Title: Buried: Ascension

Author: Pentangle

Estel is fifteen years old.

A/N My elves are lighter than men but not light enough to walk on snow. (They can do that just 'cause they're elves. :-)

This story follows Buried: Descent and Buried: Revelation and is the last in the series.

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Decisions

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Estel followed the tracks and became even more worried when he saw the addition of wolf prints. "Come on, Sadoreth, we must hurry!" He did not know why he was so sure that Legolas would be found in this direction, so far from his normal route. He just was.

He was catching up on the predators quickly. He burst out of a copse of poplar and saw a small butte rising out of the plain. It was rugged and had what appeared to be hundreds of large and small boulders ringing it that had probably fallen from the sheer walls above. And just ahead of him a wolf paced along the bottom of the butte and then suddenly disappeared. Estel pounded toward the spot and flung himself off his horse. He drew his sword. Even knowing there was an opening it took a few minutes to find it. He finally found the defile and crept along it until he heard the yelp of a wounded wolf. He hurried on, stealth forgotten. He came out into a small opening in the butte that contained an old campfire, three dead and two live wolves. The live wolves were trying to climb a large pile of rocks close to the entrance to the bowl. The arrows in the dead wolves were of Mirkwood fletching.

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Legolas found that however much he wished he had bled to death, he was not prepared to lie still and be eaten. His bow and quiver had been left with him—no doubt the thieves were not archers and saw no reason to add to their burdens in their flight—so he was able to protect himself, at least for a time. The only positive thing the elf could see in his situation was that the wolves had chased off the carrion dogs that had scented his blood in the first place.

The elf had been able to wedge himself into the rock pile that had led to his downfall and was now in a position to shoot both down into the valley, and behind in the direction the third man must have come. He had had to crawl to the rock pile; his leg was totally useless and hopping was impossible, the pain was too great. He was a little cold—a very strange sensation that he had only felt a few times in his life. He did not worry about it; he would be colder soon.

He was looking behind him for more wolves, when he heard a familiar shout below him.

"Legolas! Legolas! Are you up there!"

The elf moaned and leaned his forehead against the rock wall. His life, which a moment ago had been a known quantity both brief and painful, now became much more complicated. He knew that Estel would violently object to what must happen. Although he would have liked to have said farewell to the boy, it would have been easier on both of them if he had not been found.

The wolves, seeing an armed man at ground level and an armed elf above them, chose discretion over appetite and slunk growling away. Estel clambered up and over the rock pile in haste and found the elf wedged into a crack. Legolas was upright, breathing, and had no terrifying blood on his torso or around his lips. Relief washed over Estel in such a draining wave that he sat down suddenly and put his head close to the ground for a minute. With his head still lowered he questioned his friend.

"Are you all right, Legolas? Is that a bandage on your leg? I cannot see well from here."

"I am wounded, Estel, but I need nothing at the moment."

"Wounded how? Let me see." Recovering Estel stood and went to help his friend from the rock crevice. Legolas allowed himself to be pulled forth but then fell heavily onto the boy.

Estel grunted as he took the weight. "That leg must be bad. Let me help you to sit down and then I will get a fire going. It is too dark to see properly."

Legolas did not object and allowed Estel to carry out his plans. Estel noted the elf was not talkative but that was fine with the boy who was not looking forward to explaining why he was alone. Estel had heard from his father and brothers that Legolas hated to be fussed over and especially hated to allow others to see that he was in pain, so the silence did not worry him. He unrolled his medical kit and boiled water in the small collapsible pan he had taken from it. Finally he was ready to tend the wound.

"Where is it exactly? Front or back?"

"Back."

"Move so I can see it."

Without a word the elf rolled onto his stomach. Estel untied the surprisingly crude bandage and unwound it carefully. When the wound was bared to his sight he stared, stunned, and then gagged. He sat back on his heels and clasped his shaking hands tightly in his lap. He started to speak, paused to clear his throat, and tried again.

"Legolas…I…it is grave…"

"Be easy. I know what was done to me."

The healer in the boy began to take over his shocked mind. "I will clean it and suture it closed, but we must get you home at once. This is not something I can deal with. You need my Adar. He will know what to do."

"I would rather stay here, Estel. There is no point in my going to Imladris and it will be a painful journey for me. It will not take long…A week perhaps, no more. I would not have called you to me, but since you have found me, will you stay with me?"

Estel did not grasp his meaning although something about the elf's words gave him a horrid, frightened feeling. "I have no idea what you are talking about. Of course you must go home. And it will not take a week, even if I have to carry you instead of Sadoreth!"

From his prone position, Legolas awkwardly grasped the boy's wrist. "There is no way to make this easier for you to hear, gwador nin. I will not go to Imladris. I do not want to fade there, among so many. Stay with me here."

"Fade..." Estel said the word as though tasting it. Suddenly he jumped back, snatching his wrist away and staring at his best friend in all Arda. "NO! Are you mad! Elves only fade when they have broken hearts! You are wounded but Ada will heal you as he has so often before. No. No! I will not hear you. You must be becoming feverish. You are going to Imladris!"

Estel began to clean the wound and the pain was enough to keep the elf from attempting further discussion. One part of the elf noted the gentle touch, the apology when pain was unavoidable, the concentration of mind and the deftness of the tending hands. Estel was a healer, no doubt of it. Another part of him felt strange, as though there was already an unbridgeable distance between he and his friend. He knew he had a long, weary task ahead of him to get the boy to understand that some things could not be rectified. One knife stroke and all was ashes.

When Estel had sutured the wound as well as he could, he laid his hands upon the leg and willed the flesh to heal. Elrond said he had the gift but it was still untried and unschooled.

Next he splinted the leg but with a sharp bend in it to keep the tendons from pulling farther apart. He had not attempted to sew them or even the deeper layers of muscle. He was the barest apprentice and knew he would do more harm than good.

After the young man had given Legolas some strengthening tea, the elf tried to talk to his friend again. "Estel, you must listen. You know little about fading. It is not a subject we are pleased to discuss. Grieving hearts, defiled bodies…these are the well-known reasons, the ones in tales and ballads. But I am a warrior. I cannot live a cripple. I will not linger to be a burden to the people I was born to serve. I know this injury better than you do; there is nothing even your father can do. Elrond will tell you the same himself. He so often seems a miracle worker that it is easy for us to forget that…some things are beyond his power…though he himself can never forget, for the graveyard in Imladris reminds him always."

Estel simply carried on making preparations to leave the next day. "I will have to leave you in the morning to get materials to make a litter. You cannot ride with your leg splinted. It should not take long; there is a goodly copse of young poplars very near here. You probably saw it on your way in."

"Estel! You do not listen to me! Here—think on this. Have you ever seen an elf without a hand or limb as you have seen men in the villages? Have you ever seen an elf on a little cart, being pulled about by others? We do not stay in Arda when such catastrophes strike. We go, either to Aman, where the Valar may heal us, or to the Halls of Waiting, where, after a long while, our spirits are returned to bodies that are whole."

Estel kept on with his packing.

"I will be restored. My leg will be as new." He laughed a little. "It will be new!" He then spoke very softly and coaxingly. "You do not want that for me? You do not want me whole?"

Estel looked at Legolas in shock which soon turned into cold anger. He bit his words off bitterly.

"That is the lowest thing anyone has ever said to me. And that includes you when you wanted me to die!"

Now it was Legolas' turn to be angry. "That was not me and well you know it!" His voice softened again, "Estel, this is something that you cannot understand. We elves –"

"So now we are back to the elf/human divide. Will you next tell me I stink up your princely nostrils? My voice grates on your sensitive ears? I am so sorry that I am not an elf who will just sit here like a beautiful, sad, drooping lily and watch you die! I am not going to sing laments and write poetry to your fame and to tell the world how utterly, utterly, lovely you looked when you died!" He panted raspingly but then spoke very slowly and clearly. "I am going to take you home. I will put you on a litter and take you home. If that does not work I will lay you over Sadoreth and take you home. If that does not work I will put you over my shoulder and take—you—home! If that does not work I will tie a rope around your good foot and DRAG YOU HOME!"

Legolas looked at the boy in despair. "And when I am 'home', what then?"

"Then Ada and I and whomever we need, Mithrandir for one, will heal you."

"Aiya, Estel! You have not heard a word I have said!"

"Then we are even. Now, here is your cloak for a pillow. Lift your head. How is that?"

Legolas was forced to smile a little. "That is fine, Estel. Has anyone ever told you that you are the most stubborn human on the face of Arda?"

"Everyone has told me that! Now try to rest. I will watch over you." He placed his own cloak over the elf and tenderly stroked silken strands back from the high forehead, thinking about how their usual roles were reversed. Legolas had not failed him in his direst need. Now he would not fail his gwador. He knew, just as he had known which trail to take to find the elf, that Legolas must not fade. He looked up at the stars Legolas loved so much. Were they guiding him? He hoped so. He could use the help.

Estel watched out the night, trying to decide what he should do. It would be a long time before a search party came this way. Surely they were already looking for him, but they would go the direct route to Mirkwood first. He regretted muddling his trail with all his heart. Now he and Legolas would be found by chance only. If he left and rode as fast as he could it would still take most of two days to get help and return. Legolas was not only fairly helpless physically, but Estel wondered if he would even make much of an attempt to save himself in a killing situation. He might think it better if he was already gone when Estel returned. Could elves accelerate the fading? That would be tantamount to suicide and Estel thought they frowned on that. But he did not know; probably no man did.

The elf's state of mind infuriated him. Was this the mighty warrior of darkened Mirkwood? How dared Legolas simply state he would die, as calmly as saying that he would have porridge for breakfast! And to add to his frustration, a small voice in Estel's mind persistently asked if the elf did not know what was best for him. What would his life be like if he could not be fully healed? If he could never again run through the trees as easily as the breezes that ruffled the leaves more than he did? Back and forth they argued all night: heart and mind. As dawn lit the sky Estel had come to a decision. He would get Legolas home alive. He would get him to his Adar. That would be difficult enough.

He stretched, rose, and went to dress the wound again. The elf said not one word. His flesh was chill and his eyes unfocused. At one point Estel used a momentary roughness just to get a reaction from the elf. Legolas grunted and his eyes focused on the boy in irritation. He knew what had been done and why.

Estel smiled at him brightly. "Good morning! We have nothing to eat but you will not mind that as you are trying to die. I, on the other hand, am quite hungry and hope we find something on the trail. Here are your bow, arrows, and one knife. I am taking the other…" He waited a moment, until Legolas looked at him questioningly and then continued with relish: "…to cut down trees with!"

The elf rose up into a sitting position in outrage. "You will use my knife to cut down trees? The edge will never be the same!"

"What is that to you? You are fading, remember?"

Legolas settled back down, giving Estel a sour look. "No doubt you think you are very clever."

"I am. Many have said so. Now then, I must go to get the poles I need. First, though, I am taking you down to the valley floor so that you will be in a more sheltered position. I would leave Sadoreth with you for company but it will take me too long if I have to drag all the poles myself." He got down on one knee beside the elf and lifted him with some difficulty and placed him over his shoulder. It was an uncomfortable position for Legolas, but Estel needed one hand free to get down the rocks. He shrugged the weight into a good balance and his burden swore.

"I am sorry, Legolas. That hurt. There is worse to come, I fear. I will go as gently as I can."

Estel slowly picked his way, slipping a little here and there, and banging the elf against more than one boulder. After one particularly hard knock the elf protested.

"Have you decided to kill me yourself? There are easier ways to go about it!"

"Hush! I need to concentrate on what I am doing."

The elf snorted but the pain in his leg was intense and he subsided into teeth-gritting endurance. Once on the valley floor Estel remade the thieves' fire and settled Legolas there with his weapons. He then hurried off to find his horse. Sadoreth was grazing outside the cleft opening and whuffled reproachfully when Estel appeared. The boy paused long enough to rub the horse's forehead and croon appeasing blandishments. Then he tightened his girth, mounted, and headed for the little wood he had seen.

In only an hour Estel had plenty of long, thin poles. Finding something to lash them with would be more difficult; poplar bark would not work. After fruitless searching he decided to use thin branches as cross pieces and Legolas' jerkin to lash them with. He made a large bundle and tied them to the side of his horse with the ends trailing on the ground. Sadoreth sidled and shifted, trying to get away from the unusual burden. Estel soothed him and led him along.

"You will have to endure worse than this, black one. Come on, easy…that is well, gently now, good boy." The horse finally gave a human sigh and stepped out steadily with the poles banging and rattling beside him. When Estel got back to the opening in the butte he saw the first of several problems that would impede his plans. The poles were too long to navigate the tight, twisting passage. He would have to build his litter outside and bring the elf to it. He stripped Sadoreth of his tack, apologizing that he had left it through the night, and quickly rubbed the horse down. He ordered the black horse from Harad to graze as much as he could before they would have to leave. Estel looked at the sun; he wanted to be away by noon and would have to hurry.

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(Meanwhile, in the foothills of the Misty Mountains at dawn of the same day)

Glorfindel called a halt and his elves spread out, dismounting and stretching. He asked his foremost tracker what he had seen.

"I have seen no traces, my lord, but that is not surprising. It rained hard and steadily for several hours. Now that we are climbing, we will see marks on the rocks, no doubt. Be sure I will see them." Glorfindel dismissed him and turned to his lieutenant. The elf hurried alongside to keep up with the famous warrior's pacing. Glorfindel rhythmically slapped his gloves against one hand as he strode impatiently back and forth.

"I cannot believe we have not caught up with him. This is the way Legolas would go. There have been no warnings of unusual Orc activity, rockslides, or any other danger that would cause him to deviate his path. Estel would know that, too, and would come this way. Why have we not overtaken him?"

"Perhaps he is lost."

Glorfindel shook his head. "He has been this way four times. Not enough for most to memorize the trail but Estel is not 'most'. He must yet be ahead of us. Still, we cannot discount any possibility. That is why I have sent the twins by different paths. Let us pray they remembered to bring falcons. We brought none for speed sake, but they should be able to communicate with us when it is fully daylight. Tell the others they have one hour to rest their mounts. Then we must go."

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End Chapter 2

A/N Through much research I have determined (i.e. I made it all up) that there are two ways that elves fade. One, from grief or being overtaken by Darkness, is a gradual process that sneaks up on them, so to speak. They are too emotionally involved to see it coming. The other way occurs when something catastrophic happens but the heart is not involved. Then the elf, knowing his fate, can choose to fade quickly.