Growing Pains- Chapter 20
Turns out this is the third to last chapter! It would have been one more, but I couldn't find a good point to cut off this chapter, so it is a little longer as well. Again, some fluff. The bulk of the story is now over, so this is mainly wrapping up things and mindless fluff for the sake of fluff.
We finally have our christmas decoration up in my house! The tree is up and tinsel is wrapped around the banisters and everything :) And I am actually organised this year- I have all my christmas presents.
Anyway, here is the next chapter. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: see Chapter 1
0-o-0-o-0
The sun filtered through from the balcony, the doors flung wide open. A shape stirred underneath the mound of blankets on the bed that had long since given up any pretence of being neat.
There was no sound, but suddenly a figure was standing in the doorway to the balcony. The morning light glinted off golden hair that was waving slightly in the breeze from outside.
Legolas held back a sigh. He didn't know how, but the young man, buried somewhere underneath those blankets, had somehow wormed his way into his heart and settled there. He completely understood Elladan and Elrohir's desire to look out for him, to protect him, because now he felt the same. Now it was even harder to push him, to sweep his legs out from underneath him and make him fall.
And yet they must do so, because Estel was not Estel, not anymore to Legolas. Aragorn. The name was new to his tongue, and yet it did not feel too strange. He didn't know why. But he knew now that this young man, currently oblivious to his presence, was important. He would be vital in the years to come.
For a long time Legolas had not held out much hope that they would win, in the end. He kept fighting, of course, because hope could be such a treacherous thing, and he remained cheerful, because to do anything else was a way of admitting defeat, and that he would not do.
But now there was Estel. Legolas had not even known that any descendants of Elendil were still alive, anyone who could claim the throne of Gondor and Arnor. He knew of the Dunedain, for they occasionally appeared on the borders of Mirkwood. But he had not known that all this time they had been harbouring the descendants of Isildur. He supposed it was one of the prices they had paid for becoming so secluded.
But Estel… If the end was truly coming, and if it was to come within Estel's lifetime, then Legolas felt that maybe there was some real hope this time. Not because they suddenly had the might to stand against the shadow, and not because Estel was this flawless mortal, but because Estel was…Estel. He had made mistakes, and he would make many more, but he had a good heart. He tried to do what was right, and, thought Legolas with a wry smile, was fiercely determined to the point of stubbornness.
And Legolas had no idea exactly what Estel would be like when he was grown, when he maybe had to step up and take up the mantle appointed to him, but if there was still even a part of this young man left in that adult, not worn away by whatever horrors Legolas knew he would encounter, then Legolas thought that maybe there would be some hope.
The mound under the blankets stirred, and a smile crept across Legolas' face as Estel rolled over onto his back. Without even opening his eyes, he groaned.
"If you are here to drag me out so you can throw clay balls at my head to see if I can shoot them down, then I decline."
Legolas chuckled and stepped into the room. "I thought I would make you hit them down with throwing knives today, not a bow."
Another groan came from the bed. "Not a chance," said Estel. "You and my brothers keep forgetting I need more sleep than you. Stop keeping me up so late and stop waking me up so early every single day."
Legolas laughed. "It is not that early," he pointed out. "The sun is up."
Estel rubbed his eyes and glared at the blond elf. "It is summer. The sun rises early in summer. Ergo, it is still early." He huffed and rolled over. "Go away and let me sleep." But there was no anger in his voice, only a fond irritated tone that Legolas now recognised well.
Legolas chuckled again. "We will start later. I only have a few more days now, so we have to make good use of the time, but you can sleep in for a little longer."
Estel rolled back over again. "What?" he asked. "Why?"
"I'm leaving soon," Legolas reminded Estel. "The escort will have set out from Mirkwood two days ago. In another three days they will be here, and then I will return with them the next day." He smiled a small smile. "I cannot stay for longer. I must return home."
Estel gave up on holding his head up and let it fall back to the pillow. "How long does it take to travel to Mirkwood?" he asked.
Legolas paused momentarily. "It takes a day and a half to travel to the edge of Mirkwood on horseback. Another day and a half to get into the mountains. We have to cross the mountains in a single day, and then it takes another to journey here. If we push, we can make the journey in five days. We don't like being out in the open any longer than we have to."
Estel groaned, and pushed himself up so he was half sat against the headboard of his bed. "You just won't let me sleep, will you?"
"You asked," said Legolas with a smile.
Estel rolled his eyes. "You are the one who came into my room in the first place," he pointed out. "And you can get out."
Legolas laughed. And some apprehension over Estel's real identity, because he would be a fool not to feel slightly nervous, vanished at the sight of the tousled, tired young man slouched in the bed.
He had known many people, many elves over his life, during the long years fighting in Mirkwood. He knew elves that had been hardened by the darkness, becoming unyielding. Some had become bitter, with their slightly hollow expressions from where they had seen too much. Many were almost too merry, too cheerful, trying to compensate for the darkness of their home.
But Legolas had never seen much innocence. What there was in Mirkwood was quickly lost. It was almost strange to see it in Estel, when Legolas knew just what things he might encounter in the future. But it made him hopeful.
Estel shifted so he was lying flat again, and rolled over, cocooning himself in his blankets. Legolas turned to leave the same way he had gotten into Estel's room, heading for the balcony. He heard a soft snort from the bed.
Estel rolled over so he could see him. "Next time you want to wake me up," he said with a yawn. "By all means, use my door."
Legolas chuckled, and vaulted lightly over the balcony.
0-o-0-o-0
The next three days passed in, if not a blur, then a tired haze, mainly consisting of training, eating and sleeping for Estel. It now seemed that, with Legolas' immanent departure, they were trying to fit in everything that the wood elf could teach Estel, that Elladan and Elrohir were unable, or in some cases not willing, to do so.
Estel had spent the previous day trying to balance on increasingly difficult objects, including a stack of logs that were drying out, and meant to be neatly stacked until he slipped on one and the entire stack collapsed. He had spent the rest of the day stacking the logs again with Legolas. Again, Elladan and Elrohir were nowhere to be seen.
Occasionally as they had worked, Estel had seen Legolas pause and watch him, if only for a brief moment, out of the corner of his eye. Estel had no idea why, as every time he turned his head Legolas' gaze had already moved on, but he only picked up on it a few times, and it soon slipped his mind afterwards.
The day the escort was due to arrive; Elladan and Elrohir spent the morning helping Legolas pack, which meant that they sat there talking whilst Legolas packed. Estel didn't stay around much that morning, guessing that his brothers and Legolas would prefer to be left alone, if only for the morning. Judging from the slightly more sombre mood, neither his brothers nor Legolas really liked goodbyes. Estel guessed that goodbyes might be a little more for those three. After all, they only saw each other every few decades, and had no idea whether they would still be alive to see each other next time.
Estel had seen the brief moment of fear in Elladan and Elrohir's eyes when they had heard a message had come from Mirkwood.
Estel spent the morning attempting to remember what he had been taught and whittle wood. Even with the reminder of what Legolas, and later on his brothers, had taught him, it only took an hour or so before the piece of wood became useless. Estel gave up on whittling, and settled down with a book, lying on his stomach in the garden.
The sound of beating hooves cut through his concentration on the fine print, and Estel sat up, closing the book. The sound abruptly changed to the clattering of hooves on the courtyard, and Estel clambered to his feet, suddenly remembering that the elves from Mirkwood would be arriving today, and that this would probably be them.
Grabbing hold of the book, he jogged back to the house, slipping through the hedge of the garden and ending up in the courtyard. The normally quiet space was filled with about ten horses and elves, some wearing the muted green and browns of Mirkwood, and some Imladris guards. Estel slowed, and stepped onto the courtyard.
One of the Mirkwood elves, who Estel seemed to remember as the one in command when they had arrived with Legolas, noticed Estel and bowed low to him. Estel wondered whether he actually knew who he was.
Nevertheless, Estel knew his manners. He bowed back. "Mae govannen," he said in welcome. The courtyard was slowly emptying, Imladris guards showing Mirkwood elves and their horses to the stables.
Estel glanced around. "Legolas should be around here somewhere," he said, looking back at the Mirkwood elf in front of him. He looked sharp, for lack of a better word, and even here in Imladris his gaze was constantly moving, picking out the paths leading out of the courtyard. A long sword was at his waist, a knife there as well, and a bow over the quiver on his back. Estel suspected that they weren't the only weapons this elf carried.
He felt like he should say something else, but then the doors at the top of the steps to the courtyard opened and Estel caught a flash of blond hair. Legolas hurried down the steps and reached the Mirkwood elf, a smile on his face.
"Mellon-nin," he said with a smile. "How are you?"
The elf smiled and grasped Legolas' outstretched arm. "I am well," he replied. "Belhadron has been complaining, as usual, but despite what he says, he is well too."
Legolas chuckled. "If he hasn't yet threatened to shoot me when we get back, then I am still safe." He looked up as the doors swung open again and Elladan and Elrohir came down the steps.
"Mae govannen," said Elladan bowing to the Mirkwood elf. "Welcome to Imladris."
"My thanks for your hospitality," said the elf. "The others are seeing to their horses. Legolas, we can ready your stallion's packs now, if you want us to. It will save time in the morning."
Legolas grimaced, and the image of Legolas' stallion, trapped in a snare and legs broken, came unbidden to Estel's mind. The Mirkwood elf- whose name Estel still didn't know- frowned in confusion. "Legolas?" he asked.
"There are things to tell," said Legolas with a slightly embarrassed smile. The elf rolled his eyes.
"Ai Valar, Legolas," said the elf with a smile. "As you are standing in front of me, it cannot have been too bad. But you will be the one explaining it to Belhadron, mellon-nin." Legolas chuckled, and the two moved slightly away to talk.
Estel felt a tug at his arm, and turned to see Elrohir gently pulling him in the opposite direction. "Leave them to talk," said Elladan, who was turning to head up the stairs. "Legolas will want to find out any news on Mirkwood. We won't see him for a little while."
Estel nodded, and headed inside with his brothers, idly tossing the book in his hand until he dropped it and earned an amused look from Elladan and Elrohir. He sighed, heading into his own room and letting himself fall onto the bed. Legolas was leaving tomorrow morning, and at least Estel wouldn't have to try and get from one end of the woods to the other without his feet touching the ground. And apparently, the fact that his feet weren't touching the ground because he was wearing boots wasn't a good enough excuse.
Still, Legolas was a different presence in a house of seemingly ancient elves, and even after everything that happened and Estel's 'deal', was one of the only people Estel had met who had seemed to treat him like a friend, rather than a little brother. Besides, he liked the blond elf. He was surprisingly cheerful for someone who had seen probably more than he ever would. It wasn't like he would see proper war or anything like that.
Estel groaned into his bedspread, and then levered himself up. He winced at the ache in his muscles. Maybe he would be a little less tired once a certain blond elf stopped waking him up far too early every morning.
Then again, he supposed that his brothers would take great delight in waking him up and devising new tortures for him to attempt. Apparently his brothers called them training exercises, but Estel was pretty sure that was a lie.
Estel spent the rest of the afternoon, after sneaking a quick lunch from the kitchens. Sometimes a good book was enough to make the time rush by. Before Estel knew it, it was the evening and he had, as he had done before, spent the entire afternoon lying on his bed reading, and he had to get ready for supper.
Given it was Legolas' last night in Imladris, the supper was slightly larger than normal, going on late into the night. Before Estel knew it, the four of them had moved out onto the balcony from the Hall of Fire, much like the first night Legolas had been here. Behind them Estel could hear soft singing, the songs that he knew so well by know.
Elladan hummed one of the tunes under his breath as he leant against the wall. Legolas, again like the first night, had vaulted up onto the balcony, wine goblet in hand, and stood there, looking out over the gardens.
Estel leant on the balcony. "How is Mirkwood?" he asked. Legolas had not been present until the dinner, probably talking to the elves of his escort, and during the supper he had been occupied, talking to Elladan and Elrohir, and then thanking Elrond for allowing him to stay.
Legolas shrugged. "About the same," he said, taking a sip of wine. "There has been one attack by the orcs, on the southern patrol, but there were only a few injuries and no fatalities." He chuckled. "And Belhadron has only threatened to shoot someone else once or twice, so that is good."
Elladan and Elrohir both smiled at that, Elrohir coming to lean on the balcony on the other side of Legolas. "What time are we leaving in the morning?" he asked.
Estel paused. "Wait, what do you mean 'we'?" he asked. "Are you travelling to Mirkwood?"
Elladan shook his head. "Only out to the entrance to the High Pass. We are meeting the Rangers there and riding out for a week or so with them. We will meet up with your mother and then head back here."
"Oh," said Estel, a little disappointed. Although he knew that he would not have been able to go, not experienced enough yet for his brothers to travel out with him as far as they normally went, especially as it was becoming more dangerous in the wilds, a small part of him still resented it a little. Things were not yet perfect.
Yet they were pretty good, mused Estel. His brothers were trying hard to stop protecting him as much, and they were teaching him so much more than they had used to. Things were good.
"We are leaving at dawn," said Legolas. "We want to be at the entrance to the high pass well before nightfall, so we can set up camp before dark. Apparently there were signs of orc activity over the pass. Old activity, but it pays to be careful." He sighed. "I have missed Mirkwood."
"You have?" asked Estel. He thought Mirkwood was dark and dangerous, full of spiders and orcs. At least, that is what the stories his brothers had told him had painted it as.
Legolas shrugged. "If I didn't miss it, it wouldn't be my home," he said simply.
"So you won't see us in the morning, Estel," said Elrohir. "Which is why we should probably do this now. Elladan?"
Elladan nodded and seemingly melted into the shadows, disappearing from Estel's sight. Legolas jumped down from the balcony, his feet hardly making a sound as he landed, and took a sip of the wine that had remained in his cup.
"What's happening?" asked Estel, looking around from the slightly smug smile on Elrohir's face to the spot where Elladan had vanished. "What are you doing?"
"Wait and see," was all that Elrohir said, and Estel sighed, leaning on the balcony, drumming his fingers on the stone with the slightest hint of nerves.
Elladan was back quicker than he had expected, and in his hand was a long wrapped package. "Here," he said, holding it out to Estel. "It's yours."
Legolas and Elrohir came to stand on either side of Elladan with almost nervous faces as Estel took the object. It was long and thin, wrapped in a thick cloth, but as Estel reached for the top he felt the familiar feel of a sword handle, even under the cloth.
He unwrapped it quickly, the cloth falling to the floor, forgotten, as it revealed what was inside. A long sword, sheathed in a dark leather scabbard, sat in his hands. It was a little too dark to see, but Estel could feel a design etched into the leather of the scabbard, something that felt like a pattern of vines entwining the scabbard.
Estel looked up. "This is for me?" he asked.
"Aye," said Elladan with a smile. "It is about time you had your own proper sword, rather than borrowing ones out of the armoury. We have been working with the smiths for the past two weeks or so, getting this sword right."
"That is one of the reasons we have been throwing every type of sword we have at you, to see which one suits you best. This sword is a combination of the ones you preferred. Hopefully it should be just right."
Legolas looked on expectantly. "Unsheathe it," he said with a smile. "Let us see if we were right."
Estel glanced at the pommel of the sword. It was plainer than the adorned handles of Legolas' knives or his brothers' swords, black leather wrapped around a steel pommel, but was well made, and soft to his touch. He wrapped his hand around the pommel, and in one smooth pull, unsheathed the sword.
The steel shone in the light from inside as Estel turned it over, looking at it in slight disbelief. It was far better made than any other sword he had used, even the one he had taken to fight when he had gone after his brothers and Legolas. The steel was honed to a keen edge. There was no adornment or embellishment, either on the blade or the pommel, but still it was elegant, the blade straight and thinning to a sharp point.
Estel raised it and swung it experimentally, the blade whistling through the air. "It's perfect," he said, a smile spreading across his face. "It really is." It balanced near perfectly in his hand, far better than any other sword he had used before.
"We made the blade longer than ours, and the grip can be one or two hands," said Elladan. "It means you have a longer reach with it, and don't need to move as fast as we might in order to strike. You can also put more power behind your blows, and with the straightness of the blade, that means you can probably kill an orc with one thrust."
Estel nodded, looking down the length of the blade once more and finding no imperfections, no change in the sleek edge that tapered to a point. "Does it have a name?" he asked.
His brothers shook their heads. "Weapons are often named for their glory in battle," said Elladan. "Most swords are often not named. It does not need a name to do its job." After all, a sword does not care what it is called- it cannot, and a name does not affect the keenness of the edge, or the power in the thrust. A sword is just a sword, name or no.
Besides, this sword would not need a name, not where it would end up, on Estel's hip as he left Imladris and journeyed the wilds. There, a name would be more dangerous than useful, and the anonymity would suit the wielder of the blade, sometimes Estel, or Strider, or for a few years Thorongil. The blade would never really be by Aragorn's side. And both Elladan and Elrohir knew that another sword would eventually take the place of this one when the Ranger was put aside.
Estel lifted the sword, the blade reflecting the firelight from inside the Hall of Fire. "Hannon le," he murmured. "Seriously, thank you." He didn't think he needed to tell his brothers, or Legolas, for that matter, how much this gift meant. Almost reluctantly, he sheathed the blade, the sheen from the steel disappearing into the dark scabbard.
"Take care of it," said Legolas. "It is yours now." Estel nodded in agreement. He would look after it, because if he continued down this path, then it would hopefully save his life more than once. He grasped it tightly, feeling the new leather of the scabbard under his fingers.
Little did he know that the leather would eventually become worn and soft, the etchings vanishing eventually as the leather thinned. More than often, the scabbard and blade would end up covered with blood. Sometimes mud would drip from the blade, sometimes water from the torrential rain falling from overhead. Many nights would be spent with his hand wrapped securely around the leather of the scabbard, offering some form of comfort in the immediate protection that the blade offered.
But through it all, Legolas and his brothers' words would stay in his head, and the blade of the sword would stay sharp and honed, the pommel clean, the scabbard cleaned of the mud and blood and occasionally oiled to keep the leather soft, if Estel ever ended up in a place where there was anything like that. And then Estel would understand the need to look after your weapon, because sometimes it isn't just the only thing keeping you alive, but one of the few things giving you hope. If the sword was in his hand, it would mean that he could fight.
But all of that was yet to come, far in the future, and right now Estel could not even glimpse what it was, what was going to come. And it might have been fortunate that he had not, that he did not know of the end until it came, not fully, because when it came it was terrifying enough. Sometimes it is better to not guess at the future, to not turn every decision into a turn in the path that you cannot go back on. The path you tread is already under your feet, but sometimes it is better to ignore it.
Estel sighed, looking up at the sky. It was past midnight already, and he was tired. He swallowed the dregs of his wine, one hand still holding onto his new sword. "It is late," he said, stifling a yawn.
Elrohir glanced at him. "Go to sleep, Estel," he said kindly. "I'd wager you will try out your sword tomorrow, and you don't want to be too tired to see straight. We will be gone by the time you are awake, so be good, little brother."
Estel grinned. "You too, brothers. If you are going to tell my mother what happened, please tell her a few days out of Imladris. Then she will shout at you rather than me."
Both Elladan and Elrohir chuckled, and Estel did for a little bit, before sobering again. "Just…make sure you tell her I am alright, will you?" he asked. "I don't want her to worry."
"We will, little brother," said Elladan. And we will take care. We are only going to be gone for about a week."
Estel nodded, not able to fully rid himself of the worry that he felt every time his brothers rode out. He turned to Legolas.
Legolas smiled. "Take care, Estel," he said.
"You too," said Estel. "Thank you…for everything, I guess. Uh…" He didn't really know what to say to Legolas. He owed him a lot, he guessed. He wanted to say so, say thank you for Legolas saving his life and fighting on his side in the arguments with his brothers, and teaching him how to fight and everything else, but had absolutely no idea how to say that.
Legolas cut into his thoughts. "Look after yourself, Estel," he said. "I don't know when we will meet again, but it has been my pleasure to know you."
"Likewise," said Estel with a grin. "Though next time we meet, I would prefer it if you didn't wake me up so early every morning."
Legolas laughed. "Next time we meet, you will most likely be a grown man and will not be as easy to persuade." He dropped one hand on Estel's shoulder. "You will make a fine man, Estel. Do not forget that your family are proud of you. As am I."
Estel blushed, and tried to work out what to say. Legolas chuckled. "Good night, mellon-nin," he said. Estel, feeling the blush fade from his cheeks, smiled.
"Good night," he said, and slipped away through the doors. He headed back to his rooms, his sword clutched in his hand. He could feel the etchings on the scabbard underneath his palm, and he smiled.
The fire had gone out by the time he reached his rooms, and he let it be, lighting a few candles for light as he changed into a loose tunic to sleep in. The sword he placed almost reverently at the end of the bed, where it would be clearly visible when he woke up. He had a feeling that he would have to look at it in the morning, to check that it was actually real.
With a sigh, Estel fell into bed and pulled the covers up over him. It had certainly been an interesting month or so, but his thoughts were too jumbled and hazy for him to make sense of them, work out why exactly he was grinning into his pillow at the memories of sparring with Legolas, and his leather coat being given to him, and even the random conversations the four of them occasionally had over lunches.
Estel relaxed on the bed, his thoughts growing hazier as he succumbed to his exhaustion. He could not say that he had enjoyed all of the past month. But on the whole, he was glad.
To Be Continued...
I told you, fluff galore :) I couldn't help myself include all the bits with Estel's sword. I tried to describe it from the films, but it's honestly really hard to describe a sword when you have absolutely zero experience with them. There's still a little wrapping up to do, which will be the next chapter, and then an epilogue. As always, reviews are very welcome.