Eh-hm. See? I am capable of posting in a timely manner. Lol. By the way, if anyone would like to suggest a better summary, I'm all ears.

I'd like to thank HarryEstel and Grumpy for reviewing. I have to figure out what I heard about and responding to reviewers that has the MCers upset. I missed the original complaint—announcement—whatever and am suspending individual responses for the time being. Sorry. I will, however, answer any questions you may have.

Now, let's find out what happens to Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel, shall we?

Chapter 2 – Not Sought but Found

"Twenty."

Estel stopped counting and stepped back from the tree. A quick glance showed he was all alone, his older brothers having done as they were supposed to and hidden. He grinned as he imagined how surprised they would be when he would them. They did not know how good he had gotten.

He remembered then that, in his excitement, he had not told the twins about his adventure with the orcs this morning, nor had he told them about his birthday just three weeks earlier. Ada had spent the entire day with him. He still needed to tell them about the deer he had tracked, and how good he had gotten with his bow. He had even hit the very center of the target! They would be so proud of him.

But first I have to find them, he reminded himself, scrunching up his brow as he had seen Ada do when he focused on very important papers.

Concentrating, Estel moved further back and began scanning the ground systematically as he had been taught, sweeping his eyes back and forth across a wide area to keep from missing anything. Elven steps were very difficult to track, and Elladan and Elrohir were very good elves. Yet it was not hard to discover the bent blades of grass that marked where the twins had passed and he followed them into the trees.

Bent close to the ground, he made sure he did not step on the tracks he followed, as Glorfindel had warned against, and even scanned the area around the tracks, just in case they had tried some trickery and diverted from their original path.

His frown deepened when the footsteps separated and went in two separate directions. He bit his lip as he looked up and attempted to trace each trail from where he stood. He could not follow either very far. For long minutes, he stood where he was, silently debating which path to follow.

When he was older, he would learn to scout a little further along each path before deciding his course and would also know more of the terrain, but for now, the right-hand path seemed more interesting to him and he followed it further east around a large tree and partially lost it amid the fat and branching roots a bare two steps later.

Determined to prove to his brothers he was a good tracker, it did not occur to him to go back and follow the other path which was clearer. Instead, he chose a spot which was clear and squatted, his hands folded out of the way in his lap.

Intent silver eyes darted back and forth over the uneven ground looking for the signs he had been taught. But here, they were not so clear, if they existed at all. He could not find the indentions of his brother's step in the dirt around the trunk and wondered if Elladan (or Elrohir) had, with their greater balance, stepped upon the roots instead, to make it more challenging.

With that thought in mind, the dark-haired child eased forward and leaned closer to the roots to get a better look. When he did, his bow half fell out of his quiver, forcing him to sit back up and fix it. Yet now it had come loose, and he could not get it to stay put.

Frustrated, Estel yanked it out and held it as he conducted his search, and after several minutes, he determined he had found them and spider-walked over the roots to the relatively clear earth on the other side, where he perched on one of the roots with a hand against the trunk to survey what lay before him.

He did not realize it, but the ground was harder here, yielding only grudgingly to the pressure of another's passage; he noticed only that the signs of footsteps were faint, fainter than any made by a creature his father and Glorfindel had shown him, and he followed them as they led him southeast through the forests in the river vale.

The farther he traveled the more fun he had following the tracks. He allowed himself to imagine he was following orcs instead of his brothers, a whole hoard of them. Their trail was all but impossible to follow, and he—with his keen eyes and uncanny ability to read the slightest smudge—was the only one who could retrace their path. His eyes darted from one track to the next, and he moved as quietly as he could, determined to sneak up on his brothers unnoticed. They would be so surprised!

How much time had passed, he did not know, but after many minutes, the boy caught the trickle of running water. To him, it sounded rather like when he left the water running and the tub overflowed. Ada had been so mad when he came in to find the bathing chamber flood with water! But he had not meant to do it, and there were no bathtubs in the Wild to overflow and anger anyone's ada. Immediately, his mind skittered to the only bodies of water he had ever seen: lakes.

And ponds, he amended, thinking of the little pool Elrohir had shown him last summer where there were frogs and lily pads, and the water was only a foot deep so one could fish for tadpoles that tickled one's legs when they swam past. He smiled as he moved more carefully, imaging himself to be near the end of his search.

He climbed a small embankment on his hands and feet, still following the tracks he had found, and upon reaching the top looked up to find he had, indeed, discovered a lake.

At least twenty feet wide and thirty across, it was fed by a small stream that trickled from the west, more than likely an offshoot of the Bruinen. It was surrounded by many lush green plants, and several of those had little white flowers. The water itself was crystal clear. More important to Estel, however, was that right in front of him, no more than ten feet away, stood a deer.

The dark-haired boy stared at it in wonder as the graceful creature dipped its head to drink from the lake. Short antlers, perhaps twice the length of his hand, branched away from his head. "Wow," he breathed. He had not gotten to see many of the peaceful creatures in his short life, and his few associations with them had to fully put in his mind the grace and beauty of elves to tire of them after perhaps three viewings.

And the one from two years ago doesn't even count, he decided. I didn't get even get to see it properly before it ran away.

Not wanting to risk scaring the buck away, he pushed himself up carefully in an effort to see the tracks without moving from his spot. As the ground was soft here, the tracks showed up quite well, and he was able to watch their progression without having to stand fully up as they proceeded towards the water's edge, seeming to lead directly for the deer.

It took him a moment for the meaning of that to sink in, a slight frown pinching his brow, but when it did, he sighed. I followed the wrong tracks, he thought unhappily. But his eyes settled back on the buck, which had finished drinking and now raised its head to glance to the left, and he decided he did not mind. At least I can track deer, he consoled himself, knowing it was an accomplishment, even if it was not the one he wished.

After several minutes of silent observation, the six-year-old recalled himself to his game, and turned away to retrace his steps. It was decidedly easier to follow his own footprints than it had been the deer's, and he moved quickly.

In the back of his mind was the idea that if he took too long, Elladan and Elrohir would get tired of waiting for him and come looking for him, or—and this was the one that truly made him hurry to return to the true trail—they would forget about him and go do something else. So before long he was running, and it was more by luck than skill that he found the tree where he had first lost the tracks and set out upon what he believed to be the right path.

His confidence in his ability to find his brother's was greatly shaken by his little detour, and he studied all subsequent tracks doubly hard before trusting to the direction they led him. And now, when he looked, there seemed to be dozens of little marks that could be his brothers.

An eternity seemed to have passed since he counted, and Estel was feeling tired and thirsty. The tracks seemed impossibly hard to read and he was frustrated. Looking back towards home, he imagined the cool juice that the cooks would have prepared for lunch, and imagined the tracks would be much clearer and easier to follow if he could drink it.

Held by indecision, he looked back down at the ground, then out at the trees. Would Elladan and Elrohir be mad at him if he took a break to get something to drink? The sun was nearly fully up in the sky, and he usually had a small snack about mid-morning. He had forgotten about it in his excitement, but now his stomach rumbled disapprovingly. Maybe he could go quickly and be back before they realized he was gone?

Again turning his eyes towards home, he decided. He would be back quickly. And he ran.

Elrohir walked into Elladan's room to find his twin dressed in a mahogany and black riding outfit, slightly bent, and towel drying his hair. He, himself, had just finished buttoning the tunic of his navy blue tunic as the other looked up.

A faint smile tugged at the elder's lips. "You know, the dirt is never something you think about when you're a child, eagerly awaiting your opportunity to go on a hunt."

"And the lack of bathing chambers your last concern," Elrohir agreed, taking a seat on his brother's bed.

"And the lack of clean clothes never bothers you until you don't have any."

"The Enemy's greatest weapon."

Elladan paused in his motions and gave his twin a dark look. "You suffered the same as I. You could be a little more understanding."

"I could," the younger agreed lightly, not the least bit repentant.

"It was you, after all, and not I, who snapped at Halbarad for leading us through the marshes."

"You were asleep!" Elrohir protested, outraged. Elladan just laughed. "Well, at least I wasn't the one who almost behead Ethnil for splattering me with mud."

"It was cold," the other defended.

"He got it in your hair," Elrohir reminded him with a laugh.

Elladan scowled. "I swear he did it on purpose."

He laughed even harder. "Well you may be sure he will never do it again!"

The elder twin dropped his towel in a nearby chair and frowned at his still laughing brother. "It is not that funny, El," he told him crossly. He twisted his hair back from his face without brushing it and tied it with quickly with a leather thong. "Besides, someone needed to teach him to respect his elders."

Elrohir choked. "You mean fear his elders?"

"Same thing," the other murmured. "Now get your lazy butt up and let's go."

"Legolas will be so pleased," he teased as they left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Elladan glared at him as they passed down the hallway towards the courtyard. "I do not yet now how, but you will pay for this, my brother. And then we'll see who's laughing."

Elrohir smiled indulgently, but offered neither comment nor rebuttal. It would serve little purpose but to antagonize his twin further, and that would be more fun later, during dinner—when he could do so safely under their father's watchful eyes with his target unable to escape. His smile widened.

He looked at the paintings and sculptures as they walked, the finely wrought architecture, and could not quite pin down his feelings. Rivendell, for all that he loved it, had never felt the same since their mother left. Full of beauty and peace, it reminded him cruelly of their failure to protect their mother from orcs. Some part of him rebelled at living in comfort while even one of those foul beasts yet roamed Arda, and it was that agitation that drove them from their father's halls even as it was their displacement that prompted them to return.

It was a cycle, a vicious cycle, that Celebrian's departure had set in motion, and which Aragorn—Estel—had disrupted. Three months was actually their longest absence since the child had arrived at Rivendell. Before that, it had been their absolute shortest sojourn.

More often that not, it was duty that now called them home instead of a need for reaffirmation. All too often it meant the killers born when their mother sailed were forced to turn away unsated. If he was brutally honest with himself, he knew that was the reason they had stayed away so long this time. The drive to exterminate the savage beasts had built up until it could no longer be pressed into two weeks worth of prowling. And would they have returned now had not they known their father expected it? For Estel, if not for himself?

He was inclined to think not. Despite their banter and their desire to be clean once more, to rest in comfort and peace, the desire to hunt orc remained, a constant hum in the background of his thoughts. It distracted, taunted, and he knew his brother felt the same. It would not be long before they departed again. Father would be disappointed.

Elrohir exchanged a glance with Elladan and knew they thought—felt—the same. Perhaps if they had remained in the Wilds another month it would not be so, but they both felt it. Their father—no matter how much he disapproved—would understand. Estel would not.

"Elladan! Elrohir!" Both looked up as they heard their names called, distracting them from their intended task, for the second time that day. "How fare you?"

Identical grins spread across their faces as they recognized the visitor. "Legolas, you waif! We had near despaired that you had forgotten all about us," Elrohir exclaimed as the hurried down the stairs to meet the newly arrived elf.

Legolas dismounted with a wry grin. "It slipped your mind, then, that you could just as easily have come to visit me?" He raised an elegant eyebrow as he clasped forearms first with Elladan, then with Elrohir, grasping each one's shoulder to complete the greeting.

"Of course."

"Besides, I thought your father forbid us from ever returning to your woods again," Elladan added helpfully.

"I'll have you know the Grand Audience Chamber has never been the same since," the wood-elf replied, his tone dry. "It took weeks to put the place back into some semblance of order. And only the knowledge that he could be rid of you saved you from a couple of centuries in the dungeons, my friends."

They laughed. "Can you imagine Father's reaction?" Elrohir asked. It was aimed at his twin, but the Prince of Mirkwood answered.

"Indeed, I can," he answered. "He would write quickly and say, 'Lord Thranduil, King of Mirkwood: I am most grateful for your words, and I must thank you'—"

Elladan shoved him before he could continue. "You nift!"

"—'for your timely intervention'," the other continued, laughing. "'For without your aid, I fear they may never have learned the art of remaining in a single place for a decent period of time.'"

"Ah!" Elrohir exclaimed. "You are not so wise as we had thought."

"No? You think he would react otherwise?"

"Of course! We are his sons!"

At this, Legolas nodded sagely. "I see. You are right. He would thank him for finally contriving a way to keep you two out of trouble." He stumbled as both shoved him and tripped up the stairs. "Peace!" he laughed. "Peace! You would not attack a weary traveler, now would you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Elladan declaimed, suddenly solicitous. "Would you like us to have your rooms readied? We had thought to finish that little tournament you chickened out of when last we met, but if you're too tired. . . ." He tried to lead the other into the house, but Legolas did not budge.

"Chickened out?" the elf prince repeated darkly. "I did not 'chicken out.'"

"Whatever you say, my prince," the elder twin responded easily, still trying to lead him inside.

Legolas stilled him with a hand on his wrist. "I did not chicken out, son of Elrond."

Slowly, Elladan smiled. "Would you care to prove it and finish what we started?"

"Get your bows."

Estel was glad to leave the trees. He liked playing in them and around them, but at the moment he was more than eager to be home and get something to drink. It had taken longer than he thought it would to return to the Last Homely House, and his throat was dry.

The boy crossed the courtyard from the northeast as fast as he could, eager to have some of the apple cider the cooks had mentioned this morning at breakfast. He was so focused, in fact, that when he saw his brothers leaving the house, he forgot for a moment that they were supposed to be hiding in the woods for him to track them.

His eyes lit up as he saw them, but they never looked his way, turning instead to talk to another elf that came out behind them. His first thought was that Glorfindel had returned and he opened his mouth to call out to them. But in the next, he knew it could not be, and he held silent. When they headed in the opposite direction with bows slung over their shoulders, he stopped running, confused.

Who was the strange elf? He was close enough to know he had never seen the being before. And how did his brothers know him? Estel thought he knew all of the twins' friends.

Frowning, he saw someone else descending the stairs and darted forward. He grabbed the elf's sleeve and pointed towards the retreating figures before the other had even looked at him. "Who's that?" he asked.

The elf looked down at the human child in surprise, recognized the boy immediately, and glanced obediently in the indicated direction. A slight smile touched the older being's lips. "That's young Legolas," he answered kindly. "Prince of Mirkwood."