Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except for my idle brain, which is
always overrun by useless thoughts.
Clarifications: Arameius from Prologue is a very distant ancestor of Aragorn. He is one of the Kings of Old. I do want him to die a gruesome horrible death, but since he was at that point in time the true king of Men, I cannot do anything terrible to him .
I will be using Aragorn's Elvish name 'Estel' in most of the story. In most cases, it is because it fits the plot, at other times, it will just be because I like that name. as evident from my pen name =)
WARNING: Chapter will contain an attempted rape of a minor, i.e., very adult content. Please do not read that portion if it offends you. Emphasis is on the "attempted", nothing happened; but I still think it proper to put this warning here because it is kind of graphic. well, by my standards anyways. So, please skip the first TWO paragraphs of the THIRD section if you do not want to read any of the graphic stuff. Don't know if it counts as R-rated. If it does, please let me know so I can change official rating of story.
Please, please review. Even if it is just to say I am a twisted and sick individual. And yes, I will continue since I already have 10 reviews with just the prologue =) Would have updated earlier if stupid ff.net would let me log in!!
Note: In the premise of this story, elven children grow up just like humans. Once they reached a certain age, they just stop aging.
Sorry for all the babbling and now on with the story =)
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Chapter 1: First Meeting
The elf froze at the sound of human slave traders approaching his territory. Sun-kissed blond hair framed a face hidden behind a mask. Only his melancholic sapphire eyes and a deformed mouth were visible. He wore a simple green shirt and matching green leggings, both bleached from many years of use.
The former prince of Greenwood had traveled far and wide, never settling in one place for any prolong period of time to avoid contacts with others. It had been his habit of almost 5000 years to destroy all creatures of darkness in areas surrounding his lair. He had stayed in this part of Imaladris for more than 50 years now, killing all the orcs, wargs and human slave traders that crossed the invisible magic boundaries of these woods. Rumors of his presence grew; people spoke of a shadow haunting the forest; a faceless phantom for those who ever saw him was never seen again. Everyone, even the elves of Rivendel, stayed away from these lands in fear, leaving Legolas to his solitude.
The slavers must have of captured someone of great value to risk crossing these woods. The paths through his territory were the quickest way to Bree. Though slavery was outlawed in Middle Earth, the constant demand for workers kept the trade alive. Most towns had underground slave markets every new moon and Bree housed the largest and most lucrative of them all.
What if they have caught an elf? The thought of one of his brethren forced into the life of servitude incensed him. Though the traders were still outside his boundaries, he would visit them now as the Shadow of the Forest, a bringer of death feared by all.
As he moved stealthily towards his prey, Legolas reached out with his magic to assess the situation at the camp. In his mind, he saw two guards standing over a handful of women bound hand and feet. Three other guards were on patrol around the edges of the camp. Their leader, along with four other men, sat in the center. So far, the elf mage saw nothing that would explain the group's bold decision to trespass his lands. Maybe this could wait after all, thought Legolas as he prepared to close his connection to the forest around the humans. He was interrupted by the entrance of a burly man with what appeared to be an elf-child slung over his shoulders. Though his face was hidden in his long unkempt brown hair, the young one wore a single braid, signifying his status as a novice at the beginning of warrior training. He could be no more than 15 years old. The child's robes were soiled and torn from his struggles to escape, but Legolas could tell they were made of the finest brown velvet. Elven children were rare, so they were treasured and carefully protected; from the looks of this child, Legolas could imagine he was the jewel of his household.
The elf mage could not help a mental grimace as the child was thrown roughly to the ground in front of the group's leader. When the child lifted his head to face the man, Legolas stopped dead in his tracks, immobilized by the biggest surprise in his immortal life. The child was human . No, not just human, but an heir to the throne of Gondor. His resemblance to Arameius was startling. The same soft dark hair, the same strong noble features and most of importantly, the same steely grey eyes bore defiantly into his captors. The child was undoubtedly a direct descendant of the Kings of Old, one of whom had betrayed and condemned Legolas to this wretched existence. The elf considered turning back and letting the traders do what they would to the boy. But he knew that no matter how Arameius had wronged him, the child was innocent. He could not abandon the young one anymore than he could let Arameius die 5000 years ago.
Besides, something about this child tugged at his heart in a way that his previous love did not. Like Arameius, this boy was brave; nobility and resolve permeated from him, even as he was dragged to his feet to face the head of his captors. Yet, despite his inner strength, there was a vulnerability and compassion about him that Arameius never had. Even as a young prince without a kingdom, Arameius was always sure of himself, believing he was born to be the true ruler of Men. This young one was different. Legolas could sense his uncertainty in his own abilities to fulfill the duties of his birthright; the elven prince knew the boy thought only of what would be best for his people. Lord Elrond named him well; Estel . the hope of Men. Legolas thought. A part of his heart that he had thought died long ago was awaken as he silently vowed to protect the little one. With an urgency he had not felt in 5000 years, the elf raced towards the slave traders' camp to rescue the future king of Gondor.
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He could have gotten away if he had not returned to try to free Liana. With the girl's help, Estel had escaped the night before, but instead of fleeing, he had followed his captors, waiting for a chance to save her. If only I was a better ranger or warrior, I would have rescued her and not be caught again. But then, I was never very good at anything.
His musing was cut short by a brutal slap on his face. The burly man who held him was demanding that he pay more respect to their leader when spoken to. Estel responded by spitting in the man's face. He would not let these people break him; he was not proud of the fact that he was Isildur's heir, but he was the foster son of the Lord of Rivendel and he would carry himself with the pride and dignity of one from the House of Elrond. The man raised his hand and was about to hit him when their leader interfered. He grabbed the large man's outstretched wrist, applying strong pressure on the sensitive tendons to make his subordinate scream in pain.
"While I agree that the boy needs a lesson in manners, you will not damage our prize. This one would make us rich at the auction. If not for the ears, his beauty could even pass for an elf. But then of course, he will fetch much more if he is well trained," the leader said with a sadistic smile as he reached down and fondled Estel's face. The boy could not help shuddering from his predatory gaze. The man licked his lips and continued, "I do not think you will enjoy the lesson quite as much as we do, little one."
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He struggled as hard as he could against his captors but to no avail. At their leader's directions, they tore off his clothes and shoes and threw them into the fire. "That would make escaping a lot more difficult, don't you think?" the man taunted him. When he was naked, they bound his hands above his head and suspended him from a tree branch such that he was now head to head with the men. He kicked at them as they tried to hold his feet, but he could not stop them from tying each ankle to opposite ends of a long stick that forced his legs apart, allowing his tormentors easy access to his private parts.
Satisfied that the boy was now dangling helplessly from a tree for his taking, the leader faced Estel and slowly opened his breeches to give him a full view of his large arousal. "If you beg me, I could be gentle and make it nice for you, little one."
Estel stared in horror at the man, nauseated by the thought of the inevitable. Half of him wanted to cry; the other half demanded that he face the consequences of his actions with pride. Then he thought of Isildur and how his weakness had allowed darkness to endure. He would never be perfect like the elves, but he would not be weak. "Do what you will with me. I will never beg for mercy from the likes of you," yelled Estel defiantly.
"So be it. I gave you the choice to surrender, but you have elected the way of pain. I believe this time the pleasure would be all mine, sweet one," hissed the slave trader menacingly in his ears before moving behind him.
Estel closed his eyes and prepared for the man's assault. It never came. He opened his eyes at the frantic cries of his tormentors. They were under attack; their leader killed by an unseen foe with an arrow through the throat. Since most of the guards were behind him, Estel could not see the battle. But then, it was not much of a battle. The guards scattered through the woods to search for their enemy, only to be picked off one by one with arrows through the throat. Estel could see that only the two slave traders who were guarding the women remained with their bows drawn, aiming fearfully in the directions of any sound coming from the dense woods.
Legolas was enraged at the slave traders' treatment of the boy. So much so that he had decided to kill them with arrows in the throat instead of his usual shot in the heart. He would not give the men an instantaneous painless death; that would be too merciful. Instead, he aimed his arrows so as to puncture the trachea; leaving his victims conscious for a while as they suffocated or bled to death. 5000 years ago, Legolas would never have dreamt that he could do such a horrible thing. Life as a shadow had changed him, forever tainting his heart. Yet, he felt ashamed; he had acted more like an orc than an elf, lest say the star of Earendil. Still shaking his head with self-loathing, Legolas watched the two remaining guards. He did not want to kill them in front of the boy; but as time passed, the two guards remained unmoved from their position. The elf heard Estel's soft moan and decided he could not wait any longer. He circled the camp to the back of the two guards and fell each with a single arrow in the heart. With all the guards disposed of, Legolas adjusted his mask and walked silently into the camp.
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Estel had been hanging from the tree for almost an hour. He closed his eyes and moaned in pain as his arms felt like they were being slowly torn off his shoulders. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the two remaining guards lay dead of the forest floor, each with an arrow in their backs. Estel squinted hard to see past the dense foliage of the woods but was unable to detect any signs of the one who attacked the slave traders. Estel lowered his head and sighed in defeat, Perhaps the wolves or wargs would come and eat us. unless the Shadow of the Forest decides to kill us too.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a tall graceful figure appeared in front of him. Estel could tell the stranger was an elf from his pointy ears and warrior braids in his long golden hair. His face was covered with a mask. Only a pair of striking sapphire eyes and a disfigured mouth was visible. He moved with the cat-like grace of his people, but there was an added elegance about him that even his simple, worn clothing could not hide.
In the soft breeze, the stranger's hair brushed slightly on Estel's legs as he bent low to cut the ropes binding his ankles, sending shivers down the boy's spine. None of the elves he knew had hair like this. He had seen elves with blond hair before, but never in this lustrous shade of gold and definitely never this silken soft. After freeing his legs, the stranger held Estel gently in one arm as he cut the ropes binding his wrists. After his ordeal, Estel would have protested at any other males' touch, yet he remained still in the elf's embrace, too intoxicated by the stranger's scent to fight. The elf smelled of orchids and honey, mixed with a subtle scent of the wilderness of the forest. It was sweeter and more comforting than any fragrance Estel had ever known. Before he even realized it, his free arms had fallen uselessly to his sides and the elf had placed him onto the ground. One of the stranger's arms still supported him around his waist, while the other one had moved to check over his injured shoulders. Estel found this elf's touch strangely comforting. It was warmer and gentler than even his foster father's. When the stranger was satisfied that Estel was not hurt and could stand with his own strength, he withdrew and removed his cloak to drape around the boy's shoulders. Estel was hit by a keen sense of loss when the elf moved away. Lost for words, the heir to the throne of Gondor stood his ground and stared at his savior.
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Legolas told himself over and over again in his mind that he was only helping Estel because the boy was the hope of the free peoples of Middle Earth and that he did not care about him at all. Yet, he could not stop himself from being gentler to Estel than he had ever been to anyone else, save his former love. He must get away from the child before his stupid heart decide to give itself to Estel. He was not foolish enough to hope that the future king of Gondor would return those feelings and give true love's first kiss. He freed the other women and looked at the young boy once more. He knew he must leave the child soon; very soon if he did not want his broken heart to be burnt to ashes.
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"If you go through this path, you will be in Bree within two days. When you get there, look for a man named Rogue. He is a ranger and elf-friend and would take you back to Rivendel."
"I do not wish to return to Rivendel. I was running away from home when I was caught by the slave traders," whispered Estel.
Legolas stared at the boy in shock as he digested the information. "Why?"
"Because I am not good enough to be the foster son of Lord Elrond. I am almost 16, yet I am the worst at everything in my novice class. Lord Glorfindel, Elhorir and Elladan instructed me personally, but I could do nothing right whether it was archery, sword fighting or tracking. The other elves were right; I am only a useless mortal man, descended from a line whose weakness caused the sufferings of the entire Middle Earth. I have no right to be accepted as one of Rivendel's own and I will no longer shame my foster father's house with my presence." Estel did not know why he had bared his soul in front of this stranger, but he needed so much someone to listen to him and understand.
Watching the boy, Legolas could not believe how one so similar to Arameius in appearance could be so different inside. Estel was indeed a rare jewel among men, full of pride and dignity and yet could not see his own worth, both strong and vulnerable at the same time. The elf mage knew then that his own fate was sealed, he would help the boy in any way he could.
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"Do not think so little of yourself, young one. Perhaps you should question your master's skills in giving proper training rather than your own abilities."
"How dare you insult my foster brothers and Lord Glorfindel. They were three of the greatest warriors in Middle Earth and trainer of the most elite fighters of Imaladris," Estel retorted heatedly. Whatever good will he had for the elf was now forgotten, he did not care if people insult him, but he would never forgive anyone who slighted his foster family.
"So they are, my dear boy. But as you said they train elite warriors; training novices is quite a different matter, and a human one even more so. Basic knowledge and skill were taken for granted when dealing with experienced fighters; the emphasis was on little adjustments to perfect techniques. When you competed with other novices, you were at a disadvantage since your training never gave you the proper foundation to build your fighting skills upon. I could help you if you wish, train you to be a great warrior so you can return proudly to the House of Elrond." Legolas tried his best to make his offer sound rational and light-hearted, hoping to hide his own fears and insecurities. There, you have done it, Legolas. Here comes the part where he rejects you.
Hope shone in Estel's eyes before it was replaced once again by sadness. "Thank you for your offer, but I cannot accept because I know I will only disappoint you as well." He turned and walked away.
I cannot allow this, especially since I know now he wants to be my apprentice. Legolas quickly caught up with Estel and lifted him off the ground, fully intended on carrying the boy back to his lair with him. He did not count, however, on the youth's ability to struggle. "Get away from me!!" screamed Estel as he flung his arms at the elf in his attempt to escape; he struck the prince's face and his mask fell to the ground. There was a collective gasp of terror from the women at the sight of the elf's exposed face; some of them even fainted from the sheer hideousness of it.
Quicker than a blink of an eye, Legolas put the boy back onto the ground and turned from him. "I am sorry. You will have your wish," the elf said as he put his mask back on and began to walk away. Estel had spoken the very same words his previous love had when Arameius first saw him after the curse was laid. He was a fool to believe Estel would want his help and that he could ever enjoy anyone's companion again.
Estel could feel the elf's pain and hated himself for being the cause of it. He did not find the elf's disfigured face repulsive at all. Lord Elrond had taught him that true beauty came from within a person. Beauty should be defined by one's actions, not appearance or station in life. The stranger had saved his life and showed him nothing but kindness; no matter how he looked, the elf would be beautiful in Estel's eyes. Wanting nothing more than to comfort his savior, Estel ran after the retreating elf, mindless of the pain in his feet as he raced through the rough terrain of the forest.
"Please don't go. If you have rescinded your offer to help me, at least tell me your name." Estel called out to the distant form of the elf.
Legolas was surprised to see the boy following him. He had been so pre- occupied with the pain in his heart to detect the human's presence until now. Did I just heard him asking me to come back? Without realizing it, the elf closed the distance between them and regarded the boy with uncertainty. That was until he noticed Estel's feet were bleeding profusely from the many large splinters embedded in them. He came after me. Why? The elf looked deep into the young human's eyes. He saw concern, sadness and a loneliness that almost mirrored his own. The boy had seen his face but there was no trace of revulsion in his eyes at all.
For the first time in 5000 years, Legolas smiled. "My offer stands. I will help you if you wish, but I cannot tell you my name. It is something even I wish to forget." His smile vanished as his mind drifted back to that fateful day when his heart was completely shattered.
"Well, I will need a name to call you by if you are to be my mentor. If you will not tell me, I guess I will just have to call you Shadow. I certainly hope the rumors about you are not true; the elves said you sneak into Rivendel at night and kidnap naughty elven children for dinner." Estel jested, wanting to lighten his new mentor's mood.
"Ah, but since you are human, you have nothing to fear from me. I only eat elven children. Come along now since I wish to reach my lair by nightfall" Legolas said with mocked seriousness.
Estel started to follow the elf, only to discover the intense pain in his feet. In his anxiety, he had been very careless with his steps through the forest. Legolas turned and looked at him hesitantly. The elf mage wanted to carry Estel, but the boy had seen his face and he was not sure if his touch would still be welcomed.
As if sensing the elf's dilemma, Estel spoke with a sheepish grin, "I know this probably makes me sound weak and useless, but it would be nice if you would carry me on your back, Shadow. My feet protest with every step I take."
Legolas laughed and pretended to shake his head in exasperation as he carried the boy on his back and began to head towards his lair. "Training you is definitely going to take a lot of work."
Clarifications: Arameius from Prologue is a very distant ancestor of Aragorn. He is one of the Kings of Old. I do want him to die a gruesome horrible death, but since he was at that point in time the true king of Men, I cannot do anything terrible to him .
I will be using Aragorn's Elvish name 'Estel' in most of the story. In most cases, it is because it fits the plot, at other times, it will just be because I like that name. as evident from my pen name =)
WARNING: Chapter will contain an attempted rape of a minor, i.e., very adult content. Please do not read that portion if it offends you. Emphasis is on the "attempted", nothing happened; but I still think it proper to put this warning here because it is kind of graphic. well, by my standards anyways. So, please skip the first TWO paragraphs of the THIRD section if you do not want to read any of the graphic stuff. Don't know if it counts as R-rated. If it does, please let me know so I can change official rating of story.
Please, please review. Even if it is just to say I am a twisted and sick individual. And yes, I will continue since I already have 10 reviews with just the prologue =) Would have updated earlier if stupid ff.net would let me log in!!
Note: In the premise of this story, elven children grow up just like humans. Once they reached a certain age, they just stop aging.
Sorry for all the babbling and now on with the story =)
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Chapter 1: First Meeting
The elf froze at the sound of human slave traders approaching his territory. Sun-kissed blond hair framed a face hidden behind a mask. Only his melancholic sapphire eyes and a deformed mouth were visible. He wore a simple green shirt and matching green leggings, both bleached from many years of use.
The former prince of Greenwood had traveled far and wide, never settling in one place for any prolong period of time to avoid contacts with others. It had been his habit of almost 5000 years to destroy all creatures of darkness in areas surrounding his lair. He had stayed in this part of Imaladris for more than 50 years now, killing all the orcs, wargs and human slave traders that crossed the invisible magic boundaries of these woods. Rumors of his presence grew; people spoke of a shadow haunting the forest; a faceless phantom for those who ever saw him was never seen again. Everyone, even the elves of Rivendel, stayed away from these lands in fear, leaving Legolas to his solitude.
The slavers must have of captured someone of great value to risk crossing these woods. The paths through his territory were the quickest way to Bree. Though slavery was outlawed in Middle Earth, the constant demand for workers kept the trade alive. Most towns had underground slave markets every new moon and Bree housed the largest and most lucrative of them all.
What if they have caught an elf? The thought of one of his brethren forced into the life of servitude incensed him. Though the traders were still outside his boundaries, he would visit them now as the Shadow of the Forest, a bringer of death feared by all.
As he moved stealthily towards his prey, Legolas reached out with his magic to assess the situation at the camp. In his mind, he saw two guards standing over a handful of women bound hand and feet. Three other guards were on patrol around the edges of the camp. Their leader, along with four other men, sat in the center. So far, the elf mage saw nothing that would explain the group's bold decision to trespass his lands. Maybe this could wait after all, thought Legolas as he prepared to close his connection to the forest around the humans. He was interrupted by the entrance of a burly man with what appeared to be an elf-child slung over his shoulders. Though his face was hidden in his long unkempt brown hair, the young one wore a single braid, signifying his status as a novice at the beginning of warrior training. He could be no more than 15 years old. The child's robes were soiled and torn from his struggles to escape, but Legolas could tell they were made of the finest brown velvet. Elven children were rare, so they were treasured and carefully protected; from the looks of this child, Legolas could imagine he was the jewel of his household.
The elf mage could not help a mental grimace as the child was thrown roughly to the ground in front of the group's leader. When the child lifted his head to face the man, Legolas stopped dead in his tracks, immobilized by the biggest surprise in his immortal life. The child was human . No, not just human, but an heir to the throne of Gondor. His resemblance to Arameius was startling. The same soft dark hair, the same strong noble features and most of importantly, the same steely grey eyes bore defiantly into his captors. The child was undoubtedly a direct descendant of the Kings of Old, one of whom had betrayed and condemned Legolas to this wretched existence. The elf considered turning back and letting the traders do what they would to the boy. But he knew that no matter how Arameius had wronged him, the child was innocent. He could not abandon the young one anymore than he could let Arameius die 5000 years ago.
Besides, something about this child tugged at his heart in a way that his previous love did not. Like Arameius, this boy was brave; nobility and resolve permeated from him, even as he was dragged to his feet to face the head of his captors. Yet, despite his inner strength, there was a vulnerability and compassion about him that Arameius never had. Even as a young prince without a kingdom, Arameius was always sure of himself, believing he was born to be the true ruler of Men. This young one was different. Legolas could sense his uncertainty in his own abilities to fulfill the duties of his birthright; the elven prince knew the boy thought only of what would be best for his people. Lord Elrond named him well; Estel . the hope of Men. Legolas thought. A part of his heart that he had thought died long ago was awaken as he silently vowed to protect the little one. With an urgency he had not felt in 5000 years, the elf raced towards the slave traders' camp to rescue the future king of Gondor.
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He could have gotten away if he had not returned to try to free Liana. With the girl's help, Estel had escaped the night before, but instead of fleeing, he had followed his captors, waiting for a chance to save her. If only I was a better ranger or warrior, I would have rescued her and not be caught again. But then, I was never very good at anything.
His musing was cut short by a brutal slap on his face. The burly man who held him was demanding that he pay more respect to their leader when spoken to. Estel responded by spitting in the man's face. He would not let these people break him; he was not proud of the fact that he was Isildur's heir, but he was the foster son of the Lord of Rivendel and he would carry himself with the pride and dignity of one from the House of Elrond. The man raised his hand and was about to hit him when their leader interfered. He grabbed the large man's outstretched wrist, applying strong pressure on the sensitive tendons to make his subordinate scream in pain.
"While I agree that the boy needs a lesson in manners, you will not damage our prize. This one would make us rich at the auction. If not for the ears, his beauty could even pass for an elf. But then of course, he will fetch much more if he is well trained," the leader said with a sadistic smile as he reached down and fondled Estel's face. The boy could not help shuddering from his predatory gaze. The man licked his lips and continued, "I do not think you will enjoy the lesson quite as much as we do, little one."
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He struggled as hard as he could against his captors but to no avail. At their leader's directions, they tore off his clothes and shoes and threw them into the fire. "That would make escaping a lot more difficult, don't you think?" the man taunted him. When he was naked, they bound his hands above his head and suspended him from a tree branch such that he was now head to head with the men. He kicked at them as they tried to hold his feet, but he could not stop them from tying each ankle to opposite ends of a long stick that forced his legs apart, allowing his tormentors easy access to his private parts.
Satisfied that the boy was now dangling helplessly from a tree for his taking, the leader faced Estel and slowly opened his breeches to give him a full view of his large arousal. "If you beg me, I could be gentle and make it nice for you, little one."
Estel stared in horror at the man, nauseated by the thought of the inevitable. Half of him wanted to cry; the other half demanded that he face the consequences of his actions with pride. Then he thought of Isildur and how his weakness had allowed darkness to endure. He would never be perfect like the elves, but he would not be weak. "Do what you will with me. I will never beg for mercy from the likes of you," yelled Estel defiantly.
"So be it. I gave you the choice to surrender, but you have elected the way of pain. I believe this time the pleasure would be all mine, sweet one," hissed the slave trader menacingly in his ears before moving behind him.
Estel closed his eyes and prepared for the man's assault. It never came. He opened his eyes at the frantic cries of his tormentors. They were under attack; their leader killed by an unseen foe with an arrow through the throat. Since most of the guards were behind him, Estel could not see the battle. But then, it was not much of a battle. The guards scattered through the woods to search for their enemy, only to be picked off one by one with arrows through the throat. Estel could see that only the two slave traders who were guarding the women remained with their bows drawn, aiming fearfully in the directions of any sound coming from the dense woods.
Legolas was enraged at the slave traders' treatment of the boy. So much so that he had decided to kill them with arrows in the throat instead of his usual shot in the heart. He would not give the men an instantaneous painless death; that would be too merciful. Instead, he aimed his arrows so as to puncture the trachea; leaving his victims conscious for a while as they suffocated or bled to death. 5000 years ago, Legolas would never have dreamt that he could do such a horrible thing. Life as a shadow had changed him, forever tainting his heart. Yet, he felt ashamed; he had acted more like an orc than an elf, lest say the star of Earendil. Still shaking his head with self-loathing, Legolas watched the two remaining guards. He did not want to kill them in front of the boy; but as time passed, the two guards remained unmoved from their position. The elf heard Estel's soft moan and decided he could not wait any longer. He circled the camp to the back of the two guards and fell each with a single arrow in the heart. With all the guards disposed of, Legolas adjusted his mask and walked silently into the camp.
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Estel had been hanging from the tree for almost an hour. He closed his eyes and moaned in pain as his arms felt like they were being slowly torn off his shoulders. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the two remaining guards lay dead of the forest floor, each with an arrow in their backs. Estel squinted hard to see past the dense foliage of the woods but was unable to detect any signs of the one who attacked the slave traders. Estel lowered his head and sighed in defeat, Perhaps the wolves or wargs would come and eat us. unless the Shadow of the Forest decides to kill us too.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a tall graceful figure appeared in front of him. Estel could tell the stranger was an elf from his pointy ears and warrior braids in his long golden hair. His face was covered with a mask. Only a pair of striking sapphire eyes and a disfigured mouth was visible. He moved with the cat-like grace of his people, but there was an added elegance about him that even his simple, worn clothing could not hide.
In the soft breeze, the stranger's hair brushed slightly on Estel's legs as he bent low to cut the ropes binding his ankles, sending shivers down the boy's spine. None of the elves he knew had hair like this. He had seen elves with blond hair before, but never in this lustrous shade of gold and definitely never this silken soft. After freeing his legs, the stranger held Estel gently in one arm as he cut the ropes binding his wrists. After his ordeal, Estel would have protested at any other males' touch, yet he remained still in the elf's embrace, too intoxicated by the stranger's scent to fight. The elf smelled of orchids and honey, mixed with a subtle scent of the wilderness of the forest. It was sweeter and more comforting than any fragrance Estel had ever known. Before he even realized it, his free arms had fallen uselessly to his sides and the elf had placed him onto the ground. One of the stranger's arms still supported him around his waist, while the other one had moved to check over his injured shoulders. Estel found this elf's touch strangely comforting. It was warmer and gentler than even his foster father's. When the stranger was satisfied that Estel was not hurt and could stand with his own strength, he withdrew and removed his cloak to drape around the boy's shoulders. Estel was hit by a keen sense of loss when the elf moved away. Lost for words, the heir to the throne of Gondor stood his ground and stared at his savior.
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Legolas told himself over and over again in his mind that he was only helping Estel because the boy was the hope of the free peoples of Middle Earth and that he did not care about him at all. Yet, he could not stop himself from being gentler to Estel than he had ever been to anyone else, save his former love. He must get away from the child before his stupid heart decide to give itself to Estel. He was not foolish enough to hope that the future king of Gondor would return those feelings and give true love's first kiss. He freed the other women and looked at the young boy once more. He knew he must leave the child soon; very soon if he did not want his broken heart to be burnt to ashes.
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"If you go through this path, you will be in Bree within two days. When you get there, look for a man named Rogue. He is a ranger and elf-friend and would take you back to Rivendel."
"I do not wish to return to Rivendel. I was running away from home when I was caught by the slave traders," whispered Estel.
Legolas stared at the boy in shock as he digested the information. "Why?"
"Because I am not good enough to be the foster son of Lord Elrond. I am almost 16, yet I am the worst at everything in my novice class. Lord Glorfindel, Elhorir and Elladan instructed me personally, but I could do nothing right whether it was archery, sword fighting or tracking. The other elves were right; I am only a useless mortal man, descended from a line whose weakness caused the sufferings of the entire Middle Earth. I have no right to be accepted as one of Rivendel's own and I will no longer shame my foster father's house with my presence." Estel did not know why he had bared his soul in front of this stranger, but he needed so much someone to listen to him and understand.
Watching the boy, Legolas could not believe how one so similar to Arameius in appearance could be so different inside. Estel was indeed a rare jewel among men, full of pride and dignity and yet could not see his own worth, both strong and vulnerable at the same time. The elf mage knew then that his own fate was sealed, he would help the boy in any way he could.
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"Do not think so little of yourself, young one. Perhaps you should question your master's skills in giving proper training rather than your own abilities."
"How dare you insult my foster brothers and Lord Glorfindel. They were three of the greatest warriors in Middle Earth and trainer of the most elite fighters of Imaladris," Estel retorted heatedly. Whatever good will he had for the elf was now forgotten, he did not care if people insult him, but he would never forgive anyone who slighted his foster family.
"So they are, my dear boy. But as you said they train elite warriors; training novices is quite a different matter, and a human one even more so. Basic knowledge and skill were taken for granted when dealing with experienced fighters; the emphasis was on little adjustments to perfect techniques. When you competed with other novices, you were at a disadvantage since your training never gave you the proper foundation to build your fighting skills upon. I could help you if you wish, train you to be a great warrior so you can return proudly to the House of Elrond." Legolas tried his best to make his offer sound rational and light-hearted, hoping to hide his own fears and insecurities. There, you have done it, Legolas. Here comes the part where he rejects you.
Hope shone in Estel's eyes before it was replaced once again by sadness. "Thank you for your offer, but I cannot accept because I know I will only disappoint you as well." He turned and walked away.
I cannot allow this, especially since I know now he wants to be my apprentice. Legolas quickly caught up with Estel and lifted him off the ground, fully intended on carrying the boy back to his lair with him. He did not count, however, on the youth's ability to struggle. "Get away from me!!" screamed Estel as he flung his arms at the elf in his attempt to escape; he struck the prince's face and his mask fell to the ground. There was a collective gasp of terror from the women at the sight of the elf's exposed face; some of them even fainted from the sheer hideousness of it.
Quicker than a blink of an eye, Legolas put the boy back onto the ground and turned from him. "I am sorry. You will have your wish," the elf said as he put his mask back on and began to walk away. Estel had spoken the very same words his previous love had when Arameius first saw him after the curse was laid. He was a fool to believe Estel would want his help and that he could ever enjoy anyone's companion again.
Estel could feel the elf's pain and hated himself for being the cause of it. He did not find the elf's disfigured face repulsive at all. Lord Elrond had taught him that true beauty came from within a person. Beauty should be defined by one's actions, not appearance or station in life. The stranger had saved his life and showed him nothing but kindness; no matter how he looked, the elf would be beautiful in Estel's eyes. Wanting nothing more than to comfort his savior, Estel ran after the retreating elf, mindless of the pain in his feet as he raced through the rough terrain of the forest.
"Please don't go. If you have rescinded your offer to help me, at least tell me your name." Estel called out to the distant form of the elf.
Legolas was surprised to see the boy following him. He had been so pre- occupied with the pain in his heart to detect the human's presence until now. Did I just heard him asking me to come back? Without realizing it, the elf closed the distance between them and regarded the boy with uncertainty. That was until he noticed Estel's feet were bleeding profusely from the many large splinters embedded in them. He came after me. Why? The elf looked deep into the young human's eyes. He saw concern, sadness and a loneliness that almost mirrored his own. The boy had seen his face but there was no trace of revulsion in his eyes at all.
For the first time in 5000 years, Legolas smiled. "My offer stands. I will help you if you wish, but I cannot tell you my name. It is something even I wish to forget." His smile vanished as his mind drifted back to that fateful day when his heart was completely shattered.
"Well, I will need a name to call you by if you are to be my mentor. If you will not tell me, I guess I will just have to call you Shadow. I certainly hope the rumors about you are not true; the elves said you sneak into Rivendel at night and kidnap naughty elven children for dinner." Estel jested, wanting to lighten his new mentor's mood.
"Ah, but since you are human, you have nothing to fear from me. I only eat elven children. Come along now since I wish to reach my lair by nightfall" Legolas said with mocked seriousness.
Estel started to follow the elf, only to discover the intense pain in his feet. In his anxiety, he had been very careless with his steps through the forest. Legolas turned and looked at him hesitantly. The elf mage wanted to carry Estel, but the boy had seen his face and he was not sure if his touch would still be welcomed.
As if sensing the elf's dilemma, Estel spoke with a sheepish grin, "I know this probably makes me sound weak and useless, but it would be nice if you would carry me on your back, Shadow. My feet protest with every step I take."
Legolas laughed and pretended to shake his head in exasperation as he carried the boy on his back and began to head towards his lair. "Training you is definitely going to take a lot of work."