Sacrifices

by MMCCCAA

Young Estel is kidnapped [gasp!]. Elrond rushes to his rescue, but there is a steep price for the boy's safety. NO SLASH.

I posted the first chapter of this fic earlier, but ended up removing it and posting the rest in my livejournal. So! I'm going to try it again. This time, the complete fic is in one chapter, instead of five. I may pull it again. I'm not sure at this point. So, let's try again.

13,348
BS
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Friday, April 28, 2006

Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings belongs to Tolkien. I'm not making anything off of this, only writing for the fun of it.
Warnings: Action/Adventure. Some AU in the end.
Rating: PG-13
Status: Complete
Notes: My sister inspired this little 'gem,' but I rather like it.
Summary: Estel is kidnapped (gasp), and Elrond rushes to his rescue. But there is a steep price for the boy's safety. NO SLASH.

S A C R I F I C E S

November, 2937

Estel had begged them to take him riding with them. Winter was quickly approaching, and the last warm days of fall were quickly disappearing. The leaves were falling from the trees, and the world had taken on a pale gray pallor as the color was drained from its living things. He wanted to see the gray hare turned white, the red deer turned gray. The birds which sang sweet songs in the springtime were bright little bursts of color on the sleeping trees. He was finally becoming old enough to appreciate nature, and it would be a good chance to spend time with his brothers.

Elladan and Elrohir had smiled and told him "next time," but there wouldn't be a next time until the spring. He would be seven then, and spend all of his day with his tutor. He had pouted pathetically and let his eyes well with tears. They had relented after mere moments and agreed to take him along on their ride through the valley.

Arwen was away in Lorien, and her palfrey was untouched during her absence. The little mare had grown fat in the stall, and now lived in a paddock, where she was quiet content to much on hay all winter long. Elladan handed the brushes to Estel as he haltered her and led her to him. The child grinned and tried to brush her, but he made little progress removing the accumulated dirt. Elrohir smiled and "helped" him as his twin went to retrieve the saddle. Estel squealed when he brought it and settled it over the mare. They checked the fit and tightened the girth, slipped the bridle over her head and then turned to their brother. Elladan knelt on the ground and cupped his hands, offering a leg up to the child. It was still hard for Estel to get his other leg over the saddle, but he laughed as he slipped and grabbed on to the mare's black mane. He liked her color more than any other horse's color. They were so gray they were white, but this little mare was dappled and her mane and tail were black.

They left at a brisk pace, Estel riding between them. He clutched the reins tightly, not wanting to mess up and act silly in front of his brothers. He had been riding on his own for nearly eighteen months, always in the supervision of an Elf, of course. But that had been practice, only around the paddocks. This was actual riding, through his father's valley. He wasn't a little kid anymore.

He walked between them, a little unsure of himself, but only for the first hour. Soon, he found himself riding ahead, his little palfrey prancing in the lead. Deer scattered at his approach, their red-brown bodies disappearing among the trees. The birds fluttered overhead, and the sky was clear and bright behind them. It was a perfect day.

He gasped and pointed his small hand into the air. "Ooh! What's that!"

His brothers glanced up into the sky. High, high in the sky above them, an eagle flew overhead. They could see its wings in sharp relief, the feathers spread out like tiny fingers. It swooped down and landed on a tall pine tree. Estel kept his eyes focused on that spot, even as his little mare kept walking steadily. "It is an eagle, Estel," Elrohir explained.

"Like Thorondor?" he asked immediately, his eyes wide.

Elladan laughed good-naturedly. "No, this one is a normal one."

Estel looked almost disappointed. He moved his gaze to the edge of the forest around them, watching for anything to move. The day was blustery and the leaves shook in the trees and on the ground. Squirrels darted in and out of the trees, scurrying up and down the bark. He watched them with fascination, but no one else was, and he pretended to ignore them. Behind him, Elladan and Elrohir smiled in amusement.

It was midday when they stopped for the first time. Estel was hungry, and he slid off of his little mare and ate the fruits and dried meat that they had packed that morning. Thin, white clouds rolled in overhead, obscuring the sun. He felt a little cold, and the breeze was not as warm as it had been. Elrohir's gelding had picked up a rock in his hoof, and his brother held the big hoof in one hand and picked out several small pebbles with the other. Elladan was wrapping up their leftover lunch by the time Estel ate his last bit of sliced apple. He stood next to his mare, waiting for a boost into the saddle. Elrohir finished with his horse's hoof, smiled, and picked him up. Estel frowned; he liked to climb into the saddle on his own, with only a stool to stand on.

"It's time to go back," his brother told him.

"Now?" he whined. It was only midday. It was too soon to go home.

Elladan laughed. "It will be near dark when we return. Father will be very displeased if we keep you out past your curfew."

Estel scowled, but he didn't argue. He didn't want to make his father mad at him. As they walked, Elrohir was whistling a tune and Elladan humming to it. Estel wiggled in the saddle, tracing the outline of the tooled leather with his sticky fingers. "Is this what you do, when you're gone all the time?"

His brothers were silenced and they shared a dark glance.

"Sometimes," Elladan said. "We also ride along the borders and hunt for Orcs."

Estel tried to process that, but he had never seen an Orc, and he didn't--

Elrohir grabbed his shoulder and grinned. "Would you like to race?" he asked. There was a twinkle in his eye and an indulgent smile on his lips. "There is a beech tree ahead, you remember-- the one where you saw the rabbits."

Estel nodded happily. He wanted to show off his riding skills. His palfrey was very fast, and she liked to walk in front of other horses. He grinned mischievously and squeezed the reins in his hands. "Okay!" he shouted and beside him his brothers lined up. They took off with a start, but Estel could not keep up with his brothers. He cried out for them to wait -- suddenly not liking to race when he knew he would be last. His mare was annoyed and she tensed under him as she ran.

They were careful not to run too far ahead of Estel, they could clearly hear him racing behind on the little gray palfrey; his cries for them to wait ever loud and close. They crested the hill and covered the ground to the old beech tree in seconds. They stopped there under its bare branches and waited, their horses' nostrils flaring. They waited five-ten-thirty seconds, but their little brother did not appear.

"Estel!" Elrohir shouted and his gelding fidgeted under him. The twins exchanged a worried glance and started to move up the hill, but the sound of a quickly-moving horse dispelled their fears and they breathed a sigh of relief. Then Estel's palfrey appeared at the crest of the hill, wild-eyed and rider-less. The saddle hung from her back; the bridle dangled loosely. They wasted no time hurrying to the frightened mare. "Estel!" they cried again simultaneously and scanned the empty road for the child. If he had fallen and hurt himself, it would be their fault. They had to find him quickly.

Panic seized them when he was nowhere to be seen. The area was clear, and they could hear nothing. Elrohir grabbed hold of the reins and placed a calming hand on her sweating gray neck. She was scared witless and bucked under his touch, dancing away and running farther down the road. There was no time to deal with her at that moment -- they had to find the young boy.

They ran back and forth along the road -- from the place they had last seen Estel to where the mare had appeared. There was no sign of him, no clue of where he could have gone. Elladan stopped suddenly and pointed to his right. "There!" he cried and pointed his horse in that direction. There was a flash of movement in the woods -- a blur of yellow and brown -- and the brothers urged their horses after it.

Briars scraped against their skin and branches slapped against their faces, but they did not slow their pursuit. On their horses, they outmatched their prey, and soon they could discern an Elf running swiftly from them. The Elf's golden hair sailed behind him like a banner in the fall breeze, and he spared them a glance over his shoulder. He stopped suddenly and dropped--

Estel! The boy fell onto the ground with a whimper of pain, and there was blood oozing from his forehead. The Elf held a large bow in front of him, an arrow instantly ready. He wasted no time and fired. There was a whirr as it cut through the air and its bright blue fletching blurred into a thin steak. With neither the time nor the room required to dodge, the arrow nicked Elladan in the shoulder. He winced and lost his balance, tumbling from the horse and rolling against the ground. He used a tree to steady himself as he stood, but it felt as though there was more damage done than he suspected. He fell down immediately and tried to catch his breath. His mare skidded to a stop beside him and reared, then bolted through the forest. They could hear her crashing through the underbrush for several long seconds as she fled farther and farther away.

The Elf loosed another arrow, but Elrohir was prepared to dodge. He halted his gelding and dismounted, running at Estel's captor. He ducked and dodged, but nothing could spare him from the speed of the other Elf. In quick succession, he fired arrow after arrow. With a grunt, Elrohir fell, arrow protruding from his belly. He struggled to his feet and another struck his thigh. He fell again, but did not stand.

Brandishing a knife, Elladan rushed at him, but the Elf was too fast -- so fast -- and struck him with an arrow in the chest. He crumpled to the ground and could only watch in horror as the Elf bent and retrieved Estel, then hurried away. His vision was starting to blur and dim, and sound was distorted and distant. There was an ache in his chest, and he was certain he had stopped breathing.

Elrohir awoke to an overwhelming pain in his lower body. He couldn't feel his right leg at all, only a tingling numbness from his hip down. The pain was intense in his abdomen, and he felt far too warm. There was something touching his face, and it took several seconds to realize that it was his gelding, moving his lip over him. "Carnil," he rasped. He coughed, and flecks of blood passed between his lips.

His gelding stood over him, but he didn't see Elladan's mare anywhere. He knew that she had fled, but he had hoped she would come back after the danger had passed. His gelding was unfailingly loyal, strong, had a good form. He'd been gelded when it became apparent he hadn't inherited a gray gene; Elrohir thought it was a waste of good breeding.

Estel... Estel was gone. That Elf had taken him, injured them, and... "Elladan!" he cried. His brother lay a short distance away, unnaturally pale. He struggled to get to him, dragging himself with his elbows as his leg refused to move.

Elladan was cold, and he stared for a long time before he saw him draw a breath. His pulse was weak, and blood was dripping from the wound on his shoulder. There was an arrow in his chest, and it looked like it was deep. His brother was dying. He needed help that he could not give him.

"Carnil," he called. The gelding walked to him and lowered his big red head to the fallen Elf. Elrohir struggled to pick up his brother, and hoisted him onto the saddle. He slumped forward onto the horse's neck, but did not fall. "Carnil," he said sharply, and there was an edge of desperation in his voice. "Carry him home, and do not drop him!" The horse obeyed and soon they were gone from his sight.

He fell onto the ground and breathed deeply. He had forgotten his pain when he saw his brother lying there, but it had returned with a vengeance. He couldn't push the arrow through his gut, so he would have to pull it free. He winced at the thought. It would be messier, and it would hurt more, and it would cause more damage. He squeezed his eyes shut and pulled the arrow straight back. Blood started to flow and he pressed his hand hard against the wound. He left the arrow in his thigh -- it was not bleeding, and it did not hurt.

He kept his hand against his stomach and collapsed against the forest floor, his strength expended. It was dark, and he could see the stars twinkling high in the sky through the naked limbs of the trees. Estel, Elladan, please be all right.

--------------------------

Night had fallen over Imladris, and his sons had not yet returned. The elder two were capable, and he had little doubt that they could take care of themselves, but the youngest one was only a child. They should have been home hours ago. It was a father's worry he felt now. He was able to recognize it now, after his third child had been born. Irrational worry, always fearing the worst when one was injured -- he was certain all parents suffered from it. And after Estel had been given to him. . .

Raising three Elven children was nothing compared to raising a human child. Nothing had prepared him for the drastic changes. His first three had developed quickly -- walking and talking and dancing before their first year. Estel took longer to do the same. But he aged faster. It seemed only a short time ago that he had been a toddler, crawling over the floors and constantly finding some trouble to get into.

Now, Elrond was worried his son was in more trouble than he had ever been in before. He couldn't explain it, but worry gnawed at his heart, and he could not escape the dreadful fear that something very bad had happened. With this in mind, he had sent Glorfindel out to look for them, but that had been several hours ago, and he had heard nothing from him. There were any number of reasons his sons could have been delayed. A lame horse or a --

"Elrond!" Erestor cried from the corridor. He rushed into the room, breathless. "A rider," he gasped. "Elrohir approaches!"

Elrond followed him wordlessly as they wound through the corridors, and then left the indoors behind them. He didn't even try to keep the rush out of his step, and soon he walked ahead of Erestor. Outside, in the pale moonlight, he could clearly see Elrohir's horse, approaching them at a slow trot. It took him only a second to realize that something was wrong. His son was slumped forward in the saddle, dark hair spilled over his shoulders. The moonlight grew brighter as the overhanging clouds drifted away, and he saw with a sharp breath that it was not Elrohir at all. Elladan shifted forward in the saddle, and he could suddenly see the shaft of an arrow protruding from his chest.

For a moment, his breath stopped and his heart halted. He couldn't move, and his feet seemed frozen to the ground. A tremor raced through him, and suddenly he was moving forward, limbs strangely cold. He could face any enemy, fight any danger that threatened him, but this new terror of losing his child chilled him. Several Elves followed him as he ran, but he hardly noticed their presence. Every thought was focused on his son, barely sitting atop the horse, barely alive.

The closer he was to the horse, the more grievous the situation appeared. His son's face was as pale as the moonlight, and his shirt was stained black-red with blood. The horse slowed to a stop beside them, and with great care they lifted Elladan from the saddle. His skin was as cold as ice, and Elrond would have thought he was carrying a corpse, were it not for the faint, erratic breaths that filled his son's lungs.

They took him inside, and in the light his skin held more color. He was still too pale, though, and Elrond bit his lip in worry. They set him on a bed, and Elrond cut away his shirt to better see the wound in his chest. He removed the arrow with a quick flick of his wrist, and a fresh stream of blood oozed from the wound. Elladan coughed suddenly, and his whole body trembled. He opened his eyes, and they looked entirely too dark and wet. He tried to sit up, but Elrond gently pushed him down, and his son fixed his bright stare on him. "Father," he said roughly. He coughed again, and Elrond hushed him.

"Do not speak," he said firmly. He reached forward and pressed his head back to the bed. "Let me see to you, and then you can tell me what happened."

Elladan started to protest, but then sank against the bed, eyes still open, as Elrond worked over him. The wound was not as bad as he had first imagined. It had missed his heart and lungs, and had just barely grazed one of his ribs. He had lost much blood, but with time and rest, he would recover. One of his attendants appeared beside him with a full wooden cup and helped his son drink from it. Elrond recognized it as a mild sedative, and within the minute, Elladan's breathing evened and he was asleep.

He turned his attention to the wound on his shoulder, and frowned in concern. It wasn't deep, but the skin around it was achingly hot and red. He leaned forward to inspect the wound, but at that moment there was a commotion at the door, and he turned his attention away. "See to it," he told one of his assistants, and the woman hurried forward to begin treating her lord's son.

On of the maids rushed into the room, hands fisted in her dress. "Lady Arwen's palfrey has returned!" she shouted.

"Estel!" Elrond said in relief, but one look at the maid's face sent his hopes crashing.

"There is no sign of young Estel or Elrohir," she said quietly and hurried from the room. Elrond stared after him for several long seconds, feeling like his heart was in his throat, and then turned back to Elladan.

Glorfindel returned nearly two hours later, Elrohir leaning heavily against his side. His son looked beyond exhausted. His face was pale, his forehead beaded with sweat. His skin was a pallid gray color, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably. It hadn't taken long to see that Elladan was suffering from a mild poison, and doubtless Elrohir suffered from it, too. Blood leaked from a tear in his thigh, and he instantly spotted a cut on his abdomen. "Father," he breathed. "How is he?"

Elrond steadied Elrohir against his own shoulder and helped him to a chair by the bed. He knew that his son needed an actual bed, but he couldn't watch both of them if they were in different rooms. Elrohir fell into the chair roughly, winced as he did so, and then turned toward his brother. Elladan was still sleeping, pale and haggard, but he would live. He told Elrohir as much and watched the relief that swept over his face.

Then his face darkened, and he leaned forward in the chair, clutching at his stomach, face darkened with pain. Elrond reached for him, but his son shrugged him off and straightened. "It can wait," he said, but his hand did not leave his abdomen. "Father," he said with a small voice.

Elrond pressed his hand against his shoulder and leaned close. "Yes, my son?"

Elrohir stared up at him with eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Father, he took Estel." He hung his head low, and there was a sob in his voice. "I am sorry; we could not stop him."

Elrond had known instantly, as soon as the words had passed through Elrohir's lips that he needed to act immediately. There could be no time to wait. And yet he had to. He had no idea what had happened. He did not know where his children had been when they were attacked. He did not know who had taken his youngest. He had to wait, to ask his eldest two sons what had happened.

Elrohir had collapsed as soon as he told him that Estel had been abducted. He had just slid down into the chair, a thin trickle of blood sliding from his lips. He cursed himself for not realizing that he was more wounded than he appeared. Too distraught to tend to him himself, he could only watch as his assistants treated the puncture wounds in his gut and thigh.

Precious hours had ticked by, both his sons unconscious, while his youngest was stolen from him. Glorfindel and several others had left immediately to scour the valley in search of Estel, and Elrond only hoped that they would find him and bring him home. But a dark foreboding loomed over him, telling him that their search to find the young child would be without fruition.

Elladan moaned slightly from his bed, and stiffly tried to sit up. Elrond was at his side within seconds, helping him sit against the pillows. His face was red and hair damp, but those were the only signs of the illness that had washed over him. He glanced around the room, eyes lighting on the still-sleeping Elrohir at the opposite wall. They had brought in another small bed and laid him across it, but he did not appear to be resting as well as he should.

"Is he going to be all right?" Elladan asked quietly. He did not try to leave the bed, and Elrond was grateful.

"Yes," Elrond answered with a conviction he did not feel. He did not think that he would die, but he was not recovering as well as he should have been. Elladan looked at him as though he did not believe him, but said nothing. "What happened?" he asked, not letting his anxiety cloud his words.

Elladan closed his eyes and frowned. "We were riding with-- Father, that Elf took Estel!" he nearly cried. He tried to rise from the bed, but Elrond stopped him. "Father, he took Estel!"

Elrond nodded patiently. "Yes, I know." He kept his voice calm and even. "Elrohir told me, and already people are looking for him." He leaned close. "Now, I need you to tell me what happened, so that we can find him as soon as possible. Do you remember?" Elladan looked like he was on the verge of panic. "Breathe, my son," he said. He did so, and his shoulders slumped and tears rolled from his eyes.

"We were riding, and raced on ahead, but Estel-- We went to look for him, and saw that Elf taking him through the woods." He breathed deeply. "We tried to fight him, but he was too fast -- Father, he was so fast!" He rubbed at the wound on his shoulder, and Elrond quickly pulled his hand away. "That Elf shot at us," he said quietly.

Elrond stored this away in his mind. An Elf had taken his young human son. He couldn't imagine such a thing happening, but Elladan would not be mistaken about this. "What did he look like?" he asked, and this time an edge of desperation crept into his voice. Time was running out. He had to find Estel now.

Elladan shook his head and rubbed at his shoulder again. "He was blond, and his face fair. He... I think he was a Vanya, Father." He took a deep breath. "He was unlike any other Elf I have ever met. He had the same look in his face that Grandmother has. Like he carried a wonderful light within him."

A Vanya. One who had once dwelled across the sea, if what Elladan saw was correct. Elrond closed his eyes and let the thought slowly sink in. "Where were you when it happened?" he asked, and the look in his eyes was fearsome to behold.

And now, he was on his big gray mare, cantering along the road. The colors of the dried leaves and the trees blurred by him as they moved, but he was not going fast enough. He had been in pursuit for several hours, but he still hadn't come any closer to finding his missing son. He had passed Elladan's horse, standing still in the road, reins hanging loosely from its neck. The horse had been wandering in the direction of home, and he couldn't worry about it not finding its way. But it did indicate he was going in the right direction. Up ahead, he could see the tree Elladan had mentioned, a tall beech rising along the roadside. He slowed his horse, and her nostrils flared with the exertion. Sweat coated her neck and chest, and Elrond moved her at a walk until he reached the top of the hill were his sons had lost sight of Estel.

He could clearly see the damaged trees and brush were they had ridden their horses into the forest. He could see the large hoofprints in the road, and the torn ground as they left the road. He wanted to hurry, but would not let himself miss an important sign. He would get nowhere by rushing through this. Up ahead, he saw a bright blue arrow embedded into the ground, and another in a tree. He dismounted and hurried to the scene, watching the ground as he ran. Elladan and Elrohir's tracks were obvious, and he could pinpoint the exact spot where Elladan had fallen from his horse. He followed his sons' footprints and soon saw blood on the ground. Emotions twisted inside him, but he couldn't lose control.

Ahead, he saw one set of tracks leading through the forest, and whistled for his mare to come to him. He hurried into the saddle and followed the trail; the Elf had made no effort to hide his presence. After several minutes, he saw hoofprints join the Elf's tracks, and then only the hoofprints. He moved faster, as he knew the Elf had done. Night was falling around them, and he wanted to find his son as soon as possible. He had wasted too much time already.

It's not too late, he told himself. Estel will be safely home by this time tomorrow.

The trail turned southeast sharply, and Elrond nearly missed it. He reminded himself to be more focused, and moved his mare in the right direction. The Elf's horse had been running; he could see it in the deep tracks in the ground. The trail was clear, but it looked older than it should have. They should not have been so far ahead of him.

The hours of the night passed swiftly, with him following the other's footsteps. Dawn broke over the eastern horizon, and Elrond finally stopped his mare. She was panting with exhaustion, and he slid out of the saddle with stiff legs. She needed a rest, and truthfully, so did he. He could push on without one, but his horse could not. Pushing her to death would not benefit Estel. He loosed the saddle and pulled it away from her sweat-soaked back. He needed something to calm him, and so with sweating hands began to pull the dried leaves and twigs from her mane.

Time passed with agonizing slowness, and when he was sure his horse would be okay, he set the saddle on her back and tightened the straps. He patted her neck affectionately and pulled himself into the saddle. Soon, they were on the move again, following the trail left behind by Estel's captor. The day passed swiftly, and the sun was low in the sky when the tracks abruptly stopped. Elrond stopped his mare and studied the trail intently before dismounting and retracing his steps. There was nothing to explain it, but the trail just suddenly stopped.

Stay calm. Think this through. He walked hesitantly in the same direction they had been traveling, but the trail did not reappear. He walked back to the mare, and tried to walk east, and then west, but there was no evidence anyone had been there. He took a deep breath and went back to the mare, fighting the despair that welled inside him.

He needed to pick a direction, and he only could choose one. There wouldn't be time to make a mistake. He closed his eyes and listened to his surroundings, trying to distance his mind from the peril his youngest son was in. All around him, the forest of pines was the same. There were no clues to where Estel's captor had taken him. He had to rely on his intuition to find his child, and could only hope that it would not let him down. He turned south and prayed it was the right choice. Estel depended on it.

--------------------------

Estel awoke feeling sore all over his body. He felt like he had slept on the floor again -- he had done so once when he had been younger, when he thought something was hiding under his blankets, just waiting to gobble him up. He tried to sit, but fell to the floor again. He was cold, and he tried to remember what had happened, but--

This was not his room. His heart was racing as he tried to look around him, but it was dark. He realized with horror that there was something tied over his face. He couldn't see, and there was something in his mouth. He wanted to spit it out, but it was tied over his head. He couldn't move his hands, and his ankles were similarly bound. He screamed as loudly as he could.

Something hard landed on his side, and there was a sudden cracking sound. Pain lanced through his skin, down to his bone, and tears sprang to his eyes. An aching throb settled in his ribs and he sobbed quietly.

"Shut up," someone said above him. The voice was sharp and unfriendly, and he cried louder. A weight moved over him, and there was something sitting on his back. Breath was pushed from his body and he couldn't even cry. "Be quiet!" the person hissed close to his ear. He couldn't stop crying, and he gasped for breath in little hiccups. He was picked up and moved quickly. He could feel the wind against his hair, but the person holding him warmed his cold body.

His chest hurt and his face was hot and itchy were he had cried. He could smell a horse next to him, and soon he heard the distinct sound of hoof beats. He could feel the person's fingers against his head, and then he spoke to him. "If I take the blindfold off, will you be quiet?" he asked. Estel nodded hastily, and there was a ripping sound as the cloth was taken from his head.

The world outside was dark, but he could see the red flush of the sunrise in the east. The horse underneath them moved swiftly, through the forest of pines, and he could hear the sound of running water in the distance. He had never seen this land before, and he realized he was a long way from home. He was lying horizontally over the horse, and his head felt heavy as he watched the horse's hooves hit the forest floor. Twigs snapped and the pine needles crunched underfoot. He was dizzy and he felt sick. The gag was dry and thick in his mouth, and he would have vomited if it hadn't been there.

They left the forest behind them before midday, and the sun was hot on his back. The pain in his ribs was aggravated with every step the horse took, and tears leaked from his eyes although he did not sob. His hair was wet with sweat, and his wrists ached where the bonds rubbed against his skin. His legs were stiff, and he wanted to be home in his bed. He wanted his father.

They stopped in the afternoon, and the rider behind him dismounted. Estel finally saw the face of his captor, and he gasped through the gag. The man was an Elf, unlike any he had seen before. His hair was golden, like Glorfindel's, and it hung loosely down his back. His eyes were as blue as the sky, and his skin was fair. He had a beautiful face and fine features. There was a light shining in his eyes, but it did nothing to disguise the sinister expression he wore. His eyes were hard and angry, and his lips were curled into a sneer.

He pulled Estel from the saddle and the boy fell onto the hard ground with a moan. The terrain was sloped with small hills, and the ground was as hard as rock. Small stones dug into his skin, and fresh tears sprang to his eyes. He struggled to sit, but his legs were numb and his feet still bound. The Elf pulled a knife from his saddle bag and loomed over the boy. He wiggled to get away, but the Elf put his heavy foot on his little chest, and he could not move. He bent and sliced through the thick leather holding his ankles.

The pain in his ribs seared, and he squeezed his eyes closed. Blood rushed back into his feet and he pulled his legs under him as he hunched over in pain. The Elf moved back to his horse and methodically removed its tack. He brushed its coat and led it away from Estel, not bothering to look behind him.

Estel wiggled and tried unsuccessfully to stand. His feet ached, and his legs were weak. They refused to hold him, and he toppled again and again onto the ground. Each time he fell, his chest hurt more and more, and he eventually just lay there. Night was quickly falling, and he felt colder than he ever had before. His arms and face ached with the cold wind, and he longed for a coat or a fire. He barely noticed when he started crying, and the tears cooled quickly and only served to chill him more.

The Elf returned before the last rays of the sun disappeared over the western ridge of trees. He tied his horse and stared at Estel for several long minutes. Finally, he walked to the child and pulled him upright. He set him against a large stone, and pulled the gag out of his mouth. "Be quiet," he said. His voice was smooth and pleasant, but it carried a dangerous edge to it.

Estel nodded dumbly and breathed deeply. He was too scared to move, and so he huddled against his legs and tried not to cry. The Elf sat opposite to him, unmoved by the cold air or the boy's tears. He had a beautiful face, but his soul shined through as dark and ugly. "Are you gonna kill me?" Estel asked finally, his voice quivering in fear.

The Elf looked at him in disdain. "I told you to be quiet," he said harshly and retrieved an arrow from his tack. He straightened the fletching, and watched the sky, not bothering to even look at Estel. Eventually, he said, "I will not kill you, if you do as you are told." There was something unsaid, and Estel was not relieved. "I do not intend to keep you for long."

He knew he should have been quiet, but his mouth would not listen to his mind. "My brothers and my father will come for me," he said. "Then, you're gonna be sorry."

The Elf smiled, and Estel felt an icy chill crawl along his spine. "Are they?" he repeated and looked all the more menacing. "I somehow find that difficult to believe." He stood and smirked down at the boy, and the moonlight above them painted his face and hair a ghoulish white. "The sons of Elrond will surely be dead by now."

Estel gasped, and his tears returned. "Liar!" he shouted.

The Elf looked at him darkly. "I do not lie. I speak only the truth. The wounds I dealt them are true to their intention." He held up an arrow and it glistened in the pale light. "I struck two of these in one, and one in the other."

Estel tried to rise to his feet, but his balance was lost and he fell again. "I don't believe you!" he shouted, and his voice was choked with tears. "My brothers would never lose to someone like you!"

"Someone like me?" the Elf repeated. "I am leagues beyond their class." He paused and knelt next to Estel. He gripped his hair tightly and he winced at the new pain. "They are not your brothers. They are half-breeds, a kind of scum, but you are a Man, and worse than something on the bottom of my boot." He released him, and Estel's face fell onto the ground. "You cavort with the Elves as though they are your kin, and I can tolerate it no more, miserable maggot."

Estel gasped and his shoulders shook with sobs. No one had ever spoken to him this way, and he was too stunned to protest. "They're gonna come for me," he said again, but his voice did not convey his determination.

"Believe what you will," the Elf said and took his place across from him. He said nothing for several long minutes, merely stared at the full moon above them. Estel watched him from his place on the ground, unable to sit again. His chest was hurting more than ever, and it was becoming difficult to breathe. He could not sleep, and the Elf did not sleep. The moon made a wide arc across the sky, and it was almost as light as the day. Eventually, the Elf spoke to him. "My homeland was free of vermin like you," he said.

Estel did not answer; he did not want to say something to anger him.

"Before this sun, and before this moon. We were free of your kind."

He didn't know what the Elf was talking about. He was surely crazy. Before the sun and moon? What could he mean?

The Elf did not say anything more, but from time to time he would glance at his captive. Estel did not sleep, so when the sun crested the eastern horizon, he saw the sky grow gradually lighter and lighter. The Elf led his horse away again, and when he returned, the sun was clear of the low hill they were beside. He was only a little warmer in the daylight, and he still shivered uncontrollably. He was hungry and tired, and his chest throbbed continuously.

The Elf saddled his horse and picked Estel up by his shoulder. Instead of throwing him across the saddle like before, he set him astride the horse and settled behind him. The horse began walking immediately, and it lacked the hurried pace of the previous day. Mountains loomed before them, on their left, and Estel realized that they had changed directions. The land smoothed out and he could hear the loud sound of water. He looked around anxiously, but the Elf laughed a little cruel laugh. "Rejoice, Man, for this will be our last day together."

Estel turned his head to look over his shoulder, and the Elf stared at him with piercing blue-gray eyes. "I'm hungry," he said with a little voice. He had not eaten since the little lunch he had shared with his brothers.

The Elf scoffed and urged his horse to walk faster. "You are mistaken if you believe I care," he said. "I would feed the birds before I would spare any to you." The horse picked up its pace, and soon Estel felt ill again. Dark clouds moved in over the sky, and a thin mist began to fall upon them. The Elf did not seem to notice, but Estel started to shiver again. He was still cold from sleeping without a blanket, and this new chill was making his teeth clatter and little bumps rise up on his skin. He knew that the Elf had a long, thick wool coat in his bags; he had seen it while he had taken the horse away, and he longed to wrap it around him. It had looked so warm, and he was so dreadfully cold!

"Soon," he heard the Elf murmur to his horse, and he patted its neck softly. Estel's hands were still bound, and he could only hold them in front of him, bent at the elbow. He couldn't feel his wrists, and they were a pale color with the cold. He wiggled in the saddle, but the Elf squeezed him between his long arms. He cried in pain as the ache intensified, but the Elf smacked him hard against his shoulder. "Be quiet," he said again, loudly next to his ear. "I can not bear to hear your disgusting voice."

Estel quieted and hunched over the saddle, his back stinging with the force of the Elf's hand against his skin. They rode throughout the day, and never stopped once to eat or rest. Estel was hungry, and his stomach rumbled with want of food. The Elf shot him an annoyed glare, but did not give him anything to eat. His mouth was dry and his tongue felt hot and thick in his mouth. He had an aching headache, and it had been days since his last sip of water. "I'm thirsty," he whined.

The Elf motioned to his right. "There is the Mitheithel there," he said. "Perhaps I should throw you in it." Estel shuddered and started to protest, but the horse slowed and the Elf reached behind him. He pressed a canteen into his hands and uncorked the top. "Drop it, and I will drop you." Despite having slowed, the horse was still running quickly, and he did not want to be pushed off it. He had difficulty bringing the canteen to his lips, but eventually succeeded. It was not water, but liquor, and the Elf only allowed him a drop.

His thirst was greater now, once he had been reminded of what he did not have.

They stopped before nightfall, and Estel saw a group of men waiting for them in the distance. Hope swelled in his heart at the sight of someone who could help him, but one look at the men caused a knot to form in his stomach. They were short and stocky, and their hair was hanging dirty on their backs. One of them stood in front of the others, and when he smiled he revealed a mouth full of broken and missing teeth. "Menel!" he cried and waved his arm at them.

The Elf tensed behind him and moved the horse into a walk. "Greetings," he replied. "I have him for you, as we agreed." He dismounted, but left Estel on the horse, watching wide-eyed as some of the men looked over him with greedy eyes. They tossed a sack to the Elf and he opened it and peered inside. "Then our business is complete," he said. He went back to the horse and pulled Estel off. He made him walk on his shaking legs to the group of men. "He suffers from a broken rib," he told them. "Take care with it."

"Oh, we will," the leader said. "Oh, we will."

Estel felt his skin crawl as one of them laid a meaty hand on his thin arm. "No!" he shouted to the Elf. "No! Please, don't leave me here!"

The Elf hesitated for only a second as he turned away -- or was that just Estel's imagination? "You are mistaken if you believe that I care," he said again and left with his horse.

--------------------------

There was someone waiting for him as he burst through the edge of the clearing. The Elf before him was a Vanya, his face fair and his hair golden. There was a big gray horse behind him, with only a blanket on its back. He clutched a large knife in his hands, the hilt black and the blade stained silver. "Elrond of Imladris," he said loudly. "I have been waiting for you!"

Elrond slowed his horse and tried to assess the situation. Except for the knife, the Elf did not appear threatening. He was standing calmly, his leather-clad feet planted far apart. But, he matched the description Elladan had given him. And the trail had led here. "Where is Estel? Who are you?" he asked.

The Vanya looked thoughtful. "My name is Menel," he said. "Hope?" he questioned. "So, that was his name. How unsuited."

Anxiety clawed at him. "Where is Estel?" he repeated. He slowly dismounted and waited for a reply. The more the other Elf said, the worse his dread became. He almost did not want to hear the answer.

"I do not know," he said and his voice held nothing but the truth. "I left him five days ago."

Elrond frowned. "What do you mean -- left him?"

The Vanya laughed. It was a musical sound, but something unnerved him. "I did not have the means to achieve my goals," he said. His lips twisted into a smirk. "He has a delicate face and a soft body. There is a market for such things."

Horror swept over Elrond. "No..." he said.

"Yes."

He lunged then and tackled the Vanya. They landed on the forest floor, and the wind was knocked from his body. Menel struggled under him and pushed him off, and then came down with his knife. The blade struck his arm, but it only sliced through the skin. It stung, and a thin line of blood blossomed at the wound, but there was no real damage done.

Menel scrambled over him and held him down, his hands pressed tightly against Elrond's neck. He couldn't breathe, and he tried to push the Vanya off, but could not. Menel was stronger than he appeared to be, and he pressed the edge of his knife against Elrond's chest. The fabric was sliced cleanly, and he could feel the cold bite of the metal against his skin. The Elf gave a wicked smiled of satisfaction and slid his hand along his throat until he forced Elrond's head against the ground. He pressed the knife deeper, and there was a harsh sting as it dug into his chest.

"The thought of killing one of my own makes me ill. To be like those Kinslaying Noldor sickens me." He leaned forward, and his eyes carried a dangerous glint as he smiled. "But you are not one of my own. You are an abomination, a stain on all Elven blood. Mixed breed," he hissed. "I--" he stopped as Elrond pushed him off with his knee and knocked him onto the ground.

He hurried to his feet and drew his sword as Menel staggered to his own. There was blood flecked on his lips, and there was an abrasion on his chin. He ran his tongue over his lower lip and he looked at Elrond with absolute fury. "You will suffer for this, the way your sons have suffered, and the way the boy has suffered. You will regret it, for you are not fit to lay a hand against me."

The knife in Menel's hand was long and well-built, with a gilded hilt and engraved runes on the blade. A thin line of blood was marked against the edge, making the elegant weapon seem sinister. He rushed at Elrond, but the knife met the sword with a loud clatter of metal. The Vanya was fast, and he carried his weapon with skill and strength. He was like a golden blur as he dodged any blow Elrond attempted, but he had to be close to strike with the knife, and Elrond remained mostly unharmed.

But he was exhausted. He had been in pursuit for most of the day, without rest, and his search for his youngest son had lasted for nearly a week. He felt like he was back on the battlefield, when he had been younger and less wise, and he could not go on fighting like this. Intuition told him he would not win this fight, and he was filled with dread for Estel. If he could not help him, then no one could. If he didn't win, then the boy's life would be forfeit.

Menel was laughing at him, his lips twisted into a thin sneer. A dark light sparked in his eyes and he raised the knife above his head. He started to bring it down when Elrond saw his chance and slammed his shoulder into the Vanya's chest. He dropped the knife and struggled to recover his breath as Elrond swung his sword into him.

The blade sliced cleanly through Menel's arm. There was a snap as the bone was broken, and then a spray of blood as the blade tore through the other side of his arm. It dug into his chest and then stopped suddenly. The Vanya stood, motionless, as Elrond pulled the sword back. His face was devoid of emotions, but there was shock in his eyes. He moved his arms to touch the wound, and blood started flowing out of his right arm. He coughed, and flecks of blood dribbled from his lips. With wide eyes, he staggered and fell onto his knees.

"How disgraceful," he said in a wheeze. "To be killed by a mixed breed like you." He fell onto the ground and his eyes stared ahead, but there was no life in them. He breathing stopped after a moment, and there was no doubt that he was dead.

Elrond breathed deeply, letting the air return to his lungs. His body was quivering, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He glanced down at the fallen Elf, a knot of strong emotions twisted in his stomach. The blood on his hands was still warm, and he felt suddenly ill.

He couldn't think about it now. He had to find Estel.

He turned back to his horse and tried to think with a clear head. His horse was pushed to the point of exhaustion. She needed rest, but Elrond needed too hurry. He walked to her and unfastened the saddle. He pulled the bridle off of her head and rubbed her affectionately. "Go home, friend," he said. "Go home, and wait for me there." The horse watched him for a moment, but then shook its big gray head and turned away. He walked in the general direction of Rivendell, and Elrond focused back on his task.

Menel's horse was smaller, but nearly as tall, and Elrond tried to visually judge if the tack would fit it. The horse fidgeted as he approached, but did not flee. He put his hands against her neck and rubbed her comfortingly. The muscles in her neck were tense, and the mare looked at him with a calculating eye. "Peace, my friend," he whispered and slowly moved so that he touched her face. She pricked her ears forward and sniffed him cautiously. "Your master is gone now, but will you take me to where he led you? I'm looking for the child; can you help me?"

The horse watched him, but did not otherwise answer. Elrond retrieved the bridle and hesitantly slipped it over the mare's head. It was a little loose, but would be adequate until he found Estel. When he went back for the saddle, the mare followed him. He set it on her back and tightened the straps, and he was surprised that it fit so well. He fixed his sword to his belt and vaulted into the saddle. "Now, show me which way," he said with a kind voice.

The horse immediately moved toward the south, and Elrond watched the ground for tracks. He knew instantly that it was the right way. He could see hoof prints once they reached soft ground, and they did not look too old. The horse moved quickly, as it was sure of its direction, but it did not seem to be fast enough. Elrond could feel a heavy, invisible weight against his back, urging him to be faster. Estel's life was in peril, and there was no other hope for the child. It had already been over a week since he had been abducted, and if he were honest with himself, he did not even know if he was still alive.

He was suddenly cold at that thought, and he tried to force it from his mind. No, Estel was still alive. He could feel it. He would not let his son die. Elladan and Elrohir were wounded, but when he left, they were recovering. He didn't know what had happened to Estel. He wouldn't let himself think about what Menel had implied. It was out of the question.

They traveled south for the rest of the day, and the sun had just disappeared over the horizon when the horse stopped. Elrond dismounted and studied the ground. There had been many people there, recently. He spotted a small set of footprints -- Estel! -- and followed them as they turned east. He climbed back onto the horse and time seemed to slowly crawl by. The group made no effort to hide their trail, and following them was a simple matter. They had passed into a pine forest, within a day, and intuition told him he was close.

Elrond heard them before he saw them. There was a grunt and roar of coarse laughter. He heard one man speaking louder than all the others, but his words were slurred and he sounded drunk. He could smell the scent of a burning fire, and there -- on his right -- was an orange glow. He dismounted silently and bid the horse to wait where she was. He stepped through the bed of pine needles noiselessly and approached the fire.

There was a large group of men circled around the fire, and he frowned as he watched them. They were hunched toward the fire, bodies shining with sweat. They ate half-cooked meat and drank ale from dirty bottles. Their clothing was tattered and covered in grime, but the boots on their feet were in good condition, without any holes. Each carried a weapon on his back, mostly thick swords, but one held an axe in his hand.

Elrond watched them for several minutes, as they tore into their meat and slapped one another on the back. He did not see Estel among them, nor any sign he had been with them. He started to turn away, but one of the men stood to throw more wood into the fire. Elrond's breath left him, and he felt suddenly weak as he spotted a child's small, bare feet between two of the men. Another leaned forward to toss an animal bone into the fire, and he saw the child's face, half-covered with dirt and blood.

Estel. He breathed deeply and his fingers twitched. The boy wasn't moving, and the fire cast flickering shadows over his face. He took a shaky breath, and Elrond could hear the long, raspy wheeze as he exhaled. He closed his eyes in relief and wiped the sweat from his palms. He pulled the sword from his belt and took a deep breath. It was time to get his son back.

He charged silently, his sword slashing through the backs of the men who sat closest to him, turned toward the fire. There was a splatter of blood, and then they fell with a groan. The other men hurried to their feet and drew their weapons, but Elrond was ruthless. He struck mercilessly through the group, while they were still slow and surprised. A young man tried to defend himself, clumsily raising his sword, but Elrond cut him down without thought.

The band's leader appeared before him, his face red with rage. He hoisted his axe onto his shoulder and then swung it down. Elrond dodged the blow and sliced through the man's hand, cutting off some of his fingers. The axe fell to the ground, and Elrond drew the sword back and thrust it into the man's chest. He fell with a howl of rage that turned into a gurgle as blood spewed out of his mouth.

Behind the fallen leader, the men seemed to lose their courage. Some turned to run, but a few lingered to fight. Elrond dealt with them quickly, and soon there was no one left around the campfire. He dropped his sword and ran to Estel, his heart in his throat. His arm was beginning to sting, and he could feel warm blood dripping over his elbow and trailing down to his wrist. He hadn't even felt the blow, and the pain was only now making itself known. He would deal with his own pain later; right now, there was only one important thing.

He dropped to his knees by Estel's side and turned the boy onto his back. Estel groaned and whimpered, his small body flinching. Elrond pressed his hand to his forehead to feel for a fever, but recoiled as a bright red, sticky imprint of his hand was left behind. He glanced down to his hands and was horrified to see the blood that clung to them. He hadn't even noticed...

"Estel," he said loudly, bent over the child. "Estel, wake up." Estel moaned and turned away. Elrond wiped his hands on his breeches as best he could and felt of his skin again. He was agonizingly hot, burning with a fever. When he breathed, there was a rattle in his chest and a long wheeze with each exhalation. His skin was wet with sweat, but his teeth rattled as he shivered. "Estel, wake up. Please, Estel. I am here to take you home."

He groaned again and moved his head. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking as though he were leaving a dream. They were unnaturally clear and bright, shining like silver in the moonlight. "Father?" he asked hesitantly.

Elrond breathed a sigh of relief and pulled Estel to him. The boy yelped in pain and he immediately released him. "Yes, Estel, I am here." He ran his fingers through his hair and wiped some of the grime off of his face. "I am here for you, now."

Estel began to cry. The tears streaked his cheeks, and rolled off his chin in dirty droplets. "I was so scared," he sobbed. His shoulders shook, and his breathing was unsteady. "He told me you wouldn't come."

Elrond didn't trust himself to answer, so he looked over the boy. His wrists were bound with strips of animal hide, painfully tight. His hands were white and cold, and blood oozed from the bonds. He reached for a knife off of a corpse and slit the leather. Estel winced as he pulled them off, and he could see the deep cuts in his skin.

Estel looked over Elrond's shoulder and gasped. "Father, what happened?" He coughed, and his lips were flecked with blood. "All those Men..."

Elrond did not turn to look behind them. "They are dead, Estel." He guided the boy's face away from the carnage. "Tell me where you are hurt."

Estel glanced at the corpses again, but then focused on his father's face. "My chest hurts," he said with a small voice. "When I breathe, it hurts a lot." Elrond nodded and slipped his hand under his shirt. He could feel a knot where there were supposed to be two ribs, and grimaced. Estel wiggled under his touch. "Father, that Elf told me he hurt Elladan and Elrohir." He sniffled a little. "It's not true, is it?"

Elrond paused and weighed his words. "They will be fine. It is you I am worried about."

The boy gasped. "But, what if he comes back, and--" He started crying, terrified at the mere thought of Menel taking him again and hurting his brothers.

He debated telling Estel the truth, but he would not lie, and if it put his fears to rest... "You do not have to worry about him ever again, Estel. He is dead."

Estel gasped again. "Father, did you kill him?"

"I did."

He looked around wildly, as though he did not know what to say. He opened his mouth to voice some thought, but moaned in pain instead.

Elrond shushed him and carefully picked him up. "I have some salve in my saddlebags, as well as something for the pain and fever. I will take you home, and you will find better health there."

Estel wrapped his arms over his shoulders and stared at the dead bodies of his captors. "But, Father, all those people..."

Elrond said nothing as he walked away. His thoughts were awhirl in his head, one spinning mass of exhaustion and emotion. There were no words that he wanted to say, and all that mattered now was getting his son home. He set Estel onto the horse and sat behind him. "Estel, I have saved you," he said at last. He kept his voice firm and even, and he did not look back.

--------------------------

October, 3018

There was no one who could help him now.

They called him the best -- the greatest -- but that meant nothing now. Maybe once, he could have saved him, but that time had passed. Elrond had known, or at least suspected, the consequences of his actions. But he had chosen to kill those men that day, had chosen to save the life of the little boy who had come to mean so much to him. He had decided then that he would have no regrets.

But looking at the anxious face of Samwise Gamgee, he could not stop the guilt that grew inside of him. He didn't know what the Hobbit had been told, but only hoped no one had promised him a full recovery. He always felt like such a liar when he had to tell someone that he couldn't save the injured. That he no longer had the skill, the gift, of bringing people back from death's door.

The room was hot and humid, the smell of herbs and medicines strong in the air. On the bed, Frodo Baggins lay motionless. His small body was no longer breathing. He couldn't help the stinging thought that he should have been able to save him. It should not have been so impossible.

"There was nothing you could do," Estel said from the door. He looked tired and haggard, and he carried some hidden guilt on his shoulders. He was a man now, nearly ninety, but Elrond would always see him as his son.

Elrond turned to look at him, and then his gaze slid to the Hobbit. "He needed to be saved. What will become of us, now that he is lost?"

Estel had no answer, and so he didn't offer one. Instead, he turned to the window, where below the other three Hobbits waited for news of their friend. "Would you like me to tell them?" he asked after an uncomfortable silence. He didn't want to, but someone needed to, and they knew the Ranger better than they knew Elrond.

Elrond shook his head slowly, but Estel was turned away from him, and so he spoke aloud. "Mithrandir has offered. He has known them for some time, and it will be better coming from him."

"It will be," Estel agreed. "But it is still a hard blow." He sighed wistfully and looked back toward Frodo. "I had hoped he was not beyond your help."

Elrond stiffened slightly, and then stood. "Estel," he began, but his son jumped immediately to his feet and shook his head.

"No, Father," he said, and his voice tight with only barely-concealed emotion. "No, I am not blaming you!" He drew a deep breath and then sat down again. His gaze was fixed to the window, and he would not look at Elrond. "No one blames you, Father. I did not understand then, but I do now. If anyone should be at fault, it is me."

He sighed loudly and moved to stand beside Estel. "Do not blame yourself, Son. It was always my choice." Elrond left the room, and Estel watched him leave with a heavy heart before turning back to the bed.

Frodo had been stabbed with the Witch-king's blade on Amon Sûl. Estel closed his eyes and sighed heavily. It seemed like so long ago when it had happened. He had done all he could for the Hobbit on the journey to Imladris, but it hadn't been enough. He should have known better than to take him to his father, but he had hoped against everything he knew that Elrond could save him.

Elrond had been regarded as a great healer for thousands of years, but he had given it all up for his love for Estel. He hadn't understood as a boy just what had happened. He knew he had been kidnapped, knew that his very life was in danger. And he knew that his father had saved him. Most of his memories of the event were dim, but he could recall with startling clarity the gruesome sight of the disemboweled man who had tormented him for days. He shuddered at the thought and shook his head, as though he could shake the image from his mind.

Riding home with his father after his rescue, he had been ignorant of what had really happened. He was only relieved to be safe in his father's arms, even though he was still gravely injured. It wasn't until later that Elladan and Elrohir had explained. He felt the familiar tide of guilt that he experienced every time he thought about what his father had sacrificed for him.

Samwise Gamgee appeared at the door, and his face was as pale as freshly fallen snow. He was breathing hard, and Estel knew he must have run all the way to this room. "Strider!" he shouted and stepped into the room, but he stopped when his eyes fell on Frodo's small body resting on the sheets. "Gandalf said -- Gandalf said..."

"We were too late," Estel said needlessly, if only to break the horrible tension that was choking him from the inside.

Sam let out a sob and took a halting step toward the bed. Estel could see the quiver in his lips and wide-eyed, shocked stare he had fixed on Estel's face. "It's not true, Strider!" he said. "Frodo wouldn't--!"

Estel placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. "Go to him," he said and watched as Sam took slow steps to the bedside, and then threw himself on it, sobbing for Frodo. Merry and Pippin ran through the door and stopped suddenly, watching the scene but unable to move forward.

Merry turned to him sharply. "What happened? You said-- They said he could be healed here!" He fisted his hands and turned his sight away from Frodo's lifeless body.

"I had hoped that he could, Merry." Estel could feel the burden of his secret guilt pressing down on his shoulders. "His wound was beyond anyone's skill to heal. It was too late from that moment on Weathertop." He watched the Hobbits for a few more tense seconds and then turned away. "I'll leave you alone now."

"He's not suffering anymore?" Pippin asked as he started to leave.

"No, he's no longer in pain," he said and swiftly left the room.

Outside, the weather was warm and peaceful. The sun was bright in the sky, and he could hear the song of birds in the trees and on the wind. It seemed like the perfect day, and for a moment Estel could almost pretend none of this mess had ever happened. He could almost pretend that Frodo hadn't died, and that his father had stopped the Hobbit's painful retreat from this world. But there was no use in pretending, and he could not deny the truth.

He found Arwen in the garden, admiring a lovely pink rose. He took a seat beside her on the short stone bench and closed his eyes. He felt Arwen's small hands touch his arm and then entwine with his large, calloused hand. She squeezed his fingers reassuringly, and he smiled slightly. "I heard what happened to the poor Hobbit," she said after a moment's silence.

"I shouldn't have brought him to Father," he said in response.

"It's not your fault," she said.

"Isn't it?" he asked bitterly.

Arwen pulled her hand away from his and touched his face. He slowly opened his eyes to look at hers, but could not hold the contact for long. "No!" she said with conviction. "You did all you could for him. I know you did all you could."

"It wasn't enough."

She sighed musingly. "Perhaps it wasn't supposed to be."

He glanced upward to meet her eyes, but she was turned away. "Father could have saved him," he said slowly. Tears burned at his eyes, but he would not let them fall. He was far beyond crying.

"No, he couldn't," Arwen argued. "He told me that there was nothing anyone could do."

Estel said nothing, but tilted his head back and closed his eyes, letting the warm sunshine heat his face. The wind was cool in his hair, and he felt like he could sleep for a very long time. He had had little rest since Frodo had been stabbed that night. He had put all of his hope in-- No. Elrond couldn't save him. "And whose fault is that?" he asked rhetorically.

Arwen gasped and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing his arm. "That was not your fault, either!" she said loudly. He frowned and looked away, but she would not let him. "It was not your fault," she said again. "You were just a child -- you never asked for that to happen to you!"

"I do not know why it happened," he said after a moment. "I never wanted--" He stopped and shook his head. "We all would have been better if Father hadn't found me. Then, he wouldn't have... had to give that up for me."

"Estel!" Arwen shouted, furious. "How could you say that!" She stood up and leaned over him, both hands on his shoulders. "It would have killed Father to have lost you. After it happened, he told us that he did not regret it. Do not regret it for him!" She turned and left without another word, and Estel watched her leave with a heavy heart.

Evening came quickly, and he finally left the garden and retreated to his room without supper. He didn't think he could stomach food and wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep. Arwen's words would not leave him, and he had little rest that night. In the morning, he woke slowly and felt more tired than he had in weeks.

Before noon, Elladan and Elrohir returned from their errands. Estel had stayed in the stables throughout the morning, wanting to do nothing more than absorb himself in the methodic, soothing task of grooming horses. He had seen no sign of the Hobbits who had accompanied Frodo to Imladris, but he had seen Bilbo Baggins moving through the house earlier in the day. He couldn't bring himself to face him, and so had turned his head and retreated like a coward. He felt shame from it, even now.

Elladan smiled at him thinly as he dismounted and removed a parcel that was tied to his saddle. He reached toward his gelding to remove his bridle, but Estel waved him off. "Let me, please," he said softly and began to take the tack off of the horse. Elrohir rode in behind him and Estel offered to do the same. He didn't want to return to the house, and was nearly out of things to do outdoors.

"I need to take this to Father," Elladan said and tapped his hand on the parcel. Estel nodded and his brother left, but Elrohir stayed behind and watched the man tend to the horses.

Estel spoke after several quiet moments. "Father has called for a council of the free peoples..."

Elrohir nodded slowly. "I thought he might."

"... To discuss the fate of the One Ring," he finished in a whisper. Elrohir said nothing in response, and Estel hung his head low. "Our fate..." He breathed deeply and wiped down the horse's neck with his hand. The little mare leaned into his to touch and he scratched her neck absently. "What do you think will happen to us?"

His brother shrugged. "I imagine Father will have the Ring taken to be destroyed." He kept his voice smooth and calm, but Estel still thought he could hear some sort of underlying emotion troubling him.

Estel turned away from the horse and met his brother's warm gray eyes, but he felt nothing but cold inside. "And after that?"

Elrohir turned away. "Who can say?" he asked. "If they are successful, then you know what will happen." He looked westward, as though he could see through the stable walls. "The time will come for Elves to leave." He straightened and turned back to Estel. "If they fail, then... You know that fate as well."

He nodded in reply, for he could not find words. All too soon, it would be time to say farewell to his family and friends. The final confrontation with Sauron loomed upon them, and Estel knew he would take his part in the upcoming struggle. If they lost or if they won, it would be the time for goodbyes and loss. If he ascended to the throne, he would marry Arwen and she would die. If Sauron regained his ring, victory would be all but impossible, and he would never see her again. It was better for her that way; but the love in his heart for her would not let him lose her. He was being selfish -- he knew he was being selfish -- but that did not and could not change the way he felt.

Days later, Estel sat across from Elrond in his study. The moon was large and bright in the sky, and Estel could see plainly his home washed in moonlight. It was graced with an ethereal beauty that he longed to stand in and be a part of, and he could not keep his gaze away from the windows. The Council his father had called would meet the next day, and Estel savored his last remaining night in which his destiny was undecided. He had already promised to do all he could to see the ring destroyed, and he knew without being told that he would not see Imladris for a very long time.

"I have asked your brothers to escort the Hobbits to the Shire," Elrond said smoothly. He was leaned over his desk, writing diligently on a lengthy parchment.

"That is for the best," he murmured quietly. They never should have been involved in this, he added to himself silently. "And what of Bilbo?"

Elrond stopped writing, but did not look up. "We have discussed it and decided he should sail with us when the time comes." He hesitated for a moment, but then set his pen to paper again.

Estel could not name the emotion that bubbled up within him, but when he spoke his voice was oddly tight. "He will enjoy that." Elrond nodded in reply.

They sat in content silence; Estel took comfort in something so familiar. As a child, he had loved to sit by his father's side as he wrote in his library. That was when the world was confined to Imladris, and nothing existed outside its borders that mattered in the least. He took a deep breath as he pondered his words. The time would come soon when he would leave all of this behind him, and he wanted to say it now, while he still had the chance.

"Father," he began in a whisper. Elrond stopped writing and looked at him intently. "I want to--" --apologize, but that would bring them nothing but grief. "That day, with Menel and those Men." He stopped there and shuddered as the name passed his lips. The Elf's fair face haunted him still, some eighty years after it had happened. He remembered that in the first several months after his return home, he had woken up crying and screaming each night.

"Yes?" Elrond said tensely. They didn't like to speak of it, both for different reasons. But it needed to be said, now before it was too late.

He couldn't allow himself to hesitate. If he did, he would lose his courage and possibly take the words to the grave with him. He couldn't let that happen. "Did you know what would happen?" he asked at last.

Elrond sighed heavily and folded his arms in front of him. After several minutes in silence, in which Estel could not meet his eyes, he spoke. "Estel, we all learn from a very young age what is expected of us. I was no different. I learned to read and write, and with that I was taught the customs of our people. The power to heal diminishes when life is taken." He breathed deeply and smiled up at Estel. "I have known it since my youth, and still I chose to ride to war, and I chose to hunt in the forests. I chose to retrieve my son when he was in peril," he said heavily and took Estel's hand in his own.

Estel said nothing for a moment, just savored the feeling of love his father had given him. He smiled slightly. "Do you regret it?" he asked softly. Arwen had told him their father did not, but he wasn't sure he could let himself believe it until he heard it from Elrond's lips. Part of him dreaded the answer, but the other part would never have peace until he heard the truth.

"From the first moment I saw you, Estel, I have loved you. When I decided to take you as my son, I meant it in truth. I would give up my life for any of my children without hesitation; that is what a parent would do for his child." He left the desk and stood in front of Estel, placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

Estel was almost shaking with relief. He had carried the weight of Elrond's loss for a very long time, and it felt almost alien to be without that guilt. "Then... you don't hate me for it? You don't blame me?" he asked in a whisper.

"If it meant saving your life, I would do it again gladly," his father said.

Estel could hear the truth in his words, and he wiped away the wetness in his eyes with his sleeve. "Thank you," he said at last and hugged his father tightly.

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(end chapter ficlet)
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End Notes:

I angsted for a while on what to name the horse, had a name in here for months, then worried it wasn't right. So I switched it to a word in the Silmarillion glossary. Carnil is the name of a red star.

Estel is ignorant of his history. Ah, the joys of youth. I was so sick of villain Elves being "dark elves." So I made mine a Calaquendi, and I named him after the heavens.

This is the end. Ha. Maybe you enjoyed, maybe you didn't. I don't know. For the most part, I enjoyed writing it, so that's what mattes the most to me.

And just an overall note, if you have no clue where I got the inspiration for this. In "Laws and Customs" (cite it below!) it states that women were the primary healers, since they didn't kill in battle. So that mutated into this thought, and discussing with my sister, morphed into this ficlet. So, yeah.

The direct quote History of Middle-earth, Vol X: Morgoth's Ring. "Laws and Customs" pg 213 :

neri men, nissi women

"There are indeed some differences that have been established by custom (varying in place and time, and in the several races of the Eldar). For instance, the arts of healing, and all that touches on the care of the body, are among all the Eldar most practiced by the nissi; whereas it was the elven-men who bore arms at need. And the Eldar deemed that the dealing of death, even when lawful or under necessity, diminished the power of healing, and that the virtue of the nissi in this matter was due rather to their abstaining from hunting or war than to any special power that went with their womanhood. Indeed in dire straits or desperate defence, the nissi fought valiantly, and there was less difference in strength and speed between elven-men and elven-woman that had not borne child than is seen among mortals. On the other hand many elven-men were great healers and skilled in the lore of living bodies, though such men abstained from hunting, and went not to war until the last need."

Oh! And just so you know: I don't hate Hobbits, really. I had to kill of Frodo in an effort to show just how much Elrond had given up for Estel. Right.

Feedback would be appreciated!