Sorry, it's late everyone! It's been a really hectic week – exams etc. Also, I thought it would add some dramatic tension to my much loved cliffhanger. Due to popular demand, I'll try to put a cliffie in as often as possible.

Carrie – Strangling is a little extreme isn't it? Oh well, cliffies are entertaining.

Arifel – Yes, I'm English. I've never understood the appeal of English accents, but hey, whatever turns you on…

Astronema – I may have to report you to the Society of the Protection of Shoulder Devils.

C.E.M – Sorry, your name's too long! All will be revealed about Princess Legless soon.

TigerLily713 and grumpy – Ah, thank you, cliffie sympathisers! I'll have to do some more…

NaughtyNat, Silvertoekee, dragonfly and Eph – Children, cliffies are bloody entertaining (for me anyway)

Porcelain Princess – Nuffin wrong with it, I do the same. I was just being a little facetious.

Leggy-stinks – Erm… sorry. (you'll see what I mean when you read the chapter)

PrettyLittleDuck – No matter how much you try to scroll, it won't get you anywhere. Listen to someone's who's tried this many times.

Tithen Min – I tried to review your new stories but the site won't let me (grr) they're fab btw.

TrinityTheSheDevil - * wipes yogurt off * Thanks for that, no really. Dude what happens when something really important annoys you? Oo-er! 

On with the story… wait. Americans, what do you think of Posh and Becks? Becks' hair is usually soo much better btw. Seriously, I'm curious, do tell.

~*~The Race~*~

Lord Elrond sat in his library in silence. A pile of books laid to his left remained unread; he had intended to catch up on all his work while there was some degree of peace in Rivendell, but to no avail. He couldn't concentrate. Despite Gandalf's, and many others' reassurances, Elrond felt uneasy about Estel, although he was unsure whether there was a genuine reason to be so concerned or if it was just his over-protective side getting the better of him.

"I'm getting too old for this." He muttered to himself, before laughing gently at his own words.

He had always been over-protective of his children. Especially Estel, which he found a little ironic considering he had never intended to become emotionally attached to the little boy when he first arrived. Idly twirling his long dark locks around his pale fingers, he remembered the first time they really bonded; it was a few weeks after he had been brought to Rivendell. Estel had not spoken a word in that time, but then again, at the time, he wasn't sure if that was in fact normal at his age. He had tried desperately to remain as distant as possible but one night found him sobbing on the staircase with a sheet wrapped tightly around his tiny body.

Elrond smiled fondly, leaning back in his old leather chair. He remembered those big grey eyes, stained with tears staring up at him, those big grey eyes that could be so unreadable but sometimes they revealed fears that Estel would never speak of. Those big grey eyes with flashes of emerald that sparkle with mischief and twinkle with excitement.

"He will be fine." He reassured himself, opening a large leather backed book and ignored the anxiousness that still hung heavily in his heart.

* * *      

His head darted up; his eyes searching the darkness desperately for the origin of the terrible cry that had made his blood run cold. The first shriek had been full of fear but a following scream that echoed across the vast wilderness was one of agony. Another cry, but not of a human pierced the calm; the vile growl of wargs confirmed his fears. Legolas froze, his eyes tearing across his surroundings for Estel.

The camp was deserted, the small fire still burning softly in the centre. Suddenly, shadows at the foot of the cliff face caught his attention and he raced toward the edge as quickly as his feet would take him. Three huge forms surrounded the cowering child, snarling and snapping at him. Legolas pulled out his bow with lightning pace, arrows soaring down through the crisp spring air, killing two of the vicious beasts. He was not quick enough, however, to stop a last attack on the already wounded boy.

The ferocious creature let out a deafening growl before falling to the ground dead. He leapt down to the whimpering youngster, who was lying on his back beside a jagged boulder, already horrifyingly splashed with dark streaks of blood. He fell to his knees, his breath caught at the sight of Estel trembling, blood soaking through his green tunic.

"I-I tried to climb t-the tree, b-but the t-the… c-creature got m-me first." His voice, full of pain and terror, was almost a whisper. Blood ran from his nose and bottom lip into his mouth, making him cough. "I f-fell."

"Shh, do not strain yourself, child." Legolas replied soothingly. "Where did they hurt you?"

"M-my leg and my arms." He mumbled, as his eyes began to glaze over. "My belly h-hurts." Estel's words were ragged and panicked.

Legolas' eyes trailed across the young boy; a large cut above his right eye coupled with his bleeding nose and lip made his features almost unrecognisable. Estel watched him, their eyes locked for a moment, but the anguish in the wounded child's eyes unnerved him and Legolas looked away. The amount of blood soaking through Estel's green tunic concerned the elf most, he pulled the stained clothing gently off his torso. There were three long gashes from the warg's vicious claws; they were almost impossible to see as it bled so heavily. He grimaced; it was far worse than he had feared; Estel was losing a lot of blood quickly. There was a bite on his left calf, the creature's teeth had sliced through the leather boot with ease and punctured the skin deeply.

"Am I g-going t-to die?" A meek voice asked, snapping Legolas out of his thoughts.

"Nay, if I let you perish then your brothers will soon see that I join you." He smiled reassuringly.

"Then perhaps I s-shall d-die just t-to spite y-you, elf."

Legolas couldn't help but laugh, even at such a grave moment. "I do not think that is the most well thought out method of revenge, Estel."

Estel chuckled but immediately whimpered at the pain once more. "Aye, but they will k-kill you anyway for g-getting me into t-this mess."

He opened his mouth to reply but a foul growl echoed through the hills, alarming him greatly. "We must move quickly, I fear there may be more wargs nearby." Silence greeted him. "Estel?"

He looked down again to see Estel had fallen unconscious, his face was gravely pale and his breathing strained. The sharp contrast between his once bronzed skin that had all but drained of colour and the deep crimson of his injuries was harrowing. Legolas picked up his limp body and moved swiftly but with great care not to worsen the poor child's wounds.

His blood glistened in the starlight as they reached camp once more. He loaded him onto Mastrovar carefully and called Estel's smaller horse beside him. Within a few seconds, the beast had raced into the distance. He mounted and pulled the unconscious child close, wrapping his slender arm around Estel's bloodied chest. Legolas clung tightly as they rode across the plains at a lightning pace in the moonlight.

Dawn came slowly and the frost crunched beneath Mastrovar's hooves. All the land glistened, a mixture of dew and the last patches of frost on the peaks of the rolling hills, the grass glowing a beautiful, warm golden yellow from the rising sun. He glanced down, a dark mass of curls lay limply against his chest, his arm was wrapped tensely around Estel's small frame; blood had soaked into his pale green sleeve and onto his hand. He slowed down and came to a halt at the bank of a slow running stream and carefully dismounted, placing Estel gently down in the soft luscious grass, which clung to his fever-ridden skin.

Legolas closed his eyes solemnly, his shoulders hunched with guilt and frustration. The small boy lay still, his skin white as a sheet; the fair elf reached down, his hands shook with apprehension. Taking a deep breath, his fingers rested lightly against Estel's neck. He sighed.

Relief swept through his body, but he could sense death was near if he didn't get to Rivendell by nightfall. He rummaged desperately through the packs he had taken from the boy's horse. There were herbs and a vile of dark red liquid, with some bandages. Legolas growled with frustration; he had not a clue what to use or how to use it.

"Perhaps if you had trained more on how to prevent death, and spent less time perfecting how to inflict it, you would be of more use." He scolded himself.

Peeling off Estel's bloodied clothes, he grimaced. The green fabric stuck to the drying blood that had stained most of his body, while the deep wounds on his chest, stomach and leg still bled freely. The soft morning sun danced across his sallow skin, a feverish shivering and a cold sweat trying to overcome his burning skin replaced the grave stillness of his body. He felt Estel flinch as he cleaned the wounds and glanced up to see he had regained consciousness.

"Estel?" His voice shook with apprehension.

There was no reply, but his head slumped to the side to face Legolas. Estel's eyes had darkened like fierce storm clouds and the striking flecks of green had disappeared. The elf watched in a hesitant silence, before sweeping the dark hair off his face and smiled gently.

"Y-you should d-do that more often." Estel croaked, his voice raspy.

"Do what?" He asked, wiping the blood from the injured child's face.

"S-smile." He muttered before hissing with pain. "F-frowning s-suits no one, e-except…"

"Except who?"

Silence.

"Estel?"

"I will t-tell you w-when this is o-over." A wry smile crept across his face. "I w-wanted to s-say sorry f-for riling y-you so m-much."

"You speak like you are dying." Legolas replied, unsuccessfully trying to sound light-hearted.

He looked up to meet the boy's gaze before watching him fade with dismay.

* * *

His eyes were dark and full of venom as looked across the table at them. Locked in a deep frown, he sat in silence waiting for one of them to be brave enough, or indeed foolish enough, to meet his gaze. They sat quietly, uncomfortable and regretful, looking at their plates religiously.

"Father-" Elladan began.

"Do not speak, I am far too angry to listen to your feeble excuses." Elrond growled.

"Bu-"

"You left your brother alone in the wilds." He spat.

"He is not alone!" Elrohir cried defensively.

"Oh, of course. You left him with his best friend, Legolas. How reassuring."

Sarcasm did not suit Elrond, but neither did rage or worry, and he was venting all three vengefully nevertheless.

"He must be terrified, he has never been that far before. I only agreed to this because I thought you two would be there." 

"Legolas will let no harm come to Estel." Elladan replied calmly.

"He cannot keep his eye on him every moment of the day! You know what Estel is like."

"Legolas is a brilliant warrior, there is no one else I would trust to look after him. They will be fine, father. I am sure of it."

Elrond got up and made his way to the window. His head dropped as he took a deep breath. A warning in his heart had plagued him since his sons had returned alone with their ridiculous plan. Dusk was approaching, the sun fading behind the distant mountains as dark clouds began to invade the sky. His hands shook; something was definitely not right.

An hour or so passed, Elrond stood in the same place, his hands resting on the cool stone sill, watching the drizzle fall through the trees. The fire glowed gently; only Gandalf remained, dozing over an old book beside the fireplace, with his long grey beard brushing against his fingers. The door opened, creaking ever so slightly.

"Lord Elrond?" He heard a solemn voice call out gently before closing his eyes with sorrow.

Opening the old wooden door, he paused, afraid of what he would find. If he was dead… Taking a deep breath, he entered. A gasp escaped his lips. The sight chilled him to the bone; Estel lay on the bed, face gaunt, motionless and covered in blood. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to fall uncontrollably. He bit them back desperately and edged toward his limp body. Elrond's gaze fell to the form of Legolas, who sat beside Estel with his head in his hands; his blonde hair wet and matted, shoulders slumped in defeat, his clothes soaked with blood and dirty streaks of mud.

The fair elf looked up slowly, his eyes red and pained. "Sorry."

TBC…

Regarding Gandalf's miraculous change of hair colour… it's deliberate, I'll explain later.