Thank you to all my reviewers, you are wonderful and I appreciate all the reviews you write me. I would reply to them all, but right now I am sick and trying not to run to the ladies room every second. So I figured you'd appreciate a post as opposed to some reviewer responses! (Not that that would be allowed on here!)

Enjoy!

-Gwenneth

Chapter Eight: A Past Revealed

"You?"

Elrohir couldn't believe his eyes. Estel nodded lightly, trembling a little under his brother's intense gaze. Then, he swallowed and said quietly, "I did it right, didn't I 'Ro? I didn't hurt him more?"

He was on the verge of tears again. Elrohir reached forward and drew the boy into a tight embrace, stroking his hair lightly. "You did a wonderful job, Estel. You saved Legolas' life, you know? He would have bled to death if you had not done the stitches."

Estel pulled away. "I saved him?"

Legolas piped up. "Yes you did. And there is no reason to feel bad about hurting me. Elrohir agrees that the job was done well. I think you ought to get right back to bed and get some more sleep. You have had many trials recently."

Estel nodded obediently and moved back toward his bedroll. Elladan, who was no longer locked in his reveries of his actions earlier, approached Elrohir and Legolas.

"So Estel really did that himself," the elder twin asked. Upon Legolas' nod, he stooped down to get a closer look. "I do believe our little brother has talent, 'Ro. Wait until Ada finds out."

Elrohir smiled and nodded. "He will be thrilled that Estel shows talent, but not so thrilled that Legolas was wounded thus."

Legolas frowned. "Nor am I thrilled about the injury. But as we have discovered, Estel did well. So let us no longer worry about it and get some rest. I would offer to take watch, but you both would refuse anyway."

"Perhaps I could be of assistance with the watch."

Marken was standing behind Elladan. That the three elves hadn't heard his approach surprised them, but it had been a harrowing time of late and they were all quite tired. Marken seemed to be the most rested of the three.

After a moment's contemplation, Elladan nodded. "All right then. Wake me in four hours, if you please."

He hurried over to Estel's side and curled up on the bedroll behind the boy. Subconsciously seeking out the warmth nearest him Estel rolled over and scoothed himself up against Elladan's chest.

The elf smiled lightly before falling into a light sleep. Legolas was right behind him, his wound and subsequent weakness had drained what little strength he had left.

Elrohir settled down beside the Mirkwood prince in case there was need of his healing abilities during the night, leaving Marken alone with his thoughts.

He gazed at the Rivendell elves, their identical appearance and dark hair glistening in the moonlight. He knew those two, and he realized it would only take a small jogging of the memory for them to remember his family.

Marken sighed, settling himself down beside the fire, but not too close: heat would put him to sleep. His mind immediately drew itself back to the last time he had been in Rivendell, many years past.

FLASHBACK

"Marken, mind your manners, son. We are guests in the home of Lord Elrond and it is best not to touch."

Narlor was gently chiding his son, pulling the knobby little hands away from the spear that lay in state on a carved platform. Nearby lay the Shards of Narsil, the blade that was broken. Narlor knew little of this spear, but he would ask of it at dinner.

Marken took one last, longing look at the spear before he was dragged off to change by his father. He would be back: it was just too interesting not to explore the room a bit more. And he was fascinated by that spear.

A short time later found the boy, Nardor and his wife Elena in the Great Hall, surrounded by the family of Elrond. The lord's twin sons were seated to Elrond's right and an empty chair was to his left.

It was the chair of the lord's wife, Celebrian, who had long ago sailed over the sea. But they left her chair open nonetheless. Perhaps it was fitting. Perhaps they just could not let go.

"My Lord. Forgive me for prying, but the spear in your collection is exquisite. What can you tell me of it?" Nardor asked, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. He had eaten his fill and was anxious to learn of the fascinating weapon he had glimpsed.

Marken's ears perked up as well. The spear was much more interesting then a broken old sword to the child.

"Well," Elrond began. "That was the spear of my ancestor, Gil-Galad. It is named Aiglos and means a great deal to the elves of Rivendell, and especially to myself. The story goes..."

And he was off, telling of the exploits of Gil-Galad and weaving an intricate rendition of a few highlights of the elf's life. Marken eventually tuned him out, picturing a grand battle and an elf resplendent in shining armor.

Before he knew it, dinner was over, and he was being led from the room by his mother. Nardor continued to pry and poke until he had squeezed just about every bit of information he could from Elrond about the spear.

He neglected to mention to the elf lord that he was fascinated by all things historical. And it was a bit of information that would have been good to know of.

A Few Day's Later

"It is gone, my Lord! It is gone! I can not locate it anywhere!"

A servant, whose morning job consisted of dusting the relics around the house, came bounding into the Great Hall at breakfast.

"Calm yourself," Elrond said, rising to his feet. "What is gone?"

"Aiglos, my Lord! It has been removed from its pedestal."

There were gasps and out loud cries from the elves assembled. Elrond was momentarily speechless. Gone? Aiglos? It cannot be! He turned to his sons. "Do you know of any plans to remove it? For cleaning perhaps?"

The twins shook their heads, their eyes full of worry. "No, Adar. We have heard of no such plans. There must be some sort of logical explanation."

Nodding, the elf lord organized a widespread search of the home and the nearby grounds. After hours of elves scouring the area, there was still no sign of the spear.

Marken had become quiet. He stared between his parents and Lord Elrond as they stood in the courtyard, the elf lord barely able to keep his voice in check.

"Why were you so interested in Aiglos, Nardor?"

Marken's father started in surprise. "My Lord? Are you insinuating something?"

Elrond, who was fairly fuming in his worry and angst, answered guardedly. "Not yet. Tell me why you sought so much information?"

Nardor began to shake his head. "Only if you tell me if you suspect me of taking it, as it seems you do by this line of questioning."

Marken hid now, behind his mother's skirts. Elrond had never looked so intimidating before. But his anger was evident and about to boil over. "Did you wish to appraise its value? To sell perhaps?"

Turning to Elladan without another word, he said quickly, "Search their guest quarters thoroughly, leave nothing unturned."

"Excuse me!" Nardor interjected. "You have no evidence, nor reason, to accuse me or my family of such a crime. Nor do you have reason to search our belongings."

Elrond lost it momentarily. "This is my house and while you are a guest under its roof your property is subject to search. Aiglos means more to my people and my family then you will ever know, Nardor. If you have nothing to hide, why do you object to the search?"

"I didn't say I objected to the search," Nardor fumed. But Elrond cut him off.

"You just said I had no reason to search your belongings, you seem to be evading something." He looked to his son again. "Go. Report back to me."

Nardor, angry beyond words now, turned to his wife and son. "We are leaving. I will not take anymore of this blatant mistreatment, these unfair accusations."

Marken jerked at his father's anger. But...if they left?

"No, Dada, I don't want to leave! I like it here!" He blurted, eying the angry elf lord warily. Elrond's eyes softened, almost showing remorse. He didn't want to drag the child into this.

Nardor would not listen to his son. "We have to go, Marken. We are no longer welcome here."

And within minutes, they were crossing out of the valley of Rivendell, Marken glancing back every few seconds, staring forlornly at a bend in the river.

Years Later

A young man, his hair tied at the base of his neck, leaned over into the running waters of the river. He was quiet and stealthily, occasionally peering over his shoulder and around him. It was dangerous business returning here.

But he had to.

Dragging the long shaft upward, a spear glistened in the moonlight. The water had done nothing to it over the long years it had lain in the river, protected from all eyes by a lip that a child's hands had tucked it under long ago.

"The cause of so much hatred," the man whispered, running his hands along the spear's shaft. He could not return it now. He was a slaver, a disgrace to his name. He couldn't face Elrond and his family.

So he gripped the spear tightly and took one last look, then slipped it back under the lip in the river and hurried away.

END FLASHBACK

Sighing, Marken realized it was now time. The return of Aiglos was long overdue.

TBC