.
But his heart stayed also in Rivendell, and he longed for the white rivers, the glorious green forests, the splendor of Elven art and creation, the songs, the beauty… And he missed his foster-father, Elrond and his sons Elrohir and Elladan. So at the end of a year, Estel and Gilrean returned to the Elf-Haven, and all were happy to see them again. Elrond observed his adopted son with fondness and pride, pleased to see that Gilrean's plan had worked. The boy had indeed gained an inner calm and confidence out there in the harsh environment of the Dunedain, and flourished among the other children, growing into a strong young man.
Seven more years flew by and Estel grew even more, his voice deepened and he grew another whole foot. He continued to dwell in the House of Elrond, occasionally leaving to visit the Rangers, or travel about Eriador with the sons of Elrond, helping with whatever they might be doing…
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"Quiet!" hissed Elrohir suddenly. The three of them froze, listening intently in the darkness, as they lay attempting to sleep. It was the darkest, deadest hour of the night in the woods by the Shire's eastern border.
"What is it? What did you hear?" asked Estel after a long pause. Elrohir held up his fore-finger, silencing him, and straining his acute hearing. After a moment, he relaxed slightly and turned towards Estel, though the human could see him not. "I thought I heard something in the woods… Crashing branches, snapping twigs… breathing… But there are many things about in the forest; it was probably nothing," but he still seemed uneasy. "Did you hear it, Elladan?"
"I-" began Elladan but at that moment a loud, eerie howl rose from the woods. The travelers stared at each other in fear, the hair on the back of their neck prickling. A pause, and then another howl, from a different direction. It rose to a high, loud climax, before falling back again. Yet before it had finished fading, another haunting cry rose. The three men stood, forming a circle, their backs to each other. Red eyes gleamed out from the bushes, breathing loudly and harshly, watching their helpless prey turning their heads wildly as each new voice was heard, trying to find which direction it came from.
The wargs came crashing out from the brush, snarling and barking and screaming as they raced toward their prey, their enemy. Estel saw the glaring eyes approaching him rapidly, the glint of teeth, could hear its ragged breathing and pounding paws. He held out his sword in front of him vainly attempting to fend the monster off. The wolf leaped and hit him in the chest with his tearing claws with such force that Estel felt the wind knocked out of him, and again as he hit the ground with a loud thump. He couldn't breath at all, as the immense, thick body crushed him, and he trashed out helplessly with his sword. He pushed forward with all the strength he could muster, trying to force the heavy creature off of him, still unable to breath, wriggling and squirming, desperately trying to evade its snapping jaws, inches away from his face. Then suddenly, the monster fell limp, and its head dropped beside Estel's. The boy pushed with all the strength he could muster, forcing the beast off of him. He lay for a moment, mangled in sweat and blood, trying to regain his breath. He couldn't tell what was going on; all was confusion. The monster lay dead beside him, an Elven arrow in its back.
Estel forced himself to stand and squinted into the darkness. "Elladan! Elrohir! Where are you?"
"Right here!" came the response a few feet off, between ragged breaths. "Stay on- they're four of them left still," "Too close for arrows," "Come on, Estel, they're right HERE!" "Look out!" "Help!"
"I can't see them!" cried Estel, frustrated and scared, and he felt the tears well up in his eyes. "Can't see anything," he whispered through clenched teeth. He held his sword up in front of him, then turned it and sliced sideways, stepping forward as he swung. He could hear the wargs breathing and panting all around him, hear them snarling and snapping their jaws. He swung again and again, back and forth, putting forth all the strength he had left in him. He could feel as the wargs' course fur brushed against him, feel them snapping at his legs, leaping up to his shoulders and back, and he swung harder and faster, spinning around as they came at him from all directions. He couldn't tell what was going on, and he thrashed out blindly in desperation. "Day will come again!" he cried again and again as he swung, even as Hurin had done.
It was fortunate Elladan and Elrohir could see in the dark, or they may have been caught by Estel's sword as it flew back and forth, hacking continuously, creating a kind of shield slicing all that came too near him. "Estel!" they called. "Estel, it's ok. They're gone. They're dead."
Estel's swings slowed, and he turned toward the sound of the Elvish voices nearby. "All of them?
"Yes," they replied. "All of them."
Estel felt groggy and exhausted, and unable to think clearly. He raised his hand to his aching forehead, and felt it wet with blood. The brothers were still talking to him, but their voices were far away, and the darkness and blindness was so disorienting, so surreal, and he was so very tired… He slowly lowered himself to the ground, and lay down on the ground right where he stood. The voices were still talking to him, and his body was screaming as if it were on fire where he had been wounded. But none of that mattered. None of it felt real. He closed his eyes and knew no more of that night.
But his heart stayed also in Rivendell, and he longed for the white rivers, the glorious green forests, the splendor of Elven art and creation, the songs, the beauty… And he missed his foster-father, Elrond and his sons Elrohir and Elladan. So at the end of a year, Estel and Gilrean returned to the Elf-Haven, and all were happy to see them again. Elrond observed his adopted son with fondness and pride, pleased to see that Gilrean's plan had worked. The boy had indeed gained an inner calm and confidence out there in the harsh environment of the Dunedain, and flourished among the other children, growing into a strong young man.
Seven more years flew by and Estel grew even more, his voice deepened and he grew another whole foot. He continued to dwell in the House of Elrond, occasionally leaving to visit the Rangers, or travel about Eriador with the sons of Elrond, helping with whatever they might be doing…
-------------------------------
"Quiet!" hissed Elrohir suddenly. The three of them froze, listening intently in the darkness, as they lay attempting to sleep. It was the darkest, deadest hour of the night in the woods by the Shire's eastern border.
"What is it? What did you hear?" asked Estel after a long pause. Elrohir held up his fore-finger, silencing him, and straining his acute hearing. After a moment, he relaxed slightly and turned towards Estel, though the human could see him not. "I thought I heard something in the woods… Crashing branches, snapping twigs… breathing… But there are many things about in the forest; it was probably nothing," but he still seemed uneasy. "Did you hear it, Elladan?"
"I-" began Elladan but at that moment a loud, eerie howl rose from the woods. The travelers stared at each other in fear, the hair on the back of their neck prickling. A pause, and then another howl, from a different direction. It rose to a high, loud climax, before falling back again. Yet before it had finished fading, another haunting cry rose. The three men stood, forming a circle, their backs to each other. Red eyes gleamed out from the bushes, breathing loudly and harshly, watching their helpless prey turning their heads wildly as each new voice was heard, trying to find which direction it came from.
The wargs came crashing out from the brush, snarling and barking and screaming as they raced toward their prey, their enemy. Estel saw the glaring eyes approaching him rapidly, the glint of teeth, could hear its ragged breathing and pounding paws. He held out his sword in front of him vainly attempting to fend the monster off. The wolf leaped and hit him in the chest with his tearing claws with such force that Estel felt the wind knocked out of him, and again as he hit the ground with a loud thump. He couldn't breath at all, as the immense, thick body crushed him, and he trashed out helplessly with his sword. He pushed forward with all the strength he could muster, trying to force the heavy creature off of him, still unable to breath, wriggling and squirming, desperately trying to evade its snapping jaws, inches away from his face. Then suddenly, the monster fell limp, and its head dropped beside Estel's. The boy pushed with all the strength he could muster, forcing the beast off of him. He lay for a moment, mangled in sweat and blood, trying to regain his breath. He couldn't tell what was going on; all was confusion. The monster lay dead beside him, an Elven arrow in its back.
Estel forced himself to stand and squinted into the darkness. "Elladan! Elrohir! Where are you?"
"Right here!" came the response a few feet off, between ragged breaths. "Stay on- they're four of them left still," "Too close for arrows," "Come on, Estel, they're right HERE!" "Look out!" "Help!"
"I can't see them!" cried Estel, frustrated and scared, and he felt the tears well up in his eyes. "Can't see anything," he whispered through clenched teeth. He held his sword up in front of him, then turned it and sliced sideways, stepping forward as he swung. He could hear the wargs breathing and panting all around him, hear them snarling and snapping their jaws. He swung again and again, back and forth, putting forth all the strength he had left in him. He could feel as the wargs' course fur brushed against him, feel them snapping at his legs, leaping up to his shoulders and back, and he swung harder and faster, spinning around as they came at him from all directions. He couldn't tell what was going on, and he thrashed out blindly in desperation. "Day will come again!" he cried again and again as he swung, even as Hurin had done.
It was fortunate Elladan and Elrohir could see in the dark, or they may have been caught by Estel's sword as it flew back and forth, hacking continuously, creating a kind of shield slicing all that came too near him. "Estel!" they called. "Estel, it's ok. They're gone. They're dead."
Estel's swings slowed, and he turned toward the sound of the Elvish voices nearby. "All of them?
"Yes," they replied. "All of them."
Estel felt groggy and exhausted, and unable to think clearly. He raised his hand to his aching forehead, and felt it wet with blood. The brothers were still talking to him, but their voices were far away, and the darkness and blindness was so disorienting, so surreal, and he was so very tired… He slowly lowered himself to the ground, and lay down on the ground right where he stood. The voices were still talking to him, and his body was screaming as if it were on fire where he had been wounded. But none of that mattered. None of it felt real. He closed his eyes and knew no more of that night.