Title: Mellyn?

Author: Pentangle

Rating: K+

Sequel to "Five Words in Winter"

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Deluge

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Legolas shifted a little against the warmth snuggled into his side, and began to slide into reverie. But at that moment he heard, no felt, something that brought all his senses sharply into focus. He then heard a groan from the tree at his back. Beneath him he felt something again: a movement. He set Estel gently aside without waking him and quickly went to look out through the branches. He saw several things at once that his mind struggled to assemble into useful information. The ditch had risen alarmingly and now had swirls of a light tan in the darker grey that indicated this water was coming from far upstream. Outside the valley the storm must be much worse. The rising water was pouring into a hole in the bank and Legolas' breath caught in his throat. He looked farther up the ditch and saw another hole, almost completely below the water line. Then he saw yet another, just beginning to let in water from the ditch. If that was a muskrat tunnel, the bank would be riddled with them! Behind him the tree cried out, warning the Silvan elf just as the branches Legolas held jerked in his hand and then dropped a foot. Legolas scrambled up the bank and grabbed Estel as the earth moved beneath his feet. That was what he had felt before; the subtle shifting of soil beneath them as the water forced its way through the tunnels in the bank and washed the soil from beneath the tree. Already heeling over to start with, and weakened by advanced age, the tree was falling down the bank. Legolas had felt that the time of ending was close for the tree but had decided it would surely last out one more storm, especially since this one had little wind accompanying it. The muskrat tunnels had tipped the scale in the storm's favor, though, and the old willow was falling, its spongy, rotten roots unable to grip in the mud that now made up much of the bank beneath it.

Legolas spun around and hurled himself and Estel down the bank and into the ditch. His feet sank into the mud and the water was waist high. He heard a screeching, tearing roar and looked up to see the great trunk coming toward him. He thrust against the water, trying to gain the farther bank. Estel was screaming, frightened and bruised by Legolas' fierce grasp.

Legolas struggled through the water and started to clamber up the bank, but the high water had slowed him too much. He felt the first touch of fine branches against his hair and in desperation threw Estel from him with all his might. The elf's strength combined with the boy's light weight sent him flying over the top of the bank and tumbling down the other side. Even as the outward branches pressed him down, Legolas knew a moment of relief as he realized the bank would keep Estel from being crushed. Then the world fell upon him and he knew no more.

Estel rolled down the bank and came to a stop face down. He was winded and trying to understand what had just happened. Before he could draw a breath and put his hands beneath him to rise, he was stabbed by what seemed to be a hundred spears. He cried out and fought against the sharp points pinning him to the ground. Opening his eyes, he saw that it was not spears that held him but branches. He seemed to be in an incredibly dense thicket, and it took several minutes before he calmed enough to understand that the tree had fallen and while its trunk was kept from him by the bank, the branches were surrounding and pressing against him.

Estel was in pain, but since willow branches are very soft they bent slightly rather than piercing his body. He began to wriggle and force himself from his leafy prison. Suddenly he remembered Legolas and shouted to him for help. He received no answer and wriggled harder, digging in with his boots and grabbing long tufts of grass and weeds to help pull him along. He had to wind a very crooked trail to avoid the branches that were too thick for him to push aside. Finally, he was able to stand on his feet. He stood and trembled, feeling the many bruises he had incurred as well as the shock of the flurry of events that had overtaken him. He slowly struggled to the top of the bank and again called to Legolas. His eyes widened at the sight of the huge tree lying across the ditch. He remembered that the last he knew of Legolas was the elf throwing him into the air and now he understood why. His lower lip trembled as he realized there was no one to help him and Legolas might be hurt. He started to look for the elf, peering in the space beneath the trunk and looking with fear at the waters that were swirling even higher. At last he saw the Prince a little distance from the main trunk, looking like a doll someone had thrown away in anger, limp and still. He was partially covered by the tree, and Estel could not tell if he was badly injured.

Estel scrambled over, under, and through branches until he fell to his knees beside Legolas. The elf's hips were pinned beneath one of the main branches, and his legs trailed in the water. He lay at a slant on the bank so that while his legs were completely submerged, his torso was above the water line. The Prince's face was covered in blood which flowed sluggishly across his brow and one eye and cheek. Both eyes were closed and even in unconsciousness his mouth was tightened with pain.

Estel was breathing rapidly with a sobbing hitch that indicated he was on the verge of hysterics. He looked about with desperation and screamed for help, but no one came. After a time he came to the realization that if the Prince was to receive help, he must be the one to provide it. Unaware that the flowing blood that so distressed him spoke of life, Estel placed a shaking hand on the elf's chest and felt with relief the shallow breaths and beating heart. Now he gathered his courage and exhorted himself to think of all the times he had seen his brothers and others in the healing wing of his home. He pictured in his mind the healers moving about the beds and what they were doing. He heard his father's voice, crisp and confidant. Bleeding. That was first! He must stop the bleeding from the wound in Legolas' scalp. He carefully parted the hair with trembling fingers, fighting nausea, and saw a long but straight gash. Relief swept over him for he had cut himself in just such a way, although not so badly, only last year; he knew what to do though he was not sure how well he could do it. He and Elladan had been far from the House and his brother had braided his hair to hold the wound closed until his Ada could take care of him. It had hurt like fury, but Legolas would not feel it which Estel was very glad about. He was not sure he would be able to do what needed to be done if the elf cried like he himself had done. He had no clean water to cleanse the gash, so he began to braid the hair on either side of the wound tightly together. His fingers slipped on the bloody locks but if there was one thing a young human raised in a household of elves could do it was braid hair. He winced as he interlaced the braid as tightly as he could, imagining the tug in his own hair. He tied off the end of the braid with the hair itself and then waited, watching carefully. After a few minutes, he was relieved to see the scarlet trickle slow and finally stop. Next he took his belt knife, cut a small piece from his tunic and wet it in the water that was disturbingly close to the elf's chest. Gently he cleaned the blood and muck from the Prince's face.

Now that the elf did not make Estel sick to look at him, Estel's mind began to clear further. He worried that the tree was hurting the elf and grabbed one arm to try to pull him clear. He might as well have been trying to move the Last Homely House with a bootlace. It was hopeless; he would need help to get the elf free. At this thought he pulled off his blue tunic and began to slowly climb into the tree, testing each limb before he put his weight on it. He tried not to think that if he fell there would be no one to help him. It seemed very odd to climb straight up and yet be going sideways through a tree. When the branches began to be too thin to support him, he spread his tunic over them hoping someone would see the bright color.

Estel climbed down even more slowly; down was always more difficult for some reason. When his mud-caked boots finally hit the ground, he scurried to check on Legolas. He put his hand against the elf's cheek and patted it gently. "Legolas! Can you wake up, please? I am a little frightened and I wish you would wake up and keep me company."

There was an uncomfortable tickle in Estel's mind. He tried to catch hold of the thought that troubled him, yet it slipped and slid away. Then Estel realized that something was different about Legolas' clothing. He looked carefully at the leather jerkin, shirt sleeves, and vambraces that were all he could see of the elf, but they looked as they had before the tree had fallen. So what was wrong? The boy looked slowly up and down, side to side, over and over again. Suddenly he froze in horror as he realized that he saw fewer silver latchings than he had before. The water was rising toward the elf's chest!

Estel grabbed the arm he had lifted before and tugged with all his might. He dug in his heels until they slipped from under him and he sat down hard. Legolas still did not move an inch. Next Estel shook the head and pulled the yellow hair. He shouted and slapped the Prince. "Wake up! Wake up! The water is coming! Legolas! WAKE UP!"

Whether it was due to the tumult or not, the Prince groaned and opened one eye. So close to him that the figure was blurry, a small human was pulling, pushing, hitting, and shouting at him. Legolas was tempted to return to the darkness until the uproar died down. Estel had seen the eye though, and cried, "Legolas, it is me! Estel! You must wake up for the water is coming higher and higher! I cannot get you free!"

The sheer terror in the voice called the prince to action and he tried to shake off both the pain in his head and the last wisps of darkness that wreathed through his mind. He became aware of cold, more pain, and a hard pressure across his hips. He remembered in a flood of adrenalin the falling tree, and he made an abortive attempt to get to his feet. Quickly understanding he was trapped and had at the least a broken leg, Legolas turned his attention to the frightened child beside him. He saw blood and scrapes on the face and more bloody splotches here and there on his arms and bare chest. "Estel, are you all right? Are you badly injured?"

"No! Legolas, you must get out, the water is coming!"

Legolas glanced down his body and realized his peril at once. He braced his arms against the bank and heaved with all his considerable strength. Agony lanced through his head and leg, but he moved not one inch. He tried again and again, finally falling limp and gasping to lie on the mud. He looked at the boy beside him, the light grey eyes wide with fear and desperate hope.

"Can you find a heavy stick that is sharp at one end? Maybe you can dig a little dirt beneath me and I can then pull free."

Estel did not even nod but spun around to search through all the broken branches around them. He had sense enough to know the stick would quickly break and so waited until he had found three before returning to Legolas and asking, "Where should I dig?"

"The tree and my body will protect you from the current. Do you think you can dig underneath my backside? The water will take away the dirt you loosen."

Estel stepped carefully into the water and moved to Legolas' hips. The water came halfway to his knees, and he reached down to feel where the elf's body was so that he would not hurt him. He grabbed his stick and slowly drove it into the dirt of the bank. The stick did not go more than an inch or two but Estel levered it downward to break loose a clod. He thrust in the stick again and again and when it broke, replaced it with one of the others. It was obvious to Legolas that it would take a very long time to free him this way; time that he did not have. But he said nothing to Estel and let the boy struggle on; there seemed nothing else to do.

When the first blood began to ooze between the fingers of the small hands, Legolas said quietly, "That is enough, Estel. Come up out of the water and sit beside me. If you huddle close to my shoulder perhaps you will feel a little warmer."

Even young as he was, Estel knew what stopping would mean. He shook his head and said stubbornly, "The water is still rising" and turned back to thrust the stick into the ground fiercely.

Suddenly, Legolas shot out a hand and grasped the boy's wrist. "Stop, Estel! I hear something!" Both boy and elf froze and prayed that help had come.

Far off a cry could be heard: " – e-e-e-l-l-l!"

Estel jumped up, crying, "It is Elrohir!" He scrambled back up to the top of the bank and pelted along it until he came to his brother. He slammed into the elf's body, and Elrohir's arms locked around him tightly. The elf started to make inquiries about Estel's condition but the boy broke in, his voice shrill with panic.

"Legolas is trapped! The water is coming higher and higher and he will drown, 'Ro! You have to help him!" As he spoke he was dragging his brother along the bank, back to where Legolas helplessly waited.

When Elrohir reached the place where the tree had fallen, even from the top of the bank he could see that Legolas was in a desperate situation. He did not pause to greet or question his friend but splashed into the water, leaned his back into the tree and shoved. As he had feared, the wood did not even tremble. He needed help and a lot of it. He looked around more carefully as his mind raced. He had few options. Realistically, only two: take Estel and go for help or leave him and go for help. If he took Estel with him, the boy would slow him drastically. Even if he carried him on his back, he would lose precious time. But if he left him…it was very possible help would arrive too late. If he left Estel behind, the boy might have to watch Legolas drown. As precious seconds ticked by, he made his decision. He would leave Estel here. He had to at least try to save his friend, and he could not face the idea that Legolas might die such a death alone. Though he shuddered at the burden he had just placed upon his little brother.

Elrohir squatted beside Legolas and said bluntly, "I am going for help. Estel will stay with you. I will go as fast as I can, mellon nin." He paused, then said thickly, tears choking him, "Send him away. At the last…if…"

Legolas clasped his arm tightly. "I will. I will try to keep him from harm as best I can…Elrohir…you have meant so much to me – your whole family – thank you and tell them –" But Elrohir was gone, sprung away on flashing limbs, streaking toward the Last Homely House.

Estel remained on the top of the bank, staring after his brother and feeling very small and very frightened. He finally turned and slipped and slid back to Legolas' side. He stroked the hair that he now thought just the right color for a Prince of Mirkwood while tears silently snaked down his cheeks. After a few minutes he picked up his stick, but Legolas said gently, "That is not necessary now that Elrohir has gone for help; they will be here soon. Will you not stay and talk to me?"

"Is there anything I can do? Anything you would like me to do?"

Legolas smiled, "It is rather funny, considering the situation, but do you know what I would like most, besides being out from under your old friend?" Estel shook his head. "I would very much like a drink. Of water."

Estel smiled back, as Legolas had hoped he would. "I do not think you should drink the ditchwater!" Estel's eyes kept sliding from the elf's face to the water that inched up the elf's chest. It was now halfway up his ribs. Estel suddenly stood and to Legolas' amazement removed his boots and leggings. The boy wrapped the boots, laid side by side, in the leggings and then tugged at a lock of the blond hair. "Raise your head!" The elf obeyed and Estel pushed and shoved the bundle underneath, as far as Legolas' shoulder, so that Legolas' head was now held a few more inches out of the water.

Legolas smiled gratefully and again sought to tease Estel into forgetting the dreadful situation. "You are a very clever and naked boy, Estel. What will your family say when they see you?"

Estel pretended to think very hard. "Let me see…what will they think when they see me covered in mud, with hardly any clothes on…Nothing! They will not think a thing of it! Ada says I am like this more often than I am clean, but that is not true. I have been clean many times!"

The boy's righteous indignation made the elf chuckle. "I have no doubt of it!"

The two sat silently for a few minutes, and then Estel decided to clear his conscience, just in case, although he deliberately refused to think of just in case of what. He would simply say his piece. "I am sorry I said you were a fake prince. Erestor told me you are a real prince, and Erestor never tells stories when he has his serious face. So I am sorry I said so, even if you have no crown or fancy clothes or are as beautiful as Glorfindel or anything like that."

Legolas accepted the apology in the spirit in which it was given. "I thank you, Estel. May I say that it is partly my fault for being such a poor example of a prince? Perhaps when you take journeys when you are grown, you may then see a fancier prince."

Estel looked down at his hands and said in a small, gruff voice, "I do not want to see a fancier prince. You are a good enough prince for me." Then he thought of something and his head came up again. "Although I do not think that you should smirk when people get spankings!"

"Well, I do not think that you should suggest that people get spankings when they have had a miserable afternoon in a swamp!"

"Sorry. That was mean."

Legolas just nodded; the pain in his body and the tension created by the creeping water made it hard for him to concentrate for long on what Estel was saying.

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End Chapter 4/6