A/N: Dearest readers, thank you soooo much for all the reviews. They are so wonderful. -- So, but now I have a real problem. By now, I have two chapters "4" and I cannot decide which one to post. Both have their merits and I like them both. I post now this one, with the more common plot. Perhaps I post the other chapter "4", with the more unusual plot once this story is finished. Alternate story ending, so to say. Tell me if you would like that, please. Well then, happy reading!

°°°°° Chapter 4: Hope fades

Aragorn knew not how long he lay on his bed that night, blindly staring out of the window, seeing but not noticing the movement of the moon, the change from the darkest of night to the greyness of dawn, before he finally stood up and began to pack his things together. Time had no longer any meaning to him, as all he held dear had turned from him to let him alone in despair and nothingness.

Without looking back, or leaving a message, he left his room when the weak light of Arnor just peeked over the cliff walls, and when he finally reached the top of the cliffs, the sun shone bleak from the sky.

He had taken no horse, as he had not arrived on one, and while he walked out of reach of comfort and love, his mind was as blank as the white, snow covered lands around him. During the night, the temperatures had been low, and new snow had fallen; Aragorn sank down into the wetness up to his knees, and walking was difficult and exhausting. But he did not care, did not even register completely where he was going; the only thought on his mind was that his family had given up on him, and that all he held dear had turned from him, to leave him alone in a world of darkness and despair.

Deep inside, he knew that running away was no alternative, that it would lead to only more problems, but his confused heart was too loud, and his mind was soon silenced by the desperate plea of his heart to leave. So he left the only home he had ever known.

Not once did he stop that first day, neither for food nor rest, and his wounds stayed untreated; he did not mind the pain they caused him. In fact he relishing in the comfort the pain brought his mind. For that was all that was able to penetrate the grief induced stupor he was in, the pain in his body was more welcome to him than the ache in his heart and his mind had long but refused to notice anything else but the burning sensation of the ugly, and by now inflamed, cuts that marred his back.

Physical pain was something he could deal with, but the agony his heart suffered could not be cured. It prowled at the edges of his consciousness, ready to consume him. But he had not yet given in completely, and so he held on to the pain in his body and willed himself to live yet. For, even if his family had turned from him, he had not turned from them, and his heart still wished for their presence and comfort. Deep inside, he could not yet believe and accept that he would never again receive it. But, he had felt the walls closing in on him, the silence of the house, and so he had gone were he felt accepted and safe: into the Wilderness that he knew so well, with its dangers and the darkness that took him up as one of its own creations.

At the same time in Imladris…

For how long had he sat there? Elrond did not know. But, when he looked out of the window and saw that the sun was already sinking towards the horizon, he knew that he had sat in his study for a whole night and nearly the next day; long enough.

How could he have been so stupid? For there was no other word to describe his actions towards his youngest son. Stupid, incredibly stupid. Estel had been injured, in pain and in need of comfort, and what had he done? He had ignored him and hurt him. His own son.

Elrond took a deep breath and slowly stood from his chair. He had thought about it the whole time, but still he did not know the satisfying answer he sought. It was a simple question in itself, but still… The answer was hard to find, and not even with all his wisdom could Elrond answer it.

Why?

Why had he rejected his son? Why had he not listened to him? A part of him suspected that it had had to do with Isildur and the events of the Last Alliance. Despite common believe, Elrond had known Isildur very well, personally, not just because he was the son of Elendil Elf-Friend. No, Elrond had spend many a sleepless night with the young human, talking about the world and its changes, the possibilities it offered and the doors it could open. Oh yes, Elrond had found friendship with Isildur, and so it had been double hard to see him fall into shadow.

On that day, when the world had changed but not for the better, Elrond had sworn that he would do all in his might to help cure the disease that spread from Mordor. And one way to do that was to shelter and raise the heirs of Isildur, and show them the door. But steeping through the door, they could only do by themselves.

With the years, he had seen so many heirs, some good others less, but with every one he head hoped to find the one who could right all wrongs. Just when he had given up hope, Estel had stepped into his life. And hope had risen its wings out of the ashes and taken flight, and Elrond had known that Estel would be the "one". He had not name him in a whim.

With the years, this opinion had manifested itself, and deep inside his heart Elrond had known that Estel had it in himself to overcome the darkness, and heal Arda from the dark disease of Mordor.

He had raised him, sheltered him, educated him, loved him like a son. But still, even after all those years in which Estel had proven his worth, Elrond had not been able to pull the thorn of doubt out of his heart. Doubt, that one day his labours proved to have been done in vain. That one day, darkness would claim Estel's heart, and guide him down the dark path, instead of the bright path that he had shown him.

Oh, but he knew his son, he knew Estel's heart, and he knew that his son was noble and kind, pure of spirit and willing to sacrifice his life for others. He was as honourable as the Kings of Old, and stronger than the pull, that had overthrown some of his ancestors.

Elrond Peredhel, you are an old fool, he said to himself. But, perhaps it is not too late yet to right the wrong you have caused. If he lets you…

With a heavy heart, and as nervous as he had never been before, Elrond slowly made his way to Aragorn's room. Would there be hope for him? He did not know, and that frightened him. Hesitatingly, he lifted his hand, and then gently knocked at the thick wood. Gently, although the wanted nothing more than to break down this barrier towards his son, engulf him in his arms, and tell him how incredibly sorry he was.

But when only silence met his call, his heart already knew the answer to his silent plea. He was too late, and his hope faded.

°°

Sighing, Elladan stared at the ceiling in his room, for the umpteenth time counting the wooden beams, although he already knew their number by heart. The last two days had been exhausting, but now that he had finally lain down to rest, he could not. Or rather, his body could, but his aching heart won't let him.

Elladan knew that he had been unfair to his brother, if not rude. Ah, who was he kidding? He had not only been rude, but mean and brutal. Now that he had calmed down and thought about it, he felt horrible. What had possessed him to say all those hurtful words to Estel? To treat him like something unworthy and tainted?

For hours he had thought about this very question, but he had found no answer. All he knew was, that he had done his brother a great evil, and that he needed to apologise. Had Estel not tried to tell him what had happened? Yes, more than once, but he had not listened. Simply not listened.

With another great sigh, Elladan sat up intend to go over to Estel's room. Perhaps he would find the answers to his questions after he had listened to what his brother had to say. Inwardly, he hoped that he had indeed been wrong, and that there was a good and plausible explanation for the wounds on Estel's back.

Stepping out of his door, he met Elrohir in the hallway; as it seemed he was not the only one who needed to talk to Estel. He nodded, unable to look his brother into the face, guilt and shame conflicting inside of him. Elrohir had been the only reasonable of them. He had not yelled at Estel, had not argued with him or insulted him. No, Elrohir had not done that, and Elladan felt suddenly very bad in his twin's company.

But Elrohir said nothing, his face grave, and together they made their way to the room of their human brother. When they turned the corner, they saw that their father was already there. Elrond turned, his face ashen, and when his words reached their ears, they felt an icy hand grab their hearts and squeeze them mercilessly.

"We are too late, my sons. Estel is gone."

°°

A shiver raced down his spine, followed by another and another. His whole body shook with tremors, but Aragorn did not truly notice his body's discomfort, for his heart ached so fiercely, that he could barely breathe.

Night was approaching fast, as it always did in this time of year, and the shadows at the bases of the trees grew larger and deeper; the sounds of the forest stilling to leave only his own beating heart break the silence. A pale moon rose on the horizon, shedding its silver light on the woods, turning the snow into a white shimmering sea.

Aragorn stumbled onwards, his fingers numb and his legs aching, the muscles cramping from the cold and the strain he forced them through. The bitter taste of iron lingered on his tongue, and sweat stood on his brow despite the coldness.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew that he needed to stop and rest, to tend his wounds or at least eat something or build a fire to keep him warm. But the other part of his mind told him to go on, to walk as far and as fast as he could. To leave this place behind and seek comfort and shelter somewhere else.

But he did not think that comfort was still something he yearned for. For, did he deserve it? Had he not only lied to his family, but broken their trust in them as well? Had he not hurt them and betrayed everything that they stood for and that they held dear in this world?

Yes, in a way he had. He had done all that, and he felt that he deserved not their comfort, although he knew that they would not give it to him anyway. So, why bother? With every step he took, he went further away from all that he loved and cared for, but with each step he felt lighter and freed.

But perhaps, it was only the cold and the night that was pretending to caress him and hold him, that embraced him with loving arms and take the pain and hurt from him, to replace them with numbness and indifference.

He stumbled, but his feet did not stop in their relentless march, away and only away from the pain and anger. And then, as the moon stood high and the stars blinked from the sky, Aragorn lifted his head and looked around him, for the first time truly seeing.

He turned, looking into the direction he had come from. To his surprise, he felt not the breathtaking stab of cold agony in his heart that he had anticipated, but only a dull throbbing, as if the part of his heart that belonged to the illusion that was Imladris had finally been silenced. Murdered, by his walk westwards.

Aragorn took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the clean and fresh winter air. He blinked, turned, and vanished into the nightly forest. Oh, he still ached, but it was only a bodily hurt, an ache that he could treat, although he knew he would not. No, he would bear the scars on his back as a reminder of how fragile the hearts and minds of all peoples could be, how easily corrupted and twisted. They would forever remember him of the day he had lost the only family he had known, and the day hoped faded into the night.

Coldness and numbness replaced hurt and pain, and the man that vanished into the woods, was not the one who had entered it only a few days ago.

And when the bleak morning light brightened the soft snow, the only sign that told of Aragorn's presence were his footprints in the white snow, but even those were soon covered by fresh flakes.

Tbc…