"There goes a forest and there goes a bluebird./There goes a partridge and there goes a Go Train./There goes an angel and there goes a steeple./There goes a cop car and there goes an eagle." --The Barenaked Ladies, The Flag

Disclaimer: I do not own 'Lord of the Rings' or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof

*****

Estel hummed softly to himself, not sure exactly what it was he was humming as he tracked the bluebird across the sky. It flapped its wings, flying over the treetops, twittering. Or at least, Estel imagined it was twittering, but could not hear the twitters from his perch, in the hayloft in the stables. The hayloft quite possibly was the best hiding-spot in all Imladris, for the son of Elrond. No one would think to look there, and if they did, he might simply disappear beneath the hay. Now, though, he had no need to bury himself. No one was looking. His back was pressed against the corner, but not in such a way that he could not see out of the window. An open book rested on his lap and a pen in his hand, a pot of ink beside him.

Through the window, Estel had a fair view. If anyone came looking for him, he would see--and most likely hear them calling his name. He would see them cross to the stables. If anyone was hurt, he would see them taken into the Hall of Healing. But mostly, Estel watched the birds over the trees and the lips of the valley, dreaming and wondering.

With a deep sigh, he rested his elbow on his thigh and his chin on his fist. His hair slipped across the page before him, leaving a greasy trail. 'Dear Ranger,' he thought to his absent pet, composing a letter in his head as he had many times in the book now fallen to the hay. 'I miss you, boy. Ada has not allowed me out of Imladris since I returned from Eregion. A part of me is glad for this, to know so certainly that I am loved and cared for, and that I need not worry for the outer world nor fear it, for I am safe. Yet another, stronger part of me despises these confines. Torture me, but allow me the free air! Oh, Ranger, do you remember? To run fast as we could, to run simply for the joy of running as fast as we could. Ada worries when I run now, or ride faster than a canter. I am unhappy bound here, how ironic. In Eregion I wanted only to go home. . .now I am over-eager to leave again. Do you understand, Ranger? You always did understand me best. If only you were here now. Alas, but tears will achieve nothing. Namaarie for now, love-from Estel.'

Estel had abruptly ended his letter because of the voices carrying to the hayloft from below. Horses' hooves plodding along to their stalls had gone unnoticed, but as Elladan and Elrohir cleaned their tack and groomed their horses, Estel paused to listen. "I am glad he will be here again," Elrohir was saying. "Hardly any time has passed since we last saw the Prince, yet I miss him."

"You really think. . .hardly any time, even with Estel?" Elladan asked. "Perspective changes with a mortal child. He changes so much in so little time." There was a note of regret to his voice, as though this was a change not wholly welcome. "But perhaps seeing Legolas again will be good for him."

"Yes," Elrohir agreed, to Elladan's speech in entirety. "Come, we ought to inform Father. I am sure he will also like to know about Legolas. . ."

Their conversation trailed off as they left the stables, at least to Estel's ears. He considered listening from the window, but somehow listening to his brothers' private talk seemed wrong; unlike listening to Ada and Glorfindel talk, or Erestor, or even one twin to his father, Elladan and Elrohir's discussions were different. Estel stoppered up this ink-pot and wiped the nib of his pen on the inside of his cuff. All of this he swept into a pouch which he hid safely within his tunic, unwilling for the others to know of his private writings.

Estel climbed down from the hayloft and made his way slowly back to his room. He should not be seen running, else his plan would fail. Indeed, Estel had a plan already, for he was unwilling to see Legolas. To see the Prince would be to acknowledge the truth of Eregion, and though Estel thought often of it, his subconscious had not accepted the facts of it yet. He was unready. But how, how to avoid the visitor? Estel knew well enough what would be asked of him: join us at supper, Estel. No, you may not be excused. You must be polite. Estel. . .

He shook his head, trying hard to forget many such talks. Mostly he avoided the house until the sun had set, and this was permitted, after many months of fruitless argument and of a dead-eyed Estel poking at the food on his plate until at last he was excused. Tonight, unless he did something terrible and was sent to his room, Estel would not be excused, under any circumstances, and his usual listless behaviour would not be permitted. For a moment he considered doing something truly awful, overturning a glass of milk in Legolas's hair or some such thing, but he knew better. Missing one supper was not worth a punishment that inevitably would last for at least two weeks. Mucking out stall in the stables or menial labour in the library, likely, would result in the milk trick. Nevertheless, should Estel's initial plan not work out, he stored away the idea, in case of emergency.

Estel made himself look ill. He took his time with it, once the journal was safely hidden beneath the floorboards. He slapped himself across the face to make the blood rush to his cheeks, giving him a flushed appearance and a heightened temperature. Pain was inconsequential and transient. Then he rubbed his eyes until they hurt. His expression he had already perfected. With only the slightest misgivings about lying, Estel stumbled out into the corridor.

"Ada?" he asked, knocking on Elrond's study door. He hoped the twins had been already, that would probably make things easier. Either way, he could manage. After all, he was a mortal, giving him certain advantages. This was one of those few.

"Come in, Estel," Elrond replied, and Estel did so.

Before Elrond managed a further word, Estel said, "Ada, I don't feel very well." As it were, Elrond did not know that Estel had overheard the twins' conversation in the stables. It would not be difficult, his awareness of their approaching guest unknown, to claim illness. Something might appear suspicious about an illness developed suddenly upon that announcement.

Estel knew he had prepared for the proper test when Elrond, a worried look on his face, felt his son's forehead. "You are warm, but it is not necessarily a fever. Where do you feel sick?"

"My head hurts," Estel replied, knowing that, for him at least, headaches were often linked to vomiting.

"Can you see clearly?" asked Elrond, scrutinizing Estel's pupils. He hadn't thought of that.

"There are dots," Estel replied.

"Well, nothing looks too bad here, Estel."

"Really?" he tried not to sound worried there. "What a relief," he added, for effect.

Elrond gave Estel a reassuring smile and went over to his desk to look for something as he spoke. "Estel, do you remember Legolas?" Elrond carefully did not mention from where Estel might remember Legolas. "He will be arriving tonight, and I had hoped you would clean up and. . ." Estel stopped listening. He knew what was being said, and awaited an opportunity. When Elrond's attention was fully focused on the papers on his desk, Estel jammed his finger into his throat.

*****

To Be Continued

Author's note: I didn't know what Estel ought to write with, so I wrote "pen". I don't mean a ballpoint pen there, but it's called a pen what you use in calligraphy. That's the type I meant. Also, as for headaches and vomiting, this may not apply to everyone, but often with me the two happen simultaneously. Sorry if that's a bit off for everyone else. Jamming your finger down your throat will most certainly cause you to vomit.

Daw the Minstrel: Hm, well, it's not the movies that formed my opinion of the matter (though not a purist, I try not to deviate from the books) I do not think Legolas would be all too familiar with death. Elves live for ever. They don't need to contemplate dying. As for the biting. . .you'll see. Oh, by the way, the other day I had to title a newspaper and had just read your review--ended up titling it "The Traveling Minstrel".