Author's note: Just for the record: this is NOT a Legomance. Nor is it a Mary Sue. I had Bonds of Honour accused of being a Mary Sue by someone I don't think had even bothered reading the first chapter and I'd like to make everyone aware that this won't be. I don't write Mary Sues.
***
"It seems elves have good hearing," said the girl, "but not good memories." She was smiling, completely unconcerned that a Mirkwood archer was aiming for her heart. Either she was extremely stupid, she was planning something or she had reason to believe that Legolas wouldn't fire. The girl was perhaps fifteen, dark hair pulled back from her face and her clothing practical shades of brown that would aid concealment in the wilds. There was something familiar about her.
Legolas thought of her comment, and his memory quickly sorted through the faces of the few humans he had met in recent years. There was only one person this girl could be, and the face and hair fit well enough.
"Eltha?"
"Well met, Prince Legolas," the girl acknowledged with a nod. Legolas lowered his bow, but did not return the arrow to the quiver. He would be ready to fire again in less than a second if necessary. He had met the girl only briefly, and though he had thought her an innocent at the time, there was no way for him to be sure she hadn't changed and fallen to wickedness as her kind were prone to do so. She wasn't of the Dunedain, and so didn't have their strength of spirit to resist temptation.
"Why were you following me?" Legolas asked again.
"Practise," Eltha grinned.
"Practise at what?"
"Tracking, of course. You're very difficult to track, you realise?"
"That was the intention," a smile was forming on Legolas' lips as well. The girl was infectious.
"Are you going to put that away?" Eltha asked, nodding to the bow and arrow Legolas was still holding. He decided that Eltha was no threat, and put the arrow away. He swung the quiver from his back, and set it down along with his bow. The bow was the one Aragorn had given him as an apology in Rohan, some four years earlier.
He decided that this was as good a place as any to make camp for the night. It had the necessary shelter and water, and the setting sun would make search for a better site difficult.
"So," Legolas asked, feeling that he ought to attempt conversation, "how are you?"
"I'm very well. Aragorn's been teaching me tracking and hunting and fighting, that kind of thing. He's going to make me a Ranger." There was pride in her voice, and no wonder. Legolas had seen enough of Aragorn's Rangers to know that they were as skilled as any human could ever hope to be.
Legolas also noticed that Eltha had dropped the honorific 'Lord' from Aragorn's name. She now spoke of him as one would a friend. How strange, given that, when they had first met, she had been almost as hesitant as Legolas about trusting Aragorn.
"Where is Aragorn?" Legolas asked. He was sitting down now, perched on a rock by the stream. Eltha sat too, lowering her pack to the ground.
She shrugged. "Oh, somewhere." Legolas might have found her vague answer suspicious, if he hadn't seen for himself just how unpredictable Aragorn could be in his movements.
"He said he had an appointment to keep," Eltha went on, "and just left. He told me he'd be back in a few days. So I decided to get some tracking practice in while he's. . . wherever he is."
"You're very good," Legolas, "most humans wouldn't know you where there. Some elves wouldn't have noticed you either."
"Most and some isn't enough. I need to be good enough so that even Aragorn wouldn't know I was following him."
"I've a feeling that getting past Aragorn will be a lot harder than sneaking past Damial." Eltha grinned at the memory.
"Eleven years old and I got past a Ranger. Admittedly only a partly trained Ranger, but still. . ." That had been a long time ago, a time when Eltha's freedom had just been bought for her by Aragorn, and Legolas was a prisoner in the humans' camp. The girl had changed considerably. Not that Legolas had really known her that well to begin with.
***
The twins went outside after their breakfast. Lord Elrond hadn't been present, but breakfast was the meal they kept least strictly. Their father had probably taken something in his study while he made an early start with his duties and paperwork. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the elf lord to have a lot to do and start early.
The twins walked out towards the pastures, surprised to see an unfamiliar horse. The hadn't heard about any visitors due to arrive. An equally unfamiliar figure was rubbing the horse down. The stranger was clearly a man by his clothing and stance, and a spark of something thought long gone stirred in the twins' hearts: hope.
"Hello," Elladan called out, trying to keep his excitement down, in case his hope was shattered once more as it had been so often over the past ten years. The twins vaulted the pasture's fence and made their way across the grass.
The man who turned to face them was both a complete stranger and a beloved family member. There was no mistaking the face, but his expression was so different from that belonging to the little brother they loved.
"Estel," both the twins whispered together.
"I am not Estel," the man said, turning back to his horse, but his voice confirmed it. The accents were those of Estel Elrondion.
"You can't hide from us, brother," Elrohir said. He moved to stand by Estel, laying a hand on his arm. Estel tensed beneath the gentle grip, as though the touch hurt him somehow.
"Let go," Estel said, refusing to meet Elrohir's eyes, now filled with puzzlement and confusion. When Elrohir failed to comply, Estel shook off the hand.
"It's us, Estel," Elrohir went on, "it's your brothers."
"Don't call me that." Each word was separate and crisp, something between a request and an order. The twins couldn't read the emotion in the voice, which seemed hollow and empty. Estel's hand rested on his horse's neck, but his eyes were closed, as though he were trying to maintain a resolve.
"It's your name," Elladan told him. Now the twins were on either side of Estel, but he failed to look at either one of them.
"I'm not Estel any more," Estel said, "your little brother is dead." He turned suddenly and began walking to the gate. The twins followed swiftly. This time it was Elladan who reached out and grabbed hold of Estel's arm.
Estel turned on them, fierce anger burning in his eyes. "Don't touch me!" He glared at the twins, violently yanking his arm from Elladan's grasp. The twins were shocked beyond belief at the foreign emotion in Estel's face. Then the anger was gone, replaced by a cold, emotionless mask that was even more disturbing. Estel had always been quick to laugh, ready to show his affection. For some reason, he'd shut himself away, closed himself off from the world. Why? Fear of being hurt if he allowed himself to care?
"What's wrong?" Elladan asked gently.
"Nothing that concerns you!" Estel snapped.
"Of course it concerns us. We're family."
"We're not family," Estel denied, "we never were family." He walked away again. This time the twins let him go. They stood watching after him, so close that they were almost touching. Each drew some comfort from the presence of the other, some knowledge that they were not alone in this rejection. The same question burned in both their minds. Why? Why would Estel deny their relationship? Why would he deny the family that had raised him from childhood?
***
Aragorn hurried back to the main house. He didn't slow even when he realised his bro. . . the twins weren't following him. He walked as quickly as he could without actually running, and arrived soon at the guest room he had been given. If it had taken any longer he might not have been able to hold onto his self-control. Not that his hold had been very great to begin with. He shouldn't have lashed out at the twins like that. They weren't to blame for what had happened, they weren't the ones he was angry with. They were just a convenient target for his venomous words.
It wasn't until he was safely shut inside and leaning against the locked door that he allowed himself to relax. That he allowed the tears to come. He should never have come back here. It had been a mistake, a huge mistake.
This place was exactly the same as when he'd left. Nothing had changed. The people, the places, the sights, the sounds. It was all as he remembered it. As unchanging as eternity. The twins looked just the same. They never looked any older, never any different. And they looked to him, expecting him to have remained the same as they had. Expecting him to have returned their little Estel.
But he'd seen too much. Too much had happened in his life for him to have remained the same. He'd lost his innocence somewhere along the road, left his naivety behind like unwanted baggage, and abandoned his childhood when he left his home. He was not the same person he had been when he lived here. He had suffered too much, his trust shattered. Estel was dead. He had died along with that little boy's hopes for the future. Along with the part of him that knew how to trust.
He was Aragorn now, Ranger of the North and Lord of the Dunedain. He was the survivor events had forged. He had been scorched by betrayal and beaten by the wilderness into something sharp and cold and strong. Yet beneath the strength was a fragile being that still ached for love and a family that was never his.
He sank down, still leaning against the wooden door. He sat on the floor, his knees tucked up against his body and his arms wrapped around his legs. His tears flowed freely now, for all the tears he had kept locked away in the wild. He had been strong and controlled for too long. This sight of a place and a people which meant so much to him was enough to break down his barriers. He had missed Rivendell, more than he had believed possible, but somehow it hurt more to be back than it had done to be away.
The twins didn't understand yet, but they would come to understand as Aragorn had done. This place was not his home. These people were not his family. They never had been, no matter how they had deceived themselves and others. Aragorn saw that now. The treachery of ten years ago had opened his eyes to the truth.
But still he had returned. Despite what his mind understood, some part of him, buried deep within his spirit, had yearned for the childhood he remembered, had dreamed of the loved ones left behind. That part of him had imagined coming home and being accepted, had imagined being Estel again, the child defended by the elves of Rivendell. But there were some things they could not defend him from, though they might try. They could not defend him from the knowledge that now filled him, a secret that could never be shared.
His bro. . . the twins would be hurt that he would not tell them. He would never be able to explain why he had left. He had been betrayed and it had destroyed Estel. To reveal the truth would destroy everyone here as well. Aragorn still loved them too much for that. If protecting them meant staying apart, he would do so. He would shield himself from them and their love, and not let his emotions drive him to words which would bring nothing but hurt. No one could ever know the truth. They must never find out what had driven him away.
He should not have come back.
***
Author's note: Some of you guessed that it was Eltha following Legolas: well guessed. As for what's going on, that's a case of wait and see.
I'm on school holidays now, which means more time to write, but a lot of my time will be required for revision, so I won't be working any updating miracles. Stupid A-levels.
***
"It seems elves have good hearing," said the girl, "but not good memories." She was smiling, completely unconcerned that a Mirkwood archer was aiming for her heart. Either she was extremely stupid, she was planning something or she had reason to believe that Legolas wouldn't fire. The girl was perhaps fifteen, dark hair pulled back from her face and her clothing practical shades of brown that would aid concealment in the wilds. There was something familiar about her.
Legolas thought of her comment, and his memory quickly sorted through the faces of the few humans he had met in recent years. There was only one person this girl could be, and the face and hair fit well enough.
"Eltha?"
"Well met, Prince Legolas," the girl acknowledged with a nod. Legolas lowered his bow, but did not return the arrow to the quiver. He would be ready to fire again in less than a second if necessary. He had met the girl only briefly, and though he had thought her an innocent at the time, there was no way for him to be sure she hadn't changed and fallen to wickedness as her kind were prone to do so. She wasn't of the Dunedain, and so didn't have their strength of spirit to resist temptation.
"Why were you following me?" Legolas asked again.
"Practise," Eltha grinned.
"Practise at what?"
"Tracking, of course. You're very difficult to track, you realise?"
"That was the intention," a smile was forming on Legolas' lips as well. The girl was infectious.
"Are you going to put that away?" Eltha asked, nodding to the bow and arrow Legolas was still holding. He decided that Eltha was no threat, and put the arrow away. He swung the quiver from his back, and set it down along with his bow. The bow was the one Aragorn had given him as an apology in Rohan, some four years earlier.
He decided that this was as good a place as any to make camp for the night. It had the necessary shelter and water, and the setting sun would make search for a better site difficult.
"So," Legolas asked, feeling that he ought to attempt conversation, "how are you?"
"I'm very well. Aragorn's been teaching me tracking and hunting and fighting, that kind of thing. He's going to make me a Ranger." There was pride in her voice, and no wonder. Legolas had seen enough of Aragorn's Rangers to know that they were as skilled as any human could ever hope to be.
Legolas also noticed that Eltha had dropped the honorific 'Lord' from Aragorn's name. She now spoke of him as one would a friend. How strange, given that, when they had first met, she had been almost as hesitant as Legolas about trusting Aragorn.
"Where is Aragorn?" Legolas asked. He was sitting down now, perched on a rock by the stream. Eltha sat too, lowering her pack to the ground.
She shrugged. "Oh, somewhere." Legolas might have found her vague answer suspicious, if he hadn't seen for himself just how unpredictable Aragorn could be in his movements.
"He said he had an appointment to keep," Eltha went on, "and just left. He told me he'd be back in a few days. So I decided to get some tracking practice in while he's. . . wherever he is."
"You're very good," Legolas, "most humans wouldn't know you where there. Some elves wouldn't have noticed you either."
"Most and some isn't enough. I need to be good enough so that even Aragorn wouldn't know I was following him."
"I've a feeling that getting past Aragorn will be a lot harder than sneaking past Damial." Eltha grinned at the memory.
"Eleven years old and I got past a Ranger. Admittedly only a partly trained Ranger, but still. . ." That had been a long time ago, a time when Eltha's freedom had just been bought for her by Aragorn, and Legolas was a prisoner in the humans' camp. The girl had changed considerably. Not that Legolas had really known her that well to begin with.
***
The twins went outside after their breakfast. Lord Elrond hadn't been present, but breakfast was the meal they kept least strictly. Their father had probably taken something in his study while he made an early start with his duties and paperwork. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for the elf lord to have a lot to do and start early.
The twins walked out towards the pastures, surprised to see an unfamiliar horse. The hadn't heard about any visitors due to arrive. An equally unfamiliar figure was rubbing the horse down. The stranger was clearly a man by his clothing and stance, and a spark of something thought long gone stirred in the twins' hearts: hope.
"Hello," Elladan called out, trying to keep his excitement down, in case his hope was shattered once more as it had been so often over the past ten years. The twins vaulted the pasture's fence and made their way across the grass.
The man who turned to face them was both a complete stranger and a beloved family member. There was no mistaking the face, but his expression was so different from that belonging to the little brother they loved.
"Estel," both the twins whispered together.
"I am not Estel," the man said, turning back to his horse, but his voice confirmed it. The accents were those of Estel Elrondion.
"You can't hide from us, brother," Elrohir said. He moved to stand by Estel, laying a hand on his arm. Estel tensed beneath the gentle grip, as though the touch hurt him somehow.
"Let go," Estel said, refusing to meet Elrohir's eyes, now filled with puzzlement and confusion. When Elrohir failed to comply, Estel shook off the hand.
"It's us, Estel," Elrohir went on, "it's your brothers."
"Don't call me that." Each word was separate and crisp, something between a request and an order. The twins couldn't read the emotion in the voice, which seemed hollow and empty. Estel's hand rested on his horse's neck, but his eyes were closed, as though he were trying to maintain a resolve.
"It's your name," Elladan told him. Now the twins were on either side of Estel, but he failed to look at either one of them.
"I'm not Estel any more," Estel said, "your little brother is dead." He turned suddenly and began walking to the gate. The twins followed swiftly. This time it was Elladan who reached out and grabbed hold of Estel's arm.
Estel turned on them, fierce anger burning in his eyes. "Don't touch me!" He glared at the twins, violently yanking his arm from Elladan's grasp. The twins were shocked beyond belief at the foreign emotion in Estel's face. Then the anger was gone, replaced by a cold, emotionless mask that was even more disturbing. Estel had always been quick to laugh, ready to show his affection. For some reason, he'd shut himself away, closed himself off from the world. Why? Fear of being hurt if he allowed himself to care?
"What's wrong?" Elladan asked gently.
"Nothing that concerns you!" Estel snapped.
"Of course it concerns us. We're family."
"We're not family," Estel denied, "we never were family." He walked away again. This time the twins let him go. They stood watching after him, so close that they were almost touching. Each drew some comfort from the presence of the other, some knowledge that they were not alone in this rejection. The same question burned in both their minds. Why? Why would Estel deny their relationship? Why would he deny the family that had raised him from childhood?
***
Aragorn hurried back to the main house. He didn't slow even when he realised his bro. . . the twins weren't following him. He walked as quickly as he could without actually running, and arrived soon at the guest room he had been given. If it had taken any longer he might not have been able to hold onto his self-control. Not that his hold had been very great to begin with. He shouldn't have lashed out at the twins like that. They weren't to blame for what had happened, they weren't the ones he was angry with. They were just a convenient target for his venomous words.
It wasn't until he was safely shut inside and leaning against the locked door that he allowed himself to relax. That he allowed the tears to come. He should never have come back here. It had been a mistake, a huge mistake.
This place was exactly the same as when he'd left. Nothing had changed. The people, the places, the sights, the sounds. It was all as he remembered it. As unchanging as eternity. The twins looked just the same. They never looked any older, never any different. And they looked to him, expecting him to have remained the same as they had. Expecting him to have returned their little Estel.
But he'd seen too much. Too much had happened in his life for him to have remained the same. He'd lost his innocence somewhere along the road, left his naivety behind like unwanted baggage, and abandoned his childhood when he left his home. He was not the same person he had been when he lived here. He had suffered too much, his trust shattered. Estel was dead. He had died along with that little boy's hopes for the future. Along with the part of him that knew how to trust.
He was Aragorn now, Ranger of the North and Lord of the Dunedain. He was the survivor events had forged. He had been scorched by betrayal and beaten by the wilderness into something sharp and cold and strong. Yet beneath the strength was a fragile being that still ached for love and a family that was never his.
He sank down, still leaning against the wooden door. He sat on the floor, his knees tucked up against his body and his arms wrapped around his legs. His tears flowed freely now, for all the tears he had kept locked away in the wild. He had been strong and controlled for too long. This sight of a place and a people which meant so much to him was enough to break down his barriers. He had missed Rivendell, more than he had believed possible, but somehow it hurt more to be back than it had done to be away.
The twins didn't understand yet, but they would come to understand as Aragorn had done. This place was not his home. These people were not his family. They never had been, no matter how they had deceived themselves and others. Aragorn saw that now. The treachery of ten years ago had opened his eyes to the truth.
But still he had returned. Despite what his mind understood, some part of him, buried deep within his spirit, had yearned for the childhood he remembered, had dreamed of the loved ones left behind. That part of him had imagined coming home and being accepted, had imagined being Estel again, the child defended by the elves of Rivendell. But there were some things they could not defend him from, though they might try. They could not defend him from the knowledge that now filled him, a secret that could never be shared.
His bro. . . the twins would be hurt that he would not tell them. He would never be able to explain why he had left. He had been betrayed and it had destroyed Estel. To reveal the truth would destroy everyone here as well. Aragorn still loved them too much for that. If protecting them meant staying apart, he would do so. He would shield himself from them and their love, and not let his emotions drive him to words which would bring nothing but hurt. No one could ever know the truth. They must never find out what had driven him away.
He should not have come back.
***
Author's note: Some of you guessed that it was Eltha following Legolas: well guessed. As for what's going on, that's a case of wait and see.
I'm on school holidays now, which means more time to write, but a lot of my time will be required for revision, so I won't be working any updating miracles. Stupid A-levels.