You all review so nicely. (g)

All right, here's the next chapter. Having just read through it for spelling or grammatical errors, I'm not sure I'm satisfied with it. Re-writing it now, though, would be pointless so it'll have to stand until I feel like doing revisions.

Also, we're almost to the end. (Yay!) Next chapter is the last one, this little bit of fiction weighing in at only 6 chapters. And yes, Bubble-Sheep, if you really want to after this chapter, you may punch Legolas. Lol. Lacking questions other than the ones I can't answer, I'll see you on the other side. BTW, I think I'm gonna start posting comments on livejournal. When I do, I'll include the link either here, like in a chapter, or on my profile page.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Leralonde, HarryEstel (sorry; you'll understand why in a minute, I think), Grumpy, Angel (poetic; is that good or bad?), Bubble-Sheep, and Elf771! I'd respond properly but I'm leaving Tally in less than an hour and I still have to pack. Eep!

Cheers!

Chapter 5 – Tears

"Thank you, Lord Elrond," Legolas said with a bow. He glanced at Elrohir, then said, "If you'll excuse me, I'd like to take a walk in your woods. I find them relaxing."

Elrond nodded. "You're welcome to go anywhere you wish, young prince. Make yourself at home."

The other smiled and bowed slightly, and then made his way quietly from the room. Elrohir caught another sidelong glance, guessed its meaning, and looked back to his father.

The elf lord studied him without moving for a long moment. His son knew him well enough to know he was searching for injuries. He took a deep breath, released it, and smiled. "It's good to see you, my son," he greeted and started around his desk.

Elrohir met him halfway. "It's good to see you, too, father."

"Where's Elladan?"

"I don't know." The younger elf saw concern darken his father's gaze and hastened to add, "He's here—home. And well. I just don't know where here."

Elrond did not look entirely reassured, but he nodded. "How did it go?"

"Good," he answered quietly, studying the floor as he spoke. He wondered idly towards his father's desk and played with a patch of wood. "We found a couple of Orcs bands east of Bree. The winter was hard, but nowhere near as bad as the Fell Winter. Halbarad sends his thanks for the grain. There were few injuries, and what injuries we suffered were minor."

"I'm glad the Dúnadain encountered no serious problems," the other replied. "I worried some ill had befallen you when you hadn't returned for Estel's birthday."

"Estel's birthday?" Elrohir echoed, looking up quickly.

His father's gaze was stern when their eyes met. "Yes, Estel's birthday. The first of March. You might recall promising to be home for this one."

He did now. But by all the Valar, he had forgotten. He clenched his eyes shut against the memories and dropped his head in shame, but he still saw the excitement on his little brother's face when they promised before they left that they would be back in time for his birthday. That smile had chased away the sorrow of their departure, and he could easily imagine the boy's disappointment when they failed to show.

"Did he take it badly?" he asked, fearing the answer.

"He was disappointed," Elrond answered. "Greatly so, I believe, but he would never admit it. He looks up to you, Elrohir, you and Elladan. You're his heroes! Valar know you don't deserve it."

"I'm sorry, Ada," he whispered. "We forgot."

"Forgot. I ask you to be here for one day out of the year to make a little boy who loves you happy and you would rather be out slaying Orcs."

"Have you forgotten what they did to mother!" he burst out, stung by his father's words, angered by his own actions.

His father rounded on him. "She waits beyond the sea, Elrohir! You brought her back! She lives! It may be a long time before we see her again, but she is there! She loved Imladris, yet you flee from here every chance you get!"

"She didn't love Imladris! She loved you—"

"And you can't wait to flee me, either," Elrond finished with frigid calm, silencing him. "Your hate consumes you. You find no joy in the company of others, in riding, or in nature lest it furthers your pursuit of Orcs. You do not play as you used to, never lift your voice in song. I miss your laughter in this house, my son."

Elrohir forced himself to look at his father, but the elf lord was not looking at him. He stared out the window, his sorrow clear in his grey eyes. It was reflected in his voice when she spoke. "Arwen stays in Lorien far from the reach of my arms. She needs to be where there is joy, and I understand. I would not hold her here just to ease my heart. You and your brother ride out with the Dúnadain, and I understand your need also. Years ago, I might even have ridden with you. Her pain, her torment, at the hands of those beasts is difficult to bear, and her loss tears my heart asunder everyday.

"I feel her absence keenly, my son. When I get up in the morning; after a difficult day; when I look to see her smile or feel her hand against my cheek; I miss her laugh, and the only thing that lets me continue in this world is the knowledge that one day I will follow her and be made whole."

Elrohir looked down at his hands. He, too, missed his mother. He saw her smile and heard her laughter, and knew her screams and sobs, the shadows that haunted her eyes no matter what she did after she returned. That his father felt the same was easy to forget though he knew the elder elf had loved Celebrian fiercely. He did not know what to say.

Elrond looked at his son, then walked over and pulled him into another hug. "It has been centuries, my son. Can you not let go the hate and live again? Can you not find joy in what you have?"

"I can try, Ada." He heard the tears that had yet to fall in his voice. He cleared his throat and pulled away. "I should go find Elladan."

The elder looked at him a moment, looked as if he might say something, but simply nodded and went back to his desk, obviously reaching for his own composure as he went. "Yes, lunch will be served soon." He looked up with a wan smile. "In fact, you should find Estel while you're at it. I'm surprised he didn't jump you when you got in."

Elrohir forced a smile. "I imagine he was too busy playing, but I'll find him." Then he left before Elrond could question him further. He did not think he could bring himself to admit how poorly they had treated the boy after what he had just heard. The pain of his mother's departure, the guilt, and loss and shame, were all too strong and jumbled for him to recall that particular incident and give it voice.

He hurried down the hall to put as much distance between himself and his father as possible. He needed to find Elladan. He needed to find his brother.

o/o/o/o/o

Spring in Imladris, to Legolas, was like paradise. The sun was clear, the trees beautiful, the land full of a peace he had never found anywhere else. It was so very different from his home, and its light stood in stark contrast to the shadow that had fallen over Greenwood. He held vague memories of a time long ago when it had been different, but they had given over to the darker reality. More than anything, he wanted to see his home restored to the beauty of old.

He walked around the house, delaying his trip into the forests in case Elrohir needed his help after his conversation with his father. He glanced at the various elves that came across his path, watching them, hearing their quiet greetings and songs, looked back at the doors every so often, touched what trees came near him in his circuit, but never ventured far from the walls of the dwelling.

Even from there, he could feel the sun, could hear the birds sing and see skittering squirrels, fluttering butterflies, and glimpse the first blossoms of spring. Sweet elven songs added to the birds' chorus and light laughter complemented it, so he was surprised when he heard a sound that took no joy in the day.

A frown touched his face as he strained to identify the sound and stopped to better catch it. Crying.

The Mirkwood prince looked around to see if there was someone who might help, but now, as he had not been earlier, he was quite alone. Hesitantly, slowly, he moved towards where he thought the sobs were coming from. When he caught sight of the boy Estel, crouched behind some bushes with his legs clutched to his chest, he froze.

He had no experience with children, crying or otherwise, and the task of comforting a youngster was daunting, uncomfortable. Add to that the fact that the child had seemed to dislike him and his own dislike of men, and he was obviously the last person who should try to ease the little one's distress. He almost turned straight around and strode away for that reason alone.

Yet now that he had seen him, he could not in good conscious simply walk away from the child, nor could he simply stand here and listen to the heartbroken sobs. He looked around one last time for someone to save him—if there was someone else who could help the child, he could leave and let them take over—but he was still the only other being in this part of Imladris.

Biting his lip, remembering Elrohir's words, he walked tentatively forward. The human did not move or look up. Feet from the child, he stopped. "Hello, little one," he said.

Estel looked up quickly, startled. For a moment he stopped crying as his eyes met the one who stood before him and sought the other's identity. In that moment Legolas thought he might yet get out of this. Then the boy dropped his head back to his knees and sobbed even harder.

An odd panic seized him and he dropped quickly to the ground beside the young one. "Don't cry," he bid, hesitantly reaching out a hand to touch the other's back. He was surprised when the other did not pull away and let his hand settle more firmly. The sobs seemed even to increase. "What's wrong?" he tried instead.

The boy sniffled. He doubted the little one would answer, then he heard: "'Dan and 'Ro don't like me any more."

"What are you talking about?"

"Dey like you better," he forced out around heaving breaths that sobbed out of him, his words quivering.

"No they don't," Legolas denied, watching the child with wide eyes.

"Yeh-yes, they do," Estel replied. "They for-forgot my b-b-birthda-ay. They-they weren't here-ere, and they didn't-didn't say 'happ-pp-y b-b-birth-thday' when they came-came home." He sniffed harder and scrubbed the back of his hand across his eyes before clasping his legs again. "And th-they played w-with yo-ou instead of m-m-me. They said they would p-play hi-hide-m-me-seek-me with m-me. But they di-didn't." Hearing that, saying that, the sobs came as hard as ever.

Hearing words he had spoken to the night when he was little, Legolas felt his own heart contract in sympathetic pain. He tried to smile encouragingly, despite the fact that the boy was not looking at him. "Estel, Elladan and Elrohir love you."

"No they don't!" he denied heatedly, his eyes fixed on the ground between his feet.

"They do!" Legolas insisted. "They told me so. You're their brother."

The little dark-haired head shook stubbornly. "If they l-loved me, they wouldn't 'ave chosen you over m-me."

"They didn't."

"They wa-wanted to play archery with you m-more than they wanted to pl-ay hide-me-seek-me with m-me." His breathing came in painful-looking spasms that jerked his whole body.

Legolas looked off towards the front courtyard invisible past the edge of the house. Had that been why the twins were going outside? To play with their little brother? He had thought they heard of his approach. But then why had they not seen him, not looked for him?

He had last seen the twins centuries ago. They used to see each other often, every couple of years, at least, whether it was at his home or theirs. They would spend months driving each other and everyone else crazy, and then say good-bye and plan until their next visit. Their fathers had sighed and rolled their eyes, complained good naturedly about the trouble they caused or got into, but never tried to interfere.

Then Celebrian was captured by orcs. Darkness encroached further upon the borders of his father's realm, and his people needed their prince. He could no longer leave to visit Imladris, and the twins—caught up in their hatred and anger for the ones who hurt their mother—no longer came to him. Busy, it had taken him more than a couple of years to realize what had happened, and by then, there had been nothing he could do.

They had changed, he acknowledged. They joked like he remembered; teased and played rough, laughed, but it never quite banished the shadows from their eyes. Never, he thought, except when they introduced their little brother, but they had not really been happy either.

"They didn't choose me over you, Estel," he told the little boy. "They chose their responsibilities as hosts over having fun. Years ago I might have been close enough to them to be considered family instead, but too much has happened in that time and those bonds have stretched. They just like to pretend nothing has changed."

Watery grey eyes peeked at him, and Estel slowly raised his head. Around his eyes was red and puffy, and the elf felt an insane urge to hug the boy. Innocent eyes searched his face, and he found his smile widening. "Do you mean it?" the child asked in small voice.

"I do," he answered, not entirely sure what it was he was saying he meant.

The boy sniffed and wiped his nose across the back of his hand. Legolas scrunched his nose I disgust. "I'm sorry I was rude to you," Estel said after a moment.

"Why were you?"

He shrugged and played with a blade of grass near his feet. His voice, when he spoke, was difficult to hear. "I thought if you went away, 'Dan and 'Ro would like me best again."

Legolas could not help himself, he laughed.

"What?" Estel asked, a frown on his small face.

"Oh, nothing, little one. But how did you think ignoring me would make me go away?"

A small smile pulled at the other's lips. "I don't know." He shrugged.

"Shall we go find your brothers?"

Estel shook his head. "They'll be mad at me."

"Maybe," Legolas conceded. "But only for a little while."

The child thought about that a moment then wiped his eyes and looked at the blond archer. "Would you like to play with me?"

"I'm worthy now?" he teased, not quite able to keep a touch of sarcasm from his voice.

"My brothers like you," Estel answered matter-of-factly, but Legolas caught a touch of longing in his eyes. It brought him up short.

The elf shifted and looked at him seriously. "What would you like to play?"

The boy shrugged.

"Can we decide after lunch?"

This time, a nod and a smile.

"Okay. Let's go find your brothers." Legolas stood and Estel followed suit. When the child reached for his hand, he took it, quietly thankful it was his right and not his left. He could at least delude himself into thinking it was clean because he had not seen the other use it to wipe his nose. "Do you want to find your brothers first or wash up first?"

Their pace was slow as they walked towards the front door. Legolas stared out at the green trees as he waited for the youth to make up his mind. There was no particular hurry, so he did not press.

He used the silence to ponder his situation and wonder at the child by his side. The conversation, short as it was, ran over and over inside his head, and yet he could find no reason for the strange camaraderie—the ease he felt in the boy's company. The child seemed so different from all the men he had met, and he wondered if all children were like this one. He had a hard time remembering that the little one still sniffling beside him was a man. Would he grow up to be just like the ones he scorned?

It was a strangely disturbing thought to someone who had never cared one way or the other about a human. He took for granted that they were all greedy, malicious creatures, and the possibility that Estel could grow up to be just like them saddened him—never mind that he had dismissed the boy just like that when first they met.

But surely Elladan and Elrohir, not to mention Lord Elrond, would not allow that? A human raised among elves would be different, would he not? A slight frown creased his brow as he tried to come to terms with this admittedly odd consideration. And why it bothered him.

"Legolas?" The elf looked down at the young voice and found the child biting his lip uncertainly.

"What is it, Estel?"

Silver eyes peered up at him uncertainly. "Would you be my friend?"

"Why do you want to be friends, little one?"

"You're nice," the child answered, quickly ducking his head. "Not everyone's nice to me."

It hurt to hear the quiet pain in so young a voice. And suddenly, he realized what the longing he had seen was: Estel wanted to be liked, wanted to be treated as a friend. That longing touched a chord in his own heart. He smiled. "I would like that."

Estel smiled back. Legolas thought he understood why the twins were so protective of the young human. There was just something about him, something . . . likeable.