Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien.

A/N: Hi, everyone! I know I said I would wait 'til I have the entire story finished, but as I am currently nearing the end of it (only about two chapters more to go), I figured I would post this one, just to further it along. I hope you enjoy!

Reviewers: All 34 of you, thank you!

Elvish: I do know that I have a few words in Sindarin that do not have quite the correct definition—but because this story is where it is now, I will keep them as they are. It fits better in the overall scheme of things, frankly, but thanks for the heads up!

'Sindarin (Elvish)'

"Westron (Common Speech)"

/Personal Speech/

.:A Man Called Hope:.

By Sentimental Star

Chapter IV: Cursed

(The Next Morning, Roof of the Peredhil Home in Valinor)

The sun dawned much as it had every morning on Arda. But here…it looked so like the legendary lamp all the tales he had grown up hearing told of that Estel could not help but stand in awe of it.

And stand he did, on the roof of his family's home here in Valinor.

It was smaller than Imladris, no larger than the Last Homely House. Unfamiliar as it was, there was within it all the beloved little relics of his childhood, so it was not hard to feel comfortable or comforted…

'At least now you may speak freely and ask freely of your parents, mellon-nin. Perhaps you may remember how frustrated with me you became, when answer your questions about your Human father I could not. I know I certainly do.'

''Tis cold comfort indeed…when I no longer even know who I am!'

A soft weight on his right shoulder as Legolas slowly leaned his head upon it, resting comfortably against his side where he sat, huddled on the roof of the Last Homely House in the cool early morning air. 'What need have you of comfort? What need have you to know? I know your heart, is that not comfort enough?'

The weight on Estel's right shoulder became real, and as he slowly came out of the memory, he glanced to the side, half-expecting the familiar blond head to be resting there and yet, not overly surprised to find it was not. Instead, a small, delicate hand squeezed his shoulder and he tracked a path up to its owner's warmly smiling face.

Lady Celebrían stood behind him, tenderly smiling as she watched him.

Estel was not quite sure how to react to her. He had loved her before he even knew her, that love fostered by the stories the twins and their father had shared as he had grown. Ammë he had called her since he was young enough to first know the word. But now, in the lady's actual presence…

She had welcomed him into her home with little hesitation. Greeted him the same as she had his brothers this morning when they had awoken. But she was quiet most of the meal, observing closely his interactions with Elladan and Elrohir, and with Elrond. She had, though, nearly always been smiling. Which left him in a predicament. He did not know what he could—or should—call her.

Figuring it best to go with formality this time, he began to bow, 'My Lady--'

A light bop on the head from said lady, startled him upright.

'None of that now,' she scolded him good-naturedly. 'Ammë you called me once, and Ammë you shall call me again.'

A genuine grin made its way across Estel's lips. 'Ammë,' he conceded graciously. 'What brings you up here?'

'Pursuit of a wayward son whom his two older brothers are quite convinced went to brood,' she responded warmly.

Estel laughed. 'I thought in Valinor there was no worry.'

Celebrían, much to the young Man's delight, quirked an amused eyebrow. 'Try telling that to your brothers.'

The Dúnadan kept grinning, turning back to observe the view. 'I did so on Arda. It works no better here, I am afraid. They needn't have worried so. I merely came up here to look at the sunrise. 'Tis very beautiful.'

'Yes, 'tis at that,' she agreed quietly, turning to watch with him. She cast a thoughtful glance at the Human son she had never known. 'But brooding you have been, penneth.'

Estel bowed his head and rubbed his eyes, no longer smiling. 'The twins and Ada told you of Legolas, yes?' he finally asked.

'Eryn Lasgalen's young Crown Prince?'

'Aye, him.'

'I received the impression that the two of you were very close,' she offered gently.

'Close?' he gave a wry, pained smile. 'Aye, you could say that…'

(Flashback, One Hundred Twenty Three Years—Helm's Deep, TA 3019)

"You've been thought dead, laddie. For over two days. I do not know how you do it, but your arrival has brought back hope to these people. 'Tis your Elven namesake, I am told. There is, however, one within these corridors who I believe 'twould be wise to seek out as soon as you may. He has taken this quite hard, I fear."

But Gimli had been unable to tell him precisely where the Elven prince was. Much as he longed to ease his beloved friend's burden…he needed to get to Théoden first, for the news he bore was not to be taken lightly.

Impatiently, he tugged at the forearm guards he yet wore, trying to tighten them as he walked with a stride no wounded man should have. He was not watching where he walked, so that quite possibly explained why he nearly ran into the fair being who stood directly in his path.

Startled, he jumped back and quickly looked up.

Beloved, familiar midnight eyes blazed with such light and life that he found himself caught in their depths. And he, who had loved and known this Elf since he had been small, was able to read there the heart-sickening pain of grief the archer had endured. Was able to see—and imagine—the dark nights of despair the prince had suffered, holding what to the Elven heart surely must have been a death vigil. And though those shadows were fast receding, in their stead grew, expanding and festering, fear. Such chilling, bone-aching fear. But that, too, was soon gone, shoved ruthlessly away into the very recesses of the Silvan Elf's midnight orbs.

'Lle ab dollen,' came the dry response, in a voice dripping with mirth.

He was sure his incredulity must have shown on his face. Two nights he was missing. Two nights he was certain had been torture for his dearest friend. And this was how the Wood-Elf responded?

Yelling, he would have understood. Anger, he would have accepted. Indeed, even blame.

But mirth? Teasing?

"You look terrible," came the impish remark in Westron.

And finally, he understood. The teasing—it was from long ago, in a situation eerily similar to this one. Only then, their roles had been reversed, and 'twas he who had had to endure the agony of waiting, of waiting and not knowing, of fearing and believing this golden one to be…to be…

So he laughed. He had to. Allowing his own mirth to join with the other's and cast off the shadow both memories shed. "Be glad 'tis so, dear one," he teased warmly, catching several free-flying golden strands and tucking them safely away behind one pointed ear. "Else I shall have a very hard time explaining to King Théoden how it is I am alive."

His fingers brushed against Legolas's cheek, and in that moment, all pretense of amusement fled.

"Aragorn." It was but a whimper, pained and small, and within the next moment, he found all the air driven out of his lungs as the prince bodily threw himself into his arms, clinging tightly and clearly without any intention of letting go.

He was dimly startled to find tears wetting his neck. His friend was trembling.

Later he would remember this, holding the shaking archer as the Elf cried, and would remember it long into the night—after his report to the king, after his argument with the prince in the Keep and the discussion with Háma's son—as he searched for his life-long Elven companion among the Men of Helm's Deep while they prepared for war with Isengard's host. He would remember it, and cherish it, because those tears were testament to an Elven heart that, somehow, inexplicably, had become his.

"You scared him, laddie, more than you will ever know, or he will ever tell you."

(End Flashback)

'He gave up everything for me, Ammë,' Estel finished painfully.

Celebrían stirred contemplatively in her place, where the two of them now sat on the roof. 'How so, Estel?' she asked softly.

'Elves do not sacrifice lightly,' the Human advised her miserably. 'Twas something he had never voiced, and had hidden deep inside, not revealing even to Legolas this long-stifled wound. 'They are immortal, most blessed of all Ilúvatar's creations. Why should they give something that was never mine to have?'

'You speak in riddles, penneth,' she responded softly. 'And how know you 'tis a blessing to be an Elf and be immortal?'

'Perhaps I spoke wrongly,' Estel choked, 'perhaps 'tis not so much a blessing as a curse, to be seated with a heart that breaks under the blow of grief or that drowns in the throes of darkness. Perhaps 'tis a curse to be possessed of a bright soul that fades like a star on the morn or shatters like a gem when a Death Knell is rung. I know not, only that such a curse befalls the Fair Folk when one of their number comes to love a mortal.' He dropped his face against his clenched fists; knuckles pressed tightly against his eyes, and he moaned lowly, 'By the Valar, why did he have to choose me?'

For perhaps the first time in her long life, Lady Celebrían did not know what to say. Perhaps her husband or the twins might have, but she loathed the thought of leaving her Human son when he was like this.

So she did the only thing she could think of. Moving close to the young Man, she put her arm around his shoulders and wordlessly encouraged the Dúnadan to rest his head against her.

Estel did so. 'Ammë,' he wept heavily, shoulders heaving, 'he gave up the call of the sea!'

Now, Celebrían was by no means unwise in the ways of her Woodland kinsmen. She knew the call of the sea was latent in all Elves and that for some reason, that call was strongest in the Sindar—of which Legolas, though called Silvan, was part. She therefore also knew what it meant to give it up.

Clearly, so did Estel.

Sighing quietly, Celebrían started slowly rocking them as the young Man cried his heart out on her shoulder. 'Shh, ion-nin. Valinor is not meant for tears.'

'These are but a shadow of those he has cried over me,' Estel choked out bitterly.

The lady shook her head sadly. 'Oh, Estel,' she murmured, 'I am sure he knew what he was doing. And I am sure, too, that he has never once regretted it. If your adar and brothers can regret coming here, and leaving you behind, then certainly the prince cannot regret not coming.'

There was a strangled sob, and tear-bright silver eyes looked up quickly into compassionate blue ones. 'Ammë?' he managed thickly.

She smiled faintly. 'When he arrived on these shores, Elrond very nearly turned the ship around again. But for the other Ringbearers and me, he may well have.'

They were silent a few moments. Then finally, Estel whispered, 'Ammë? I am glad he did not. Else I would not be here.'

'Perhaps so, hen,' she agreed quietly. 'Ar' coramin lindua ele lle (And my heart sings to see you). You have been sorely missed.'

A trembling smile was her answer, and Estel burying his face once more against her shoulder. 'Hannon lle.'

TBC

Elvish Translations:

Estel (Hope; one of Aragorn's many names, given to him by Lord Elrond)

Mellon-nin (My friend)

Ammë (Quenya; Mother)

Penneth (Young one)

Eryn Lasgalen (Forest of the Green Leaves)

Lle ab dollen (You are late)

Ion-nin (My son)

Hen (Child)

Hannon lle (Thank you)

--(Please note that I've used a mixture of online Elvish dictionaries, Tolkien, and my own experience to create these words and phrases, as well as those within the story—SS)